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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 5 years

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Down South (God’s Children, Part 1.)

Revisioned and rewritten: August 2023 🕊️

Description: In the year 2018, a huge nuclear attack took place, having its epicenter on Hope County, Montana. All the people were supposed to be gone, but the reality turned around to be much different from that.

A/N: So, the Seeds had always been my No. 2° Far Villains right after Pagan Min (Far Cry 4 was the first I've been introduced to, so it stuck with me much more than FC 3 and Vaas - I mean, I like Vaas, the personal attachment isn't there for me, though). And as the cycle goes on, I love to re-work my old stories to make them better suited for my current writing style. Enjoy!

Heavily inspired by Killshot (Magdalena Bay), LoveGame (by Lady Gaga) and I Wanna Be Your Slave is even indirectly used in the text (by Måneskin). Also inspired by Sex on Fire (by Kings of Leon).

Word count: 4.5 K

Warnings:

Read the rest here, babe: HERE

Hope County, Montana, 2035 - seventeen years after the nuclear attack:

It was a beautiful day to have the big watch duty on the Prosperity's walls. The breeze felt warm, the sunshine was giving undeniable glory to the nuclear wilderness outside, to all of the pink weird flowers, mutated animals and trees. Many shoots of those surroundings were taken, but this just begged for more and more photos.

At those moments, you had a feeling of being in peace with nature, you almost felt the calm grace the world was greeting you with. It was subtly inviting you to discover it's glory and secrets by your own eyes. It was beautiful.

When Jason was leaning into the wall and watched the surroundings, he thought he was hallucinating. A woman with black curly hair grown under her waist in a khaki green blouse and black jeans was coming out of the woods. She held a big bowl of something; she had a dead state and pale face. He heard her singing in a high voice, but it was somehow mesmerizing to listen to.

'Amazing grace, how sweet the sound? That saved a wretch like me?' - Jason heard just as he slowly raised the submachine gun.

"Might have a female intruder on my fair sight, approaching the north wall on her own feet. Maybe she was sent by the twins?" - Jason mumbled into his walkie-talkie and slowly raised his gun.

"Is she armed?" - Kim's voice answered curiously. Twins were constantly surprising them with their attack, so Prosperity was naturally armed to react immediately at any time of the day.

"Doesn't seem so. Instructions?" - Jason answered and looked at Madison looking at the woman as well. They were too young to have any idea of who the woman was. He was three years old when the big nuclear attack happened and Madison was born in the bunker just a few days after her parents hid there.

"Let me see." - Kim answered and just two minutes later, she was climbing up on Jason's spot. She looked down for a minute before her whole face tensed up and her eyes for colder. - "You gotta be shitting me. Stay here. Watch every move she makes. If I give you a sign, shoot immediately. Maddy, come with me."

Kim was really not glad to see that woman appear. That was apparent. But any of the two young people haven't got an idea why is she acting that way. That woman only got out of the woods and Kim was thrown out of her normal chilling family mood.

They were walking to the woman until they stood ten feet away from her, staring her down.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" - She asked with furrowed face, ready to snap any minute. Maddy stood by her side with the submachine gun pointing at the woman. She had a bowl of mac'n'cheese. - "I couldn't care less if you're alive, but showing up here and look to all those people's faces? Too far fetched, even for you."

"Nice to see you too, Kim." - The woman smiled and pointed at Maddy, who immediately tensed up. - "You think it's necessary? I have only macaroni and cheese to defend myself."

"My men are ready to shoot your ass at the moment I give them a sign. Speak fast or you'll be dead in the next minute." - Kim walked up to the woman and look her in the eyes. She wanted to murder her right here and there. That woman was a monster capable of unspeakable horrors. She was a sadist to say at least, she was something much worse, torturing people being her daily hobby.

There were days when the name Y/N Y/L/N-Seed resonated with pure terror in everyone's head.

"Heard you had some problems with those fuckers sent by Mickey and Lou. I thought you could use my help. And I cooked a great dish and thought you might wanna taste?" - She offered Kim the bowl and Kim, in a slight shock, accepted it whether she actually wanted it or not.

"Why would you even think we might accept your help?" - Kim grinned and spat right onto the woman's shoe. If the Devil could be real, Y/N was them. She was the worst kind of person, arrogant and cocky. Borderline crazy.

"Because I'm just as crazy as those fuckers. I ain't afraid to be killed because I've got nothing to lose anymore. But you can. My family and home are gone." - Y/N said and with that, Kim took the SMG and hit the woman right into her chin to make her unconscious. The council needed to decide whether put their trust into a former member of the Seed family or if they murder her for everything she has done to the people of Hope County.

-----

The University of Yale Campus, New Haven, Connecticut, 2008:

John Duncan Seed had never felt like a normal human being, not even for a second throughout his life. Truth be told, neither of the environments he grew up in didn't exactly allow him to develop into someone who'd keep his emotions in check as well as be allowed to express them. In the last few years, he began to notice it as he started to be around other people rather frequently. Humanity, as a trait itself, didn't resonate with John's view on life and how things should be. Being compassionate or empathetic wasn't something John would see himself doing. The very core of being human didn't make much sense to this man. On the other hand, he knew precisely why that was.

It started a long, long time ago. He was just a little boy being beaten up by his own father every fucking evening. His memories of this particular time of his life were rather hazy, yet he remembered a little here and there. His father was beating and beating until something broke inside of John. That was the night he told about this situation to his teacher. Shortly after, the Duncan family came to play. On the outside, they looked like an ideal family for such an intelligent, innocent and lovely child. John, even throughout growing up, was very delightful to look at, thanks to his angelic face and enormous baby blue eyes. But… The Duncans sure as hell weren't the perfect family they presented themselves as. While his biological father was more of a physical abuser, the Duncans tormented young John mentally. They tortured him for months on end, trying to beat every sin he had committed throughout the ten years of his life. That was when he was broken for the second time.

Soon enough, John trained himself to be a master liar as well as a master manipulator just to keep himself safe. These traits made John a perfect candidate for law studies, which he proceeded to do. He was very good with bureaucracy bullshit and even better at mind games. Duncans, at this point in his life, were very proud of John; they managed to eradicate him of sin, showered him with wealth and paid for everything you could imagine. However, this couldn't be further from the truth. John Duncan was everything but a good Christian boy. Everyone knew him as the wild shot, the man who fucked the entire campus. His name became synonymous with being the one who had the best drugs, alcohol, cars and prostitutes. Aside from his substance abuse, he was also a sex addict - even worse, he ravelled in hardcore sex practises, leaving his sexual partners bruised up and sore.

One important distinction to be made was that John was not monogamous, nor did he desire to be that kind of a man. Each of his dates knew he was fucking around, that was one of the first pieces of information John told his dates about himself. The day it all started was the first day of John's junior year, on a warm September day. That was the reason he was caught off-guard the first time he had seen her. Never before had a woman or a man caught his eyes with such gravity as she did. She wasn't even trying to get his attention, she didn't see him neither did she pay him an ounce of notice. The day he had seen her for the first time, she was rushing through the campus with her hair all messy and her outfit uncoordinated - she clearly put random pieces of clothes on because she was running late, and her backpack was still half open as she ran towards the building holding an enormous pink binder close to her chest. John was having brunch with his newest girl and a couple of his friends from the classes as they discussed the latest legislation changes.

Soon after, the first signs of infatuation started to show, which made John even more cautious about what was happening to him. He has never felt like this about any of his playthings, nor about any other person. As time passed by, John grew anxious to know more about her as if he’d die if he didn’t. The man started to make subtle changes; mixing up his schedule just so his breaks would match hers, getting to know which table at the study she used with her friend, John even paid attention to what she seemed to enjoy eating and drinking. While he still enjoyed having sex, his objects of lust started to imitate her features in one way or another. Some had resembling eye colour, some carried the same haircut or hair colour, and some had similar body type, similar ass or boobs. Others tended to resemble the features of her face - the curve of her lips, the bridge of her nose, her cheeks or the shape of her eyes. The point was that no matter the person’s gender, his mind visualized her in his arms, her voice mumbling his name or spitting cusses, her voice screaming at the top of her lungs.

As time passed by, September turned into October, and October into November. The slight infatuation grew into a full-on obsession. John felt unnerved each time he was on time at the place she was supposed to be at just to find the seats empty. He was feverishly looking for her at each party he was a part of in hopes of finally making the first step. She never went to any of the parties. The longer this obsession was taking, the more was John all over his head for this mysterious woman.

This was the very first time John Duncan obsessed over another human being. The craziest part? The woman never seemed to notice, she probably didn’t even know that someone named John Duncan exists; which had to be a superpower of sorts since basically everyone in the near vicinity of the campus knew John and his dick. John has never heard her voice yet in his mind, he was sure he’d recognise it amongst millions of others. She had never even looked his way, she didn’t bump his shoulder on accident as it often happens in romantic movies. No. The woman didn’t know about John.

Also, one major part throwing John off the beat was the fact that she… She didn’t fit into the usual criteria John had in regard to the people he was attracted to - when it came to either gender, Duncan usually went for people who were conventionally attractive, well-dressed and knew how to party. When it came to women specifically, he loved, loved, loved well-done make-up, and hair tied up high to show the contours of their faces. When it came to their body, he was a sucker for a prominent cleavage show-off. Body type didn’t play much role when it came to John - he could do with each type. Skinny? Great, they would venture into the venture of insane positions together. Plus-size? Great, more to suck on, more to slap, more to bold and more to bite. Anything between? Great, John knew how to make shit work. More than anything above, the one thing that got John going under any circumstance was high-heel and ripping ankles. The moment the woman knew how to wear this type of shoe, the moment she (for example) pressed the heel into his chest, he was lost.

So, it was unnerving to admit… That the object of John’s lust was none of that. She preferred oversized T-shirts, sneakers and leggings or jeans. She barely showed off her collarbones, John had never seen her wearing any make-up. Sometimes, her hair was styled, the other it was framing her face. The one thing he knew, however, was the smell of her. John knew her perfume thanks to the countless hours he spent in the study room, sitting near her as they both prepared for their exams in silence. He had to admit, her smell was taking over his rationality as it filled his nose to the brim. John Duncan was lost to this woman. He was obsessive about her and felt an unexplainable amount of possessiveness towards her. Each time she was laughing at her friend's jokes, he wished to join in and laugh alongside her; the moment any of her male friends dared to touch her, John was ready to pack a fucking punch into that motherfucker's nose; each time she took a snack out of her bag, John would do anything to kiss her just to know how it tasted. For her, John would become anything - her sex toy or teacher if she'd like that or, as the Duncans taught the man, he'd be her sinner and her preacher. Even if he wasn't the chocolates and flowers type, he'd attempted to endure romance for her. In his mind, he was willing to go to such extremes for her.

It was almost the end of the December exam period when Duncan finally cracked under pressure. His exams were thankfully over, but she still seemed to study for some as he met her in the study regularly. As the Christmas holiday approached, his friends finally hyped him to talk to the mysterious woman. Perhaps, he would be able to get her phone number or e-mail address so they'd stay in touch during the time off. John didn't dare to even think about possibly not seeing her for two long weeks. It was snowing heavily outside and the girl was sitting in the study room, all alone. That day, she was wearing a cosy sweater and tight leggings and her hair was neatly styled. There was a hot coffee in front of her as well as a muffin from a nearby caffé that closed just half an hour ago. Thanks to her taste, John had discovered this small yet charming place.

Slowly, as he walked in, he took a deep breath and tightened the grip around the jacket he was holding. After a short finally, he finally set off, walking closer until he stopped directly at her table, towering above her. The man was waiting around for long enough, waiting for the woman finally notice him - unbeknownst to him, she had earphones in and studied federal law intensely. Therefore, John did something he wouldn't see himself doing in a million years - his palm grabbed her notes as he turned them around to read them. Her handwriting was beautiful and neat to him, he oriented in it as if he was used to it. The woman, however, let out a long huff and put her pen down, taking the earphones out. If looks could kill, he'd die on the spot with a dagger sticking out of his damn back. - "Can I help you with anything, sir?" - She asked without a hint of interest.

"I was wondering…" - John asked silently, giving her a quick look as he looked into her face, finally putting the notes aside. God, she was so intriguing and his eyes were simply gravitating towards her as if he was physically unable to look away. - "Would you have a spot? I don't wanna study alone." "Do I know you? Have we ever spoken before?" - The woman wondered, her face emotionally flat. This caught John off guard; in his imagination, she'd be swooned by him and hanging onto every word he was saying. None of this was going according to the plan. "No…" - The man started off silently, giving you one of his boyish smiles as he scanned your face down and up. You were so… So captivating. - "But I was hoping we could change that, I'd like to get to know you better. My name's John. Is federal law bothering you?" With that, your eyebrows raised slightly, your mouth opened a bit. Then you rolled one of your sleeves and stood up. - "Aight, bucko, listen… Are you telling me that I'm stupid or something? What's this about?" "No!" - He answered as soon as the words left your lips. Fuck, John thought to himself. This was all wrong; instead of charming you with his words, looks and the tone of his voice, he almost got punched right to his nose by the woman he adored from the shadows for months now. - "Let me start over and rephrase it, okay? My name's John Duncan, I'm in my junior year now and I also have an internship at Phelps & Black. You seem to be spending an awful time here on your own right before Christmas, studying when you could be out, doing anything you'd like. That brings me to the thought of you struggling with federal law. And that is nothing to be ashamed of. I could help you if you'd like that."

As he told you his full name and the place he was currently working at, your eyes took proper sight of him for the first time. John Duncan, you started thinking. John Dun… Oh fuck, you realised. You've met him before, it was during your debate club where you learned to recognize your opponent's strengths and weaknesses. The professor overseeing the class invited him to show you how he deals with all sorts of stuff - Duncan showed you a whole new way with words, tone of your voice and non-verbal communication. Even though still studying and being in training, everyone knew that Duncan is a law prodigy. You've heard a lot about this man, yes, but funnily enough… It oftentimes didn’t have anything in common with school or academic achievements. The man standing in front of you was infamous for throwing massive parties in his loft located a few minutes away from the campus. Sex, drugs and alcohol; this was the way your friends described them. You desperately wanted to also take a part in partying and drinking, yet if you'd let your father find out, he's most likely kill you. Knowing your older sibling who was also studying at Yale, they'd snitch on you the moment you'd set foot in there. The man also had a little fling with your best friend Linda - she was hoping he'd text her and take her out, but ever since the night, Duncan hadn't even looked in her direction.

Slowly, you let his eyes wander on his face, letting your eyes take in his pleasurable features - John was undeniably conveniently attractive by each metric there was. A nicely trimmed beard that was regularly taken care of, fresh haircut, very fashionable clothes on a very attractive body… His eyes were the thing that made you slow down, though. There was this… Something about the look in them. It felt so known - as if you were looking into the mirror, watching yourself. Except for the shine in them, there was this little shadow in the back that was warning you about something very sinister deep inside of him, some sort of rage and evil John has never shown to anyone. That evening, however, you didn't think about it too much. You simply recognized the spark because, at moments, you could see it in your eyes too.

His offer was gaining more and more weight the more you thought of it. Being privately tutored by the university's law miracle child? What was there to turn down? "John Duncan, yeah?" - You repeated after him, sitting down once more. The way his name rolled off his tongue made John's pupils dilate, but he has done his best not to react to it. Instead, he sat down and smiled right at you. - "I've heard of you before." "Where did you hear about me?" "Linda." - The way you chuckled as you said it, shaking your head slightly as if you found this amusing. "Who?" "My best friend Linda. You've spent a night at her place? Like… Three weeks ago?" - You explained, starting to giggle as you leaned your knee into the table, pretending you were going back to your notes. As soon as you reminded him, John instantly remembered who Linda was; a sweet girl, but nothing he'd be into. He spent the night with her in hopes that it would somehow get him closer to you… But that didn't happen. The moment he realized this, he also let out a little 'awwww' of understanding. That sent you over the edge as you burst out laughing, covering your mouth immediately as you tried to guess if the study's overseer took notice of you.

"My sincere apologies, I'm really not the best with names and such. How's Linda by the way?" "Shut up, we both know that you have zero idea who she is and how the night with her was, Linda told me she watched down an enormous lane of coke right before. I honestly don't think that it's the names." - You countered, making John bite his lip as he watched your expression. Damn, you looked so lovely when you laughed - and the sound of your laughter? He wished to hear it again… And again… And again. - "I think it's the body count, but who am I to judge? Anyway, back to the merit. What's your offer?" "Well, private tutoring for starters, of course. Also, I'd lend you all of my notes to use however you see fit. Lastly, if you'd like to, I'd take to you Phelps & Black as my concipient slash assistant to show you the ropes. Practising law is the best way to learn the ropes, as soon as you see it in practice, things start falling into place." - Duncan described flat out, taking your words away for a good minute. All of that for what? What was there to say no to? This was a dream fucking offer. "Right, Texas, where's the but in all of that?" - You laughed nervously, being caught off-guard. - "Do I have to kill someone? Sign a contract with the devil? Because I might realistically be capable of doing so, that's a hell of an offer."

The but? The drawback? John could think of many; his fingers delicately wrapped around your neck ad you'd be digging your nails into the skin on his back, the fact that he was sure that if you let him put his hands on your body, he won't be able to stop. He'd remember everything your body would respond well to, his goal would be putting you on constant edge. And then, when everything would be said and done… John stopped himself in his tracks, putting his palm in front of his lips as he looked away in shock. The moment his cheeks started to catch on fire he knew he subdued to your spell. Never before had he imagined kissing someone outside of the bed; inside of it, it could be pleasurable for both parties as it had the potential to arouse. After the act? Kissing someone outside of having sex was always a sign of weakness for John, sign of not having his emotions in check. A simple kiss had the potential to ruin his entire cover and to expose the unsaid. Therefore he never done it; yet in his mind, kissing you would feel just right, for some reason. As he thought about all of these scenarios, watching you with a slight furrow and cheeks reddening, he wasn't able to take his eyes off you entirely. There was this little something in your eyes, a slight shade of darkness neatly kept away from everyone. This was the thing that gravitated John towards you unknowingly, both of you had the same kind of evil lurking within you, waiting to be released. Yet, neither of you knew about this part of you existing at that point in your lives. You were different in a similar way John was. It felt like… Coming home, it felt comforting and calming. Also, as John let all the scenarios run through his mind, the spark in your eyes made him feel as if you could read his mind, it felt as if you could see all the fucking images flashing inside his head at the speed of light.

"No drawbacks, no buts, no nothing. All I ask in return is for you to spend some time with me, that's all When I said I'd like to get to know you better, I meant it." - The man explained with a small smile, almost letting you drop your guard down. "Let me tell you that I have an idea of that 'getting to know me better' of yours." - It was the tone of your voice which made John aware that you looked right through his mascarade. "And is that idea of 'getting to know you better' so bad?" - Duncan asked, leaning his elbows into the table as he licked his lips… Very slowly. "No." - You whispered, watching the dim lights in his eyes grow brighter. That made you chuckle again. - "But you should know that I'm not your flowers, chocolate and romance kind of lady. I don't have time for that shit, I’m studying laws on Yale." "Oh." - John let out, playing as if this news didn't excite the everliving shit out of him. At the same time, you stood up and started packing your shit, grinning to yourself. - "You're suggesting…" "I'm talking about fucking the brains out of you, yes. Are you coming, hot stuff? We need to start on the federal law ASAP, my second term is in two days." - As you swung your backpack over your shoulder, you walked past him. After a moment, you walked a few steps back, putting your palm on his shoulder - the man was looking at you as if you were the most beautiful being he had ever met; his lips parted, his baby blue eyes wide open, cheeks reddened with excitement. And fuck, you'd be lying if you'd say that it didn't feel good to see him in such a state. - "Name's Y/N Y/L/N, by the way. I think you should know that."

#god’s children #far cry 5 #john seed #i stan a primadonna lawyer #the seed family #carmina rye #kim rye #nick rye #john seed x reader #reader x the seed family #hello #far cry new dawn

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geminiimagines · 5 years

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Our Little Rook (1/?)

Prompt: Can you do a Seeds x reader where she tells them they are video game character and not real, she only made them up because she was real.

Warnings: none, just my awful writing

I really had no intention of buying Far Cry 5. I had just moved to Las Vagas as the new CSI. I had spent to the first few weeks in Vagas unpacking your boxes and settling in at the crime lab. I promised myself that I would go and try to make friends, keyword being try. I never realized how hard it was to make friends as an adult. Oh, sure it was easy in college. You could bond over how grueling your classes were, or what club you're in. I never really had close friends in school. I think the only reason I had friends in school was that I had a PlayStation. Anyway, I digress. I tried to make friends with my co-workers, seeing how I would spend about seventy percent of my evening with them. Working the night shift was a night not my idea, but that’s what they had available. I was a kid a fresh out of college who needed a job… to be fair I was being transferred from the New Orleans crime lab. I really did try to make friends with my co-workers, but most of them were already closely knit and way older than me. After a few weeks, I just gave up. I don’t think any of them care to hear about my endless theories on Star Wars anyway. I just desperate for company. Even if it is fictional characters. At least they don’t talk back.

It was about eight in the morning when I got off. Walking into my apartment I was greeted by my three cats, Jasper, Willow, and Killakee. Three beautiful black cats someone had dumped on my door a few weeks after I moved here. I guess that person saw me with my old Savannah cat.

“Hey kids, where’s your grandma?’’ I asked the three kittens. As if on cue, my Savannah cat, Nala came sauntering down the hallway howling in greeting. All four of the cats mewed happily as I petted them. Nala jumped on the counter and rub her face on the cat food that was setting out from the night before.

“Okay, okay. I know you want breakfast. Just let me shower kay?’’ I asked. None of them responded. Sighing, I tossed my jacket on the chair and went into the shower. Reaching out for a towel, I scowled when I realized when there wasn’t one. Perks of living alone, no one judged you for walking around naked. Getting out of the shower I walked over to the washroom and got what I thought was a clean towel.

“Ugh, I have to do clothes soon.’’ I sigh and wrap the dirty towel around me as I walk around my apartment. I dry off in the living room with Jasper and Willow as an audience. Sometimes I think about how many times these cats have seen me naked, just looking like the creepers they are. I find my jammies from last night and put them on. I grab my phone from the counter and play on it for a bit. A notification went off, opening it I saw it was text from one of old friends.

Dude Far Cry 5 came out last yesterday! Did you get it yet? Rolling my eyes I quickly respond

Nope, I just got settled here, and I’ve had like five cases just this week. I’ve barely had any time to play my old games. I set my phone down, it buzzed again. Ignoring it I reached into my pantry and got some cereal out and poured some in a bowl that was sitting out on the counter. I also had to do the dishes. I got my phone and opened the text.

I hope you get it soon. It’s amazing. Not the mention the Seeds!! I laughed at my friend. She was obsessed with the game already, even though it just come out. I had watched Inside Eden’s Gate, which I gotta admit was fucking amazing.

Well, I’ll see. Half of my money went to the cats and my rent. So it might have to wait a couple of weeks. I respond. My phone buzzed again. I open the notification and it’s my supervisor. Just great, not even an hour home and I already get a call.

Just wanted to know how you were settling in. I know to move to city if tough, especially so young. Smiling with relief I respond with thanks and tell that I’m doing pretty good.

The team is going out to lunch if you want to come. I think Maddi might go to FYE, something about a new game coming out. I giggle a little. Maddi was one of the few people my age at the crime lab. Like my friend, she was obsessed with the Far Cry series. Me, honestly I could care less. It’s a fun series, but I’m not a fan of open world and first-person games. Give me Dbh anyway. To be fair though, I wasn’t one to knock a game before trying it. But was it really worth it to spend almost sixty dollars on it? Ugh, being an adult sucks. I text my boss back.

Yeah sounds fun. I put my phone down and consume my cereal with vengeance. This is like the first proper food I’ve had in a week. My phone goes off again, and my boss says to meet at Denny’s at noon. Getting up I get on with my daily business. Do laundry, go get cat food. Looking at the clock, it was already 9:00. Well, fuck me. I toss my dirty clothes into the washer and start it. I barely knew my way around Vegas. I was lucky I knew where the crime lab was, and the store. Getting my car keys I go to store get kitty food.

After a rather exhausting trip to the store, I get back to my apartment with my cats all howling for food.

“Not now you gremlins! You get fed a six, you know that!’’ Nala mewed the loudest. At sixteen she seemed to demand more food.

“No Nala, you’ll get too fat!’’ I say. I go and do my clothes, composing an outfit for lunch. After some debate and some help from the cats, I ended up going with a pretty simple outfit, a band t-shirt, and some leggings. It was 11:25 when I finished getting dressed. It was around 12:30 when I got to Denny’s. My boss, Andie was standing in the parking lot. They stood there with arms cross and grin on their face.

“Nice to see ya, Rook.’’ I smiled at Andie and walked into the restaurant and was greeted by the ruckus crowd of my team. The lunch went off without a hitch. It was nice, Maddi and I talked about Far Cry and our theories about the game. Eventually, she and I went to FYE and with a little nudging from Maddi, I bought Far Cry 5. I got home later that afternoon, getting ready from work. I made a promise that I would play the game when I got home from work, but little did I know this game would make regret ever buying it.

Taglist: @cynderquest

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corgibuttscanwrite · 6 years

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Joseph Seed x Reader || My Angel || Chapter 2

Summary: You were the Seed brothers childhood friend. Before they got separated to different foster homes, Joseph promised you that you would meet again one day and after so many painful years his promised was fulfilled when he met you again in one of his first sermons.

Pairings: Joseph Seed x Reader x Deputy (slight)

Word count: 1823

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter4

"What's happening? Where are you taking me?"

You struggled against the grip of one of Joseph's 'children' as he lead you into the shed shed next to your cabin where a small bunker that Joseph had made specially for only the two of you laid hidden under some crates. "I don't have time to explain." He said as he quickly opened the hatch and made you go down the ladder "We were ordered by the Father to protect you at all costs."

"Protect me from what?" you demanded, your head still poked through the hatchway as you refused to climb down another step. He sighed"The Father believes the harbinger of the collapse has come upon us." He explained as he fished into his pocket and pulled out a small sack-like pouch tied with a red thread. He gave it to you and said, "He instructed me to give you this before you descend. Now please Angel, get inside and stay as quiet as you can." When you grabbed the pouch and you heard the distinct clanking of glass inside and you were shook. This situation really was serious.

You held the bag softly between your lips as you started to climb down. Once you've reached the ground you turned on the generator switch that was right next to the ladder and the whole bunker roared to life and the soft yellow light of the LED bulbs illuminated the dark halls. You looked up at the follower and he nodded at you. "May God watch over you, Angel." He closed the hatch and sealed it tight before you heard him place the crates back on top of the. With that, he marched off towards the other men that stood guard outside.

You clutched the pouch tightly onto your chest as you made your way to the radio room and sat down on a chair in front of all the equipment. You turned on the radio and tapped into the frequency the P.E.G. uses and your ears instantly filled with the panicked voices of Joseph's flock. You leaned in, listening carefully to what they were saying so that you could piece together what exactly was happening up above. This proved to be a difficult task, however, since you could hear ALL of the follower's chattering and it was hard to focus on just one voice.

Things started to die down when you heard about a helicopter landing near Joseph's church. From what you could gather, the chopper was carrying three deputies, the sheriff, and a U.S. marshal who were all here to arrest Joseph for charges of kidnap and attempt of harm. You felt your heart break when you heard his followers desperate cries for the officers to leave him be as Joseph was being lead on to the helicopter. Things got out of hand when the followers jumped on the ascending helicopter in an attempt to free their Father from his restraints. One of them even had their head cut of when he got too close to the giant propeller. You quickly turned off the radio and covered your mouth with your hand before letting out a sob. You didn't want to hear what had happen next.

You grabbed Joseph's rosary that was inside one of the cabinets of the bunker's bedroom and you wrapped it around your hand and grasped it tightly. You knelt down next to your bed and you started to pray.

You prayed for the followers, may they find peace after all that had happened tonight. You prayed for Joseph's siblings, may they brave through these dark times. And finally, you prayed for the man you loved, Joseph Seed, may he be protected from all harm that may befall him. You prayed on your knees for hours and hours, tears still streaming down your face as your legs began to numb. You chanted the same prayer over and over and over again, desperately hoping for God to answer.

*Bang*

A storm of gunshots could be heard from up above and the muffled, dying screams of Joseph's followers reached your ears making you flinched but you stature didn't falter and you continued to pray. You were so lost in prayer you didn't notice one of the pipes blowing up inside the bunker and gallons and gallons of water started to flood the small space. In a matter of minutes almost the whole bunker had been filled leaving you gasping for air as the water level rose and your furniture started to float.

Taking in one last deep breathe, you closed your eyes as the water finally filled the ceiling and you sank down to the ground. You struggled to hold your lungs as long as you could but you couldn't hold on any further. When you gasped your lungs suddenly filled with water as chocked and scratched on your neck. You felt your consciousnesses starting to leave you but you fought to stay awake for a few more seconds. Before darkness completely consumed your mind only one thought ran through your head.

"Let the water wash away my sins."

You slowly opened one eye and looked over to the giant bear that was licking your face. You smiled as you brought your hand to his snout and lightly pushed his mouth away. "Cheeseburger what are you doing?" you laughed weakly as you sat up on your bed. Cheeseburger let out a grunt as he climbed on your bed and nuzzled into you. You scratched the sweet spot behind his ear and he let out a bear's version of a purr. As Cheeseburger was about to fall asleep a knock erupted from shack's front door followed by the Deputy's voice. "Hey Y/N, It's me" he said through the door. "You ready yet?"

Your eyes went wide when you remembered you actually had plans tonight. You looked over at the the wall clock and jumped out the bed when you realize it was already 5:30. "Just a sec!" You called out. You quickly got dressed into your plain black tanktop and slightly tattered jeans after putting on your bra, a pair of clean underwear, and some deodorant since you didn't had time to take a bath. In less than 10 minutes you were already done and ready to go.

"Bye Cheeseburger." You waved goodbye to your bear as he just stared back at you from your bed. You opened the front door and was greeted by the Deputy who was waiting for you patiently. He looked at your tousled hair and chuckled. "You over slept and forgot about our plans, didn't you?" he smirked and you blushed in embarrassment as you quickly tried to think of a good reason to tell him why "Um... Hehe, you see-"

He laughed as waved it off and he shook his head "It's fine don't worry about it Y/N." He pushed some strands H/C hair behind your ear and you looked you in the eye "Just fix your hair a bit before we get there." He said jokingly before offering you his arm.

"Shall we, milady?" he asked in a fake British.

"How kind of you, sir." You replied with an accent that was just as bad.

The ride all the way from your shack to Falls End was comfortable one. You and the Deputy just talked and talked during the whole drive. He mostly did all the talking about his old life back in New York while you just listened and a gave a comment now and then.

When you arrived, the townsfolk all greeted Deputy and welcomed him to the affair while intentionally ignoring you. You didn't mind, of course, you we're already used to it. You were just happy they weren't hurdling insults at you anymore. You looked over at Dep as he conversed with the locals leaving you standing there by yourself. You decided to find a place for you and Dep to sit and started to scan around the field for a vacant table. You saw Kim and Nick eating over at the edge with their baby daughter as they waved at you to come join them. You waved back and made your way towards the two.

You sat across from them as they greeted you and asked how you were doing. Politely, you greeted back and started to converse with them. The matter of your conversations kept changing as more random topics kept popping into your heads. Some topics were heavy and serious but mostly you only told jokes and funny stories with a few scary stories here and there. You and Kim laughed on how easily Nick scares when it comes to supernatural entities. You were actually kind of surprised he believed in them in the first place.

"I'm not scared of ghost" he defended "... I'm just scared of what they might do to me. That's perfectly rational fear!" Kim just rolled her eyes as she laughed at her husband. It was cute how much these two still acted like a teenage couple even though they're already married and have a kid. It made you smile seeing that even after all those years they're still deeply in love with each other- You stopped yourself before the thought got any deeper. You really didn't want to think about him tonight. Especially with a huge crowd of people around you.

"Hey, where'd Dep run off too?" you said suddenly, trying to get your mind off of him. Nick looked around until he spotted him on the open field, lazily flinging rocks at balloons with a slingshot and about ten empty shot glasses in front of him. "Looks like my boy's trying to shoot and shot!" Nick whistled before heading over to him. "I'll be back in a bit!" He called back to Kim and she sighed. "I just hope he won't get too wasted" she said as she cradled their daughter close in her arms.

"Why don't you look around too Y/N? This festival is only for tonight after all" she said while she looked at you with a smile.

"I can't just leave you here by yourself" you said but Kim shook her head.

"No, no it's fine! I can take care of myself." she insisted. "You should go have fun!"

You looked at her a bit unsure "Well... If you say so..." Your eyes scanned the stalls as you tried to decide which one you wanted to try first. Your eyes darted around the whole area until your eyes caught a rather odd sight in the distance. You realized you saw a wolf standing in the distance, hidden within the shadows of the night but you could clearly see it's eyes glistening from the moon light. You felt your blood turn cold. This wasn't just a regular wolf, you noticed the giant red cross painted in it's face. It was a Judge.

It was Jacob's favorite Judge.

#joseph seed #joseph seed x reader #x reader #reader insert #writing #far cry 5 #far cry 5 fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #the deputy #the deputy x reader #nick rye #kim rye #jacob seed

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cryptidsnackpack · 2 years

Text

Care to Tie Me Up Deputy Hudson?

Warnings: Language, weensy bit of smut. Joey Hudson x fem!reader.

Should I continue this? Should we do a part two? I dunno. Can you tell I’m ready for summer??

The dock swayed beneath you, kicked up gently by a passing boat’s wake. You were stretched out on your stomach, bikini top untied. You weren’t worried about tan lines, they seemed irrelevant as you were slathered in sunscreen anyway. Too afraid of wrinkles and skin cancer to douse yourself in coconut scented tanning oil like Adelaide. Adelaide lay next to you on a matching, aging, beach chair. The type of chair that was more a cot than anything else, bright pink and off-colored white plastic tubing strung between a rust flaked metal frame.

This was a summertime ritual between you and Addie. She’d whip up something frothy and fruity, and you two would spend hours by the water. Bitching about work and gossiping about the residents of Hope County. Addie would always begin these sessions by quoting one of her favorite movies, Steel Magnolias.

“You know what they say. If you don’t have anything nice to say about anybody, come sit next to me!”

“Staci Pratt, Nick Rye, and Pastor Jerome. You gotta fuck one, kill one, marry one. Go.” Addie’s lips pursed around a bright orange bendy straw.

“Hmm. I’m assuming this is a reality in which Nick isn’t a married man and Pastor Jerome isn’t a man of the Lord?”

“If that eases your conscious honey.”

“Okay. Kill Staci, fuck Nick, and marry Pastor Jerome.”

“Oh I don’t know. I’d like to take Deputy Pratt for a ride or two.” Addie mused. Further discussion on what would most assuredly be the firmness Staci’s ass were cut off by the sound of crunching gravel.

You perked your head up, squinting through the glare and the dark lenses of your sunglasses. It was a squad car. Had Addie conjured up Pratt just by the mere mention of his “bounce a quarter off it” ass?

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you saw a different deputy emerge from the car. Joey Hudson. She stepped out with a smooth grace. Looking tall and muscular in her uniform, and the mirrored aviators she wore added an air of mystery.

Addie gave a curious “hmm” as she hauled herself out of her beach chair. You watched as Addie and Deputy Hudson talked. There was some nodding and laughing before Addie walked into the house. You wonder if Mr. Dickhole Drubman was starting trouble again. It wouldn’t be the first time he made a bullshit call just to harass Addie.

Lost in thought you hadn’t noticed immediately that Joey was walking toward you. Your chin was propped on your hands. You cursed yourself for not wearing mirrored sunglasses. The closer Hudson got the higher the likelihood that she could see your roving eyes. A cool breeze swept through, lifting a few loose strands of Joey’s hair from her braid. The breeze also drew immediate attention to the fact both ties of your bikini were undone.

“Hello Deputy Hudson” She smiled and you had to bite your lip to stop a ridiculous grin.

“You know you can call me Joey, even when I’m in uniform.” She crouched near the head of your beach chair, and you could smell the gum she was chewing. Spearmint.

“I like calling you Deputy Hudson though.” You propped yourself on your elbows, very aware that you were giving the sweet deputy quite a show. It was no nip-slip, but your position also didn’t leave anything to imagination. It was hard to tell if she was looking, but you didn’t miss the muscle jump in her neck and jaw as she clenched.

“What’s all that about?” You nod toward the house.

“Eh. Hurk Sr. made a tip about Addie growing some pot plants in her house. So I told Addie to make sure they couldn’t be seen from any windows.”

You snorted.

The deputy shrugged. “She says their medicinal.”

In the sweltering summer heat, a bead of sweat had already formed at the base of Joey’s hairline and began to travel down the thick column of her throat. You watched its descent shamelessly.

“What are you doing later?” Joey’s voice was low as she lifted her aviators off her face and tucked them into the breast pocket of her uniform. This was it. You could play it safe or you could enact the plan that had come to you in a moment of opportunity-born brilliance as soon as she stepped from the squad car.

“Care to tie me up Deputy Hudson?”

“I- Well. I thought maybe dinner first, but if you-”

“My bikini top Deputy Hudson. Can you tie it for me?” Her dark eyebrows nearly ascended into her hairline. She coughed around her chewing gum, which you were pretty sure she had almost swallowed.

“Sure thing.”

“You can pick me up at 7? My place?” You couldn’t see Joey’s smile, but you could hear it.

“I’ll pick you up at 7.” He fingertips lightly grazed your sides as she pulled the elastic strings into a knot. Then with a delicious amount of pressure, she placed her thumbs on either side of your spine gliding them up your shoulder blades. You fought back a moan as her clever and calloused fingertips soothed the tightness of your shoulder muscles. Once she had loosened them to her liking she spanned her fingertips around you throat. This time you did moan. Pride be damned.

With light pressure to your throat as leverage, she used her thumbs to make tiny circles at the base of your skull. Your toes curled as knots you had been unaware of began to loosen and melt.

The slam of a screen door shattered the moment. Quickly and efficiently Joey knotted the ties at your neck.

She pressed her lips to the shell of your ear.

“I’ll make sure to finish that massage later.” You gave a half-hearted uh-huh in response. How the hell could she wind you up so quickly?

You watched as Joey walked, no strutted, back to Addie.

As her squad car pulled away Addie plopped back into her chair.

“Well hell. If I’d known there was a massage parlor on my dock, I would have advertised better.”

“I am going to marry that woman.” You sighed dreamily and checked your phone for the time.

“Well, I hope so honey.” Addie took another long sip of her drink. “We’ve all got a bet going down at the Spread Eagle and with these new developments I’m looking at first place.”

#far cry 5 #joey hudson x reader #joey hudson

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gukyi · 5 years

Text

boats against the current | pjm

summary: park jimin thinks his life is all well and good, that is, until he finds out that if he wants to play quidditch for his last year at hogwarts, he needs to pass a presentation in muggle studies. and, just like the novel he needs to research, he realizes that maybe his life would be easygoing and simple, if only he didn’t fall in love along the way.

{hogwarts!au, opposites to lovers!au}

pairing: park jimin x female reader word count: 12k genre: fluff, angst warnings: spoilers to the great gatsby by f. scott fitzgerald. felix felicis consumption (main characters under the influence but not aggressively drunk), actual literary references, possible incorrect feeding of owls. a/n: hi i’m guyi i’m 19 and i never fucking learned how to read or write, especially after finishing this. this has sucked the lifeblood out of me. i’m actually deceased. but hey, at least the banner looks good.

“Hey, Park! Quidditch after class?”

The words bounce off of the walls of the corridor, the other students paying little attention to the random shouts. Hogwarts has always been loud. Jimin’s friends just make it the slightest bit louder.

Jimin whips his head around to find the source of the noise, finding the fifth year, Jungkook, calling after him. Despite being of another house, Jimin enjoys practicing Quidditch with him—he’s a budding seeker who definitely has the potential to go professional, if he practiced enough and didn’t spend most of him time during actual games flirting with the audience. They get along well, and sometimes Jungkook accidentally calls Jimin “hyung” from force of habit as a young Korean, something Jimin holds over his head as many times as he can.

“Sure!” Jimin shouts back. “Meet in the courtyard?”

Jungkook shoots him a thumbs up above his head before his tuft of brunette hair bounces down the hallway, on the way to his next class.

It won’t be just Jungkook—it’s no fun to play a game of Quidditch with two, not to mention the fact that Jungkook’s a seeker and Jimin’s a chaser—but a group of them, all different years and houses because all that house rivalry bullshit stays on the Quidditch field or in the Great Hall for the end-of-year ceremony, and also because Jimin met them all once or twice at different Hogwarts common room parties and Quidditch happened to be something they all had in common.

In the beginning of the year, his Muggle Studies professor showed a movie representation of muggle secondary school, something akin to the second half of a student’s time at Hogwarts. Only, none of the students wore uniforms and instead showed up to class in slouchy jeans and oversized sweaters. And every student seemed to be very aggressive to every other one, like they truly despised being in each other’s presence. And there were certain students who walked down the corridors and everyone else seemed to know their name, where they came from, who they were. According to the guide distributed by his professor, they were the “Popular Kid” archetype, at the very top of the social hierarchy.

Jimin wouldn’t consider himself at the top of the social food chain at Hogwarts—that position is reserved for the Head Boy and Girl—but he does know a rather large amount of the student body. Or, a rather large amount of the student body knows him.

Speaking of Muggle Studies, that’s his next class, and he’s got about three minutes to get to the room before he gets Slytherin’s points docked for being tardy. He breaks out into a small jog, getting progressively speedier as time passes. Another seventh-year Slytherin is heading the other way, pats Jimin roughly on the back as they pass each other with a grunt of “Park!” and moves on.

Jimin makes it to Muggle Studies just in the nick of time, sliding into his seat just as the professor enters the room.

Muggle Studies is, admittedly, not Jimin’s strongest suit. It never has been—not when he comes from a long line of purebloods, some of whom frown upon the integration of Muggle-borns into wizarding schools such as Hogwarts. Jimin’s not like that at all, extremely progressive in comparison to the stereotypical conservative pureblood, but he has a difficult time wrapping his head around the Muggle world and all of its strange and peculiar doodads. It just seems so complicated in comparison to the Wizarding World, where everything is exactly as it appears. Well, mostly everything.

He begins to zone out, as he normally does in this class, the droning of the professor fading into background noise as he doodles in his textbook, drawing pictures of old muggle telephones and candy bars. Muggle Studies is also one of Jimin’s objectively least favorite classes because nothing magical happens. It’s almost all textbooks and essays and homework about non-magical topics. Although, Jimin has to admit that the Internet, whatever the fuck it is, seems pretty magical.

Crack!

Jimin jerks up to see his professor standing above him, glasses sinking down his pointy nose bridge as he glares at him. His wand is held in his hand, clearly having just aggressively tapped on the front edge of Jimin’s desk.

“Park, do you know the answer?” His professor asks angrily, clearly unimpressed.

“Answer to what, sir?” Jimin asks, trying to simultaneously maintain eye contact with his professor and looking around to anyone who might actually know the answer to whatever he’s about to be asked.

“The author of The Catcher in the Rye?” It’s obvious his professor doesn’t think Jimin knows the answer. He’s correct—Jimin has no fucking clue who wrote The Catcher in the Rye.

“Why would you need to catch rye? Jimin asks, trying to buy himself some time.

The professor rolls his eyes, turning away from Jimin to go find another victim. Someone across the aisle sends Jimin congratulatory finger guns for somehow managing to ask a question so ridiculously stupid that it allowed him to escape the wrath of their professor. Jimin gives a thumbs up in return and dips his quill back into his ink pot, getting ready to draw.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he hears the professor’s croaky voice say. “Do you know?”

Interest only slightly piqued, Jimin turns his head to the student being interrogated. You seem to have curled as far into your Hufflepuff robes as possible, in an effort to pretend to be a metamorphosing butterfly or something like that. Jimin knows you very briefly, if at all. Your name, your house, and the fact that you almost never speak.

Jimin starts to think that maybe he should have just sacrificed some House Points and answered the professor’s question, because you don’t seem to be having any fun at all with the professor breathing down your neck, waiting for an answer. He’s about to do something dumb and stupid to get the attention on him and off of you when, soft as a mouse, you whisper, “J. D. Salinger.”

He shuts his mouth. The professor smiles, awards five points to Hufflepuff, and moves on. Jimin sinks down into his seat, turns to the boy next to him.

“That’s Y/N, right?” He asks, motioning to you. You seem to be shriveling back up into your robes, only hints of your skin peeking out, just enough for you to hold onto a quill and write with it on a piece of spare parchment.

“I think that’s her name,” the boy responds, skeptical. “But I’d stay away from her, Park. She’s… strange.”

Jimin frowns, an eyebrow quirking up out of curiosity. “Strange? How so?”

The boy shrugs, unhelpful. He seems to quickly be realizing that his word choice when describing you was particularly poor. Jimin’ll say. “I don’t know, she’s just… weird. She never speaks and you only ever see her in classes, not during our free hours. I hear she draws a lot.”

“But drawing isn’t weird,” Jimin protests weakly, quietly. Though, he doubts you’re paying attention to the conversation he’s having with the boy next to him, a Slytherin he speaks with sometimes, but not frequently. Usually about the latest professional Quidditch match, or to double check something in class. Jimin supposes that the two of them would be friends. But only supposes.

“I know, but disappearing the moment you step out of class is,” the boy says, leaving Jimin no time to respond as he immediately sits up straight, the professor striding back into view.

Jimin shuts up immediately, reverting back to his classic “I swear I was paying attention to you the whole time” stance, though it is blatantly obvious that that was not, in fact, the case. The professor can see right through Jimin’s act, even goes so far as to sneer at him as he heads back to his desk. Jimin really treasures the relationship he shares with his Muggle Studies professor.

“What an enlightening discussion on twentieth century Muggle literature,” the professor drones. Jimin can feel himself falling asleep. He definitely shouldn’t have stayed up late last night playing a game of Wizard’s Chess where, for every piece you lose, you take a bite of the homemade pastries Sprout brought in for their class yesterday. Both his mind and his stomach are taking massive losses. Lots of casualties. Too much time spent on the loo.

Jimin’s about to start making soft snoring noises to amuse the students around him when the professor’s moderately angry, crackly voice breaks through the walls he’s built inside of his head. “So enlightening, in fact, that I am assigning you all a partner project on a Muggle book of literary merit from the twentieth century, to be due in two weeks sharp.”

Groans fill the air. Jimin sees his already low grade in this class plummeting.

“And I expect that those of you who are not doing as well in this course—,” the professor narrows his eyes at Jimin in specific. He feels the slightest bit called out. “—should want to work extra hard. I will give you your partners momentarily—,” more groaning since the students can’t choose, “—and you will have until the end of this class to decide on a novel. Novellas and plays are also acceptable.”

Jimin doesn’t even know what a novella is. This is going to be an absolute disaster.

Within the next few moments, the professor begins to list off the group partners, and Jimin watches as every single person in the room he thinks he might actually enjoy himself with gets paired up with someone else until all that’s left is—

“Park and Y/L/N.”

Even amongst all of the chatter, Jimin can make out the faint sound of something akin to a gasp leaving your lips. Jimin’s certain he feels the same way. Of all of the people in the room, it’s just his luck for him to get paired up with you. Not that he minds, of course, but trust the Muggle Studies professor who’s out for Jimin’s blood to pair him up with the quietest student in their year. Meanwhile, Jimin causes a ruckus simply by existing.

He turns to find where you’re sitting to see you very obviously avoiding his gaze (along with anybody else’s, for that matter), staring straight down at the parchment in front of you before watching as you crumple it up between your fingers and stuff it into your bag, along with the rest of your belongings. Peculiar.

Jimin gathers his items to head over to where you’re seated—because it’s clear you have no intention of moving from your location, the corner in which you have settled—when the professor calls him over with a grunt of “Park.”

He trots up to where the professor is seated at his desk.

“Park,” the professor says, peering over the beady glasses that sit on his all-too pointed nose bridge. “You currently have a Dreadful in this class.”

“Yes, Professor.” Jimin doesn’t need to be reminded. He absolutely tanked on the last assessment they had been given.

“Do I need to remind you that if you have either two Poor’s in your classes or one Dreadful, you are not allowed to participate in the Quidditch games?” He continues.

Jimin may have needed reminding of that. The next match that Slytherin is playing is in two weeks from Friday, which is a mere two days from when this ridiculous partner project is due. And suddenly, Jimin realizes that if he doesn’t ace this project, he won’t be playing in the next match. Or any of the other next matches, because Muggle Studies may very well be the bane of his existence. Shit.

“No, Professor.” Jimin says through gritted teeth. He’s fucked. He’s already starting to resign himself to his fate of a Jimin-less Quidditch season for the Slytherin team and a Quidditch-less final year for himself.

“Good. I suggest you work well with your partner. She has the highest grade in this course, so you’d do well to learn a thing or two from her. Merlin knows you don’t pay attention to me.” The professor motions for Jimin to leave, dampening his already-sour mood.

That’s something new Jimin didn’t know about you. The highest grade in this course? How is that even possible? Jimin steps up to where you’re seated in the corner, staring down at the closed textbook in front of you like it’s just called you ugly.

“Hey,” Jimin says softly, fearing his usually-raucous nature may be a bit much. “Y/N, right?”

You nod silently, letting Jimin take the seat next to you.

“I’m Jimin,” he says, feeling obligated to introduce himself despite the fact that the two of you have been classmates for the past six and a half years now.

“I know,” you say, barely above a whisper, before your eyes widen, like you had just spoken incorrectly.

Jimin doesn’t know what to say to that. Of course you know who he is. Jimin has a name that gets around. He plays Quidditch, attends every party he can get to, and knows everyone on campus. This conversation stinks.

“I’m sorry you had to be paired up with me,” Jimin says, trying to break the ice, only it feels like he’s sawing through the tension with a plastic spoon. “I’m not very good at this class.”

You nod again, choosing to keep your mouth shut as a means of responding to him. Jimin can’t blame you. An awful lot of dumb shit comes out of his mouth. He should probably pick up a tip or two from you.

“What book were you thinking?” Jimin asks, hoping you have a substantive answer because Jimin’s got absolutely nothing. All he’s thinking about is the future (or lack thereof) of his Hogwarts Quidditch career if he can’t get an Outstanding, or at least an Exceeds Expectations, on this project, and the parchment you crumpled up into your bag. Curiouser and curiouser.

You mumble something unintelligible.

“What?” Jimin asks, leaning in closer. You seem to be alarmed by the sudden shrink in proximity, though you make no efforts to move away, instead hoping to curl deeper into your dandelion yellow robes.

“The Great Gatsby,” you say, a bit louder this time. Jimin can feel himself exhaling. He at least recognizes the title of that book, which is a win as far as he’s concerned.

“Sounds good,” Jimin says with a smile. It’s not as if he has anything better to suggest. “I’ll tell the professor we’ve chosen a book.”

You nod your agreement and Jimin stands up to head back over to the professor to inform him. On the way, he passes by some of his friends in the class, who all seem to be giving him pity looks for his partner. Jimin, for the life of him, cannot figure out why everyone finds you so strange. You seem perfectly fine and dandy to him, albeit a tad quiet. But Jimin’s not going to complain. You seem extremely capable.

“Professor!” He calls as he makes it back over to the desk.

The professor seems thrilled to see Jimin again. “Park.”

“We’ve chosen a book,” Jimin says excitedly.

“And that is?”

“The Great Gatsby.”

This makes the professor raise his eyebrows. He looks up from the paperwork he’s completing to meet Jimin’s eyes, something sort of like a knowing smirk plastered on his face. Jimin feels uneasy. “Really?”

Jimin nods.

“Well,” the professor says, “I will write you down for Gatsby.” He still has that knowing grin dancing along his cracked lips.

“Is there something else, Professor?” Jimin asks, unable to stop his intrigue from getting the better of him.

“No,” the professor says with a shake of his head. “Only, you may find that with The Great Gatsby, there is more to it than meets the eye.”

Jimin’s starting to regret ever asking.

“I’m serious, Jeon,” Jimin says as they toss around a Quaffle on the Quidditch field, brooms barely four meters above the green below. Even though Jungkook’s a seeker, neither of them have much intent to practice Quidditch for what it is. “I’m fucked.”

“What do you mean?” Jungkook responds, skeptical. Even as a measly fifth year, his coordination with the Quaffle is pretty damn impressive for a Seeker. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Your next match isn’t for another couple weeks. Meanwhile I’m gonna crush Gryffindor next week.” As he says this, he chucks the Quaffle towards a Gryffindor sixth-year that’s part of their intramural Quidditch group, catching the kid entirely off guard and causing him to swerve on his broom so the ball doesn’t break his nose. Jungkook giggles.

“I know, but I have a Dreadful right now,” Jimin sighs.

“In Muggle Studies?” Jungkook says, looking severely unimpressed. “Well, I suppose that’s what you get for being a pureblood.” Jungkook always teases Jimin about his blood status, as a half-blood himself, he sort of gets the best of both worlds. He’s always calling Jimin old-fashioned for not knowing what Muggle objects are. “I bet you don’t even know what a cell phone is.”

“Fuck you!” Jimin shouts, getting his hands on the Quaffle just in time to hurl it straight towards Jungkook’s face. With reflexes as good as they always are, Jungkook dodges easily. “I know what a cell phone is.”

Jungkook obviously doesn’t believe him. “So what are you gonna do to get your grade up before your game? Because if we win our game against Gryffindor, then we’ll be up against you next. And without the top Chaser, Slytherin’s fucked!” Jungkook starts cackling.

Jimin sighs, one hand holding onto the broom and another rubbing at his temples. “I don’t know,” he says, flying up to Jungkook so their conversation isn’t shouted across the Quidditch practice field. “We have this dumb partner presentation on Muggle literature due a couple days before the game, so if I can miraculously do well on it, I should be alright.”

“Sweet!” Jungkook says like it is a God-ordained miracle. “Who’s your partner?”

“Y/N.”

“Never heard of them!” Jungkook exclaims like it’s the happiest thing in the world. “Good at Muggle Studies?”

“Highest grade in the course,” Jimin says softly, only the slightest bit envious of you. All of his life’s worries and toils and troubles would instantly vanish if he had the highest grade in his Muggle Studies course.

Jungkook hoots and hollers. “Well, there you go! You’re guaranteed to play in the game in a couple weeks.” He gives Jimin a heavy pat on the back, one he feels deep down in his bones, and then gets the Quaffle tossed to him from another kid in their group. “So you better get practicing, Park!”

Jungkook chucks the Quaffle down the expanse of the Quidditch field and immediately Jimin dives after it, still wondering if he really is guaranteed a good score on his Muggle Studies presentation because of you.

The next time Jimin has Muggle Studies, his professor is having a decidedly good day, seeing as the whole class is allowed the entire duration of the forty-five minutes to themselves, time meant to work on the project.

For Jimin, this would normally result in forty-five minutes of doing anything but the project, much to the dismay of the professor (and Jimin wonders why he hates him so much), fooling around and being a shit student, as one does. But today, as his legs carry him towards the empty seat in the corner next to you, Jimin finds that his superego seems to win out.

“Hey,” he says. He isn’t sure if it’s his voice or the book he plops down on the wooden desk that makes you jump in surprise. “Ready to get started?”

You nod wordlessly, pulling out the battered copy of The Great Gatsby you keep with you. It dawns on Jimin that perhaps he should have gotten his hands on his own copy before arriving to class. He makes a mental note to drop by the library after class.

“You must like this book, huh?” Jimin asks, attempting to stir up some conversation. He’s always been quite the talker and you, evidently not.

Again you nod as you pull out a quill and some parchment from your bag. As you do, some extra parchment caught on the clean sheet comes with it, making your eyes widen as you quickly stuff the offending piece back into your bag, hoping no one’s caught you. Peculiar.

“Well, I gotta be honest with you,” Jimin says as he leans back in his seat, trying his very best to resume his “cool kid” persona so he stops making an absolute fool of himself in front of you. “I haven’t really… read the book yet. Or pay much attention in this class, so I suppose I need to work on that,” he adds on a self-deprecating chuckle for good measure.

It’s unclear if you’re picking up the vibe that Jimin is putting down. Or anything Jimin is putting down, for that matter. “That’s okay,” you tell him. “I can do most of the work, if you’d like.”

Normally, an offer like this would have Jimin jumping to his feet to accept, seeing it as his way out of doing anything of substance without having to sacrifice a grade for it. Jimin’s always been kind of a terrible partner to have for a project, but he puts in some effort where it counts. Sometimes. But now, as Jimin sits in Muggle Studies with a professor that glances up specifically at him every now and then, Jimin doesn’t see slacking off as an option. Especially when the fate of his Quidditch season lies in this project. If he doesn’t contribute, the professor will know. And thus will happen the brutal end to Jimin’s Hogwarts Quidditch career.

“No, I couldn’t let you do that,” Jimin immediately refuses your offer, thinking of the greater good. “It seems like an awful lot of work. Plus, you’re probably extra busy with stuff yourself.”

“No, not really,” you respond with a shrug. No additional comments.

“What do you mean?” Jimin says with a small nudge to your elbow. “Everyone’s busy with stuff. Don’t you draw?”

“Well, I—”

“I don’t know very much about art, but I imagine that takes a lot of time,” Jimin says, grinning to himself. He’s won this battle. “So I will help you with the work because we are both equally as busy. No buts.”

You open your mouth to say something, but immediately close it, like the thought’s vanished from your mind. Or maybe, you’ve forced it away.

“I know I was probably your last choice for a partner in this class,” Jimin says with a sigh, “but I promise I’ll actually help you with this project. I need to actually start paying attention and learning in this class, and there’s no better time to start than now. Plus, you’re way better than that old geezer up there. So I promise I’ll do my share. This is a partner project, after all.”

“I don’t know, I feel like in order to help me do this project, you’d actually have to read the book first,” you say with the slightest hint of a giggle, the faintest outline of a smile gracing your lips. It’s the first time Jimin’s ever seen you smile. He decides then and there that he wouldn’t mind seeing it more often.

“Wow, okay, attacking me from the start, alright,” Jimin says dramatically, hands up in surrender. “Fine, I see how it is. Guess I’ll have to pick up the slack and start reading.”

Another small giggle. “There’s a Muggle section in the library that should have Gatsby in there. It’s a short book, so you should be able to get through it relatively quickly. Emphasis on should.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to head to the library after class, then,” Jimin says. “Come with?”

“Oh, no, I don’t need to, though,” you say, holding up your own battered copy, worn at the edges, clearly read multiple times. Jimin’s thankful that you’ve selected a book you’re enthusiastic about—it would be an awful long two weeks if the two of you spent it slaving over a novel that not even one of you enjoyed.

“Aw, come on? What else would you be doing?” Jimin asks. He won’t push the topic if it makes you uncomfortable, but that one student did mention how you have a habit of disappearing post-class.

“I have places to be,” you mutter, clearly not wanting to go too in-depth on the matter.

“To do what?” Jimin asks, pressing just a little harder. He’ll cease if it gets to be too much, but it’s obvious that you’re having fun avoiding his questions.

Head facing the book resting on the desk in front of you, you say, “Things that don’t concern you, Park.”

The clocktower chimes, signalling the end of the class, and, just like clockwork, you’re out of your seat in an instant, disappearing down the hallway like you were never there in the first place.

Jimin drops by the library after class, Muggle Studies being his last course of the day before he resigns himself to his room to an evening of homework and chicken legs. Madame Pince helps him find The Great Gatsby in the little corner of the library that has all of the Muggle, non-magical books. She seems quite surprised that someone like Jimin would have any interest in Muggle literature.

After he finishes his supper, one of his friends, Joshua, drops by their shared dormitory to ask if Jimin’s up for a game of Gobstones.

“No thanks, Josh, I’m busy tonight,” Jimin says with a smile, holding up the copy of The Great Gatsby he’s borrowed from the library. Jimin’s only a couple of chapters in, but he finds the book quite enjoyable.

“Reading?” Joshua says in disbelief. “Is that even you, Park? You don’t read.”

“I’ve got a Muggle Studies project due,” Jimin says.

“Oh, Cheol told me about that,” Joshua responds, like Jimin mentioning his project is just a reminder to him. “You’re paired up with Y/L/N, right? She’s strange, I heard. Smart, but strange.”

“I mean, she isn’t really that weir—”

“I can’t believe she’s got you actually reading! I don’t think I’ve seen you open a book since third year,” Joshua says with a chortle. “I’m impressed, I have to say. What’s with the sudden increase in productivity? Are you actually trying to impress her, or something?”

“Just trying to do my share of the work,” Jimin says with a grimace, wanting nothing more than for Joshua to just go away so he can read in peace.

“Ha! You’re doing work, too?” Joshua says, like he can’t believe his ears. “Damn, she’s got you in deep. Bet you’re just trying to woo her so you get a good grade before the Quidditch match next Friday.” Jimin opens his mouth to defend himself, but Joshua keeps going. “Well, we’re playing Gobstones in the common room if you wanna come join after you’re finished reading, or whatever. Enjoy your book, Park!”

With that, Joshua marches off, heavy footsteps on the cement of the Slytherin common room. Jimin leans back against his bed frame, wondering if a good grade is really all there is to it.

“I read the book,” Jimin says in lieu of a greeting as he takes his seat next to you. You’re much less surprised to see him there today than you have been on days past. “It was good. I liked it.”

“I thought you would,” you muse to yourself. There’s a black notebook in the top right corner of your desk, no writing or any other sort of label identifying it. Just a leather bound book with a piece of hard ribbon wrapped around it, like its contents are secret.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jimin asks, smile dancing along his face. He even went as far as to take a few notes on the story, though he bets that they pale in comparison to the knowledge you hold of the novel.

“Oh, nothing,” you say softly, playing coy.

“Hey, come on! You’re definitely insulting me right now except I’m too stupid to realize it,” Jimin pouts, beginning to think that maybe he didn’t look at Gatsby close enough and there’s some subliminal message to the story that went right over his head.

“I’m not,” you insist, “I just had a feeling you’d enjoy it.”

Jimin’s skeptical, but he drops the topic. “Well, you were right, I did. I finished it last night.”

“You read the whole thing in a day? What happened to Master Slacker Park Jimin, hmm?” You ask, curious. Your fingers are fiddling with the ribbon wrapped around the notebook on your desk, untying the bow and tying it back up again.

“He’s still here, I promise,” Jimin says with a wink, making you roll your eyes slightly as you turn away from him, not wanting to be subjected to his sleaziness any longer.

“What did you like most about it?”

“The book?” Jimin ponders an answer. He did actually enjoy reading it—something he hasn’t experienced in quite a while. He can’t remember the last time he actually read a book for class. It must have been years. “I don’t know, I just… it was very well written. And Gatsby’s character was so intriguing. A man who has everything willing to give all of it up for the girl he loves. Including his time.”

“Mmm,” you hum. “The thing about love,” you muse, more to yourself than to Jimin, though he listens in anyway. He always wants to hear what you have to say. For someone of so few words, you’re very careful how and when you use them. “Is that it makes people feel like they’ve lost control.”

“Presentations due in a week! I trust that you are all making good, steady progress and that you have been working diligently these past few days,” the professor eyeballs Jimin again, and he sinks down into his seat, almost like he’s trying to melt into it. “Remember that next week I will not be giving any time in class to work on this, so you will need to find time on your own to complete them.”

The clocktower rings.

“Class dismissed!”

Everyone immediately begins to herd out of the room, but Jimin realizes that you and him have only spent class time working on your presentation and it’s only about halfway finished. You’ll need to meet outside of class, during your free periods or extra time.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jimin says as you’re gathering your belongings, placing your textbooks and quills back in your back, black, leather bound notebook still held tightly between your fingers. “When do you have time to meet outside of class to finish this?”

“Uh… I’m free most of the time,” you say as you head towards the door, Jimin following suit.

“Okay, I have Quidditch practice every Monday and Wednesday from three to six and Tuesdays from six to nine. This weekend should be free for me, except I’m going to Hogsmeade on Sunday afternoon,” he tells you, walking alongside you. Jimin doesn’t know where you go after Muggle Studies, only knows that you disappear down the hallway and no one can ever seem to keep track of you. He’s curious—eager to find out where you flutter off to when no one else is looking.

“Alright, well. Whenever works for you,” you say, speeding ahead.

“Hey, why are you in such a rush?” Jimin asks, catching up to you easily, limbs nimble from riding around on brooms in a competitive sport constantly. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” you mutter to yourself, Jimin hot on your trail. He’s not trying to chase you down or anything, but you’re walking against the current of students headed down the hallway, taking odd little staircases here and there as Jimin tries to keep up with you.

“You’re clearly headed somewhere,” Jimin says with a scoff. “We still need to discuss when we can work together for our project, Y/N.”

“I know, I know,” you say. “We can figure it out. Whenever you’re free.”

“Hey, Y/N?” Jimin says, finally catching his breath as the two of you wait on a moving staircase, slowly rotating you around the inside of the castle. “You know that you don’t have to hide from me, alright?”

“I—”

“If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave, I promise,” Jimin says. “But if you do, then… please. Don’t run away from me,” he pleads. He feels a little strange, standing here on a moving staircase in Hogwarts, asking you to open up your private life to him after hardly a week of constant contact. It feels personal. It feels like an invasion of privacy.

You seem to be waiting on yourself for an answer, like there are words on the tip of your tongue but you don’t know if you should open your mouth. Jimin’s definitely overstepped every boundary currently within a five-mile radius, asked something of you that is going to make the next week painfully awkward before the two of you go back to not speaking.

“Okay,” you murmur, so quiet that Jimin can hardly hear you, isn’t even sure if you’ve said anything at all.

When you reach the top of the staircase, you and Jimin find yourselves face to face with a thick wooden door, one Jimin doesn’t think he’s ever seen. Granted, he’s not necessarily a big explorer of the castle, so there are definitely places he’s never come across, but this door has been right under his nose the entire time, totally overlooked, even after seven years.

Jimin begins to worry that whatever you’re about to show him may not necessarily follow school rules, but he pushes the thought to the back of his mind as you open the door.

It’s the owlery.

Well, it’s not the owlery that Jimin’s familiar with. Jimin’s been into the owlery before, but this isn’t what he remembers. It’s higher, less crowded, cozier. Gets more light from the windows at the top, bright blue sky slowly fading to night as time passes. Jimin also doesn’t recognize any of the owls, can’t find his own in the crowd.

“What is this place?” Jimin asks, in awe. You place your bag down on a pile of cushions in a corner before making your rounds, saying hello to all of the different owls, poking your fingers through the wire of the cages.

“It’s the school’s owlery,” you explain to Jimin, pointer finger rubbing against the beak of a barn owl. “The school’s owls don’t get as much love or use as the students’, so I… I guess I pick up the slack.”

“I didn’t even know this place existed,” Jimin says, peering into a cage to say hello. The owl sniffs his finger before determining Jimin as a non-threatening being, accepting pets.

“Most people don’t,” you say softly,

“It’s incredible,” Jimin admits. He had no idea the school had its own owls, but he supposes that makes sense. How else is the school supposed to receive news and other business? Through the students’ owls? Magic stretches far and wide, and oftentimes it’s rather inconvenient for every minister and magical official to make the trek to Scotland. Jimin has to admit he never gave much thought to the school’s postal system. He had always received his mail from his own owl, Beanpole, without much concern. Fascinating. “How long have you been coming up here?”

“Ever since I found out about it,” you admit, settling down in the cushions as you fish around in your bag for something. You pull out your leather bound notebook, a strange little writing device in your hand that Jimin believes is known as a pen in the Muggle world. “Since fourth year.”

“Unbelievable,” Jimin says, still shellshocked. He’s afraid that sitting down next to you on the cushions may be too much of an invasion, seeing as he’s just been shown one of the most private parts of you, so he stays standing, feet wandering as he visits each cage. “It’s absolutely breathtaking.”

From up here, where Jimin looks out of the window, he swears he can make out the whole lake by Hogwarts. Can visualize the boats on the lake, taking the scared first-years to the Great Hall to be sorted under the lanterns’ light. He’s hardly ever up this high, just for Astronomy, since the Slytherin common room is in the dungeons. And even so, he almost never gets to look out of the window, at the earth below. It’s like he’s flying.

“You come up here every day?” Jimin asks. It’s no wonder that this is where you’re always disappearing off to. It’s peaceful, homey, cozy. All things that Jimin has definitely ruined by barging into your life.

“I try to,” you say sheepishly, pen scratching against the parchment of your notebook as you pull your knees up to your chest.

Jimin makes his way over to you, footsteps careful so as not to scare you off. “I’m sorry if I’ve invaded something of yours,” he feels the apology is long overdue. “If you want me to leave, I totally will. Just say the word.”

“No, it’s alright,” you say. Hesitantly, you tuck away your little notebook, clicking at your pen so that the ink tip disappears into the contraption. Jimin thinks that you’re ready to leave, finished with the owlery now that he’s here, but instead you simply shift over slightly, motioning to the empty cushion on the floor next to you, like an invitation.

Jimin walks over trepidatiously, like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to sit down so close to you, press into your personal bubble like it’s nobody’s business. But you make no attempts to move away, not seeming to mind in the slightest that Jimin’s there with you. Jimin sits down beside you, instantly relaxing from the comfort of the cushions amongst the both of you, falling into a peculiar but pleasant silence.

He turns his head to look at you slightly, but you’re not looking back at him. You seem to have lost yourself in thought, staring off towards the sky, aimlessly. From here, Jimin can see the way the light reflects in your eyes, making them appear like skies in and of themselves. Twinkling. Jimin reaches the conclusion that he likes it here, in the owlery, but he likes being here with you just a little more.

“You know,” you say softly, almost inaudible, “it’s kind of nice not to be here alone.”

“You don’t mind?” Jimin asks. He could have sworn you’d kick him out of here by now.

You shake your head slightly, “No, I—I enjoy your company.”

“We could always work on our project up here,” Jimin suggests. “No one else to bother us. It’s quiet here, too. Good place to study. No wonder you get such good grades. This place is your secret weapon.”

“Well, it can be yours, too,” you tell him.

“If you’ll have me,” Jimin jokes back. You sound completely serious, but he wants to make sure that he isn’t disrupting anything by being here.

You nod. “It’s—it’s nice being up here… with you.”

It sounds a little like an opened door, welcoming him in. Feels a little more like an invitation. And as you and Jimin sit up here, far above the noise of the rest of the Hogwarts student body, the comfortable silence surrounding the both of you, Jimin realizes that, even if only just for a moment, you bring a calmness to his hectic, rowdy life. One that Jimin never realized he needed.

“But one thing I don’t understand is why Gatsby would sacrifice so much of himself for Daisy,” Jimin says, biting on the edge of his quill as he ponders the notes in front of him. The presentation is pretty straightforward in terms of content, just the historical context to the story, the basic plot, major themes and characters, all of the usual book report requirements. But despite this, Jimin can’t help but wonder aloud why Gatsby’s done what he’s done. “Especially when Nick was standing there the whole time, trying to talk him out of it.”

“Well, Gatsby was so hung up on Daisy’s presence in his life before she left that he was determined to get back that time again. Even if it did cost him his life,” you say, staring down at the pieces of parchment all spread around around you, a sea of almond and beige against the hardwood of the owlery.

One of the younger owls you had let out of its cage—not a baby but not a disgruntled adult—pecks away at Jimin’s belongings. Jimin sifts through his bag until he pulls out an old granola bar, unwrapping the snack and feeding bits of it to the owl.

“But why? He must have known it never would have happened, with Tom and everything.”

“That’s the thing,” you say, plucking one of the sheets off of the ground. It’s the one Jimin and you had written down research of the decade at the time. Admittedly, it was mostly you, since Jimin doesn’t know the first thing about American history. Or any Muggle history, for that matter. “Fitzgerald wanted to emphasize the darker parts of the Roaring 20’s through Gatsby. He used Gatsby as a lens into the newly rich. Naive and clueless. Blinded by their wealth, and their passion.”

“That’s so… sad,” Jimin huffs. “I mean, Gatsby’s sad as it is, but knowing the context just makes it… sadder.”

You hum, a soft chuckle leaving your lips. Like there’s something uncanny to it, to this whole thing. “Well, people with power and popularity think that nothing they do is wrong.”

Before the clocktower chimes to signal the end of class, Jimin turns to you. You’re slowly putting away your belongings, humming a soft tune to yourself.

“Hey, I have Quidditch from three to six today, so I won’t be able to meet you until later,” he tells you.

You nod in understanding. “That’s fine,” you say. “I mean, I’ll be up there anyway, so you can just meet me there when you’re finished practice. Bring food.”

Jimin chuckles. “You ever seen a Quidditch practice before?”

You shake your head. “It’s not really my kind of thing. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not big on sports.”

“You can come to mine,” Jimin immediately invites. It is, admittedly, not as private as your owlery, but it feels right to return the favor, however he can. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” you say, tentative.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Jimin immediately backtracks. “But it would be nice to have you there. You can see me look super cool as I fly around on a broom and toss balls at my teammates.”

“You don’t need to be on a broom to look cool,” you say, rolling your eyes. It’s a welcome ego boost for Jimin.

“Plus, afterwards we can just go straight to the owlery together,” Jimin suggests, seeing the practicality in it. In all actuality, he just sort of wants you there, but any sort of logical reason as your being there will help. “After dropping by the Great Hall to get dinner, of course.”

You giggle to yourself, nodding. “As long as you’re okay with it. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“No, I don’t mind at all. I—I wouldn’t really mind having you there, you know,” he says, a little more shy. He swears, he can feel the faintest hint of warmth rush to his cheeks, and can only hope that the green in his robes counteracts the red in his skin.

With another nod, Jimin leads you the opposite direction of the owlery, taking you down to the field where the Slytherin team practices. You stick out like a sore thumb, golden Hufflepuff robes against not only the green in their uniforms but the green of the grass, as well. It’s clear you’re out of place, a little awkward and a little shy, but Jimin does his best to keep you comforted, telling you sit at an empty bench in the shade of a large oak tree as the rest of the team filters in. He promises that they won’t bother you, adding in a couple of glares to his mates as they walk past him. He trusts that any tormenting concerning the situation will be directed at him rather than you.

“Keep an eye out for me, yeah?” He tells you as he begins walking towards the back locker room, where his broom and practice robes are. “I promise I’m good.”

As Jimin comes back out of the locker room, sweaty, old practice robes draped over his body and Firebolt in his hands, one of his teammates punches him in the shoulder as they head towards the field.

“A girl, Park? Seriously?” He asks, motioning towards you. Jimin shoves off his teammate.

“So? What’s the big deal?”

“So? You don’t bring girls to Quidditch practice. You don’t bring girls anywhere, in fact. Park, when was the last time you seriously cared for relationships?”

“This is different,” Jimin insists. “We’re just working on a project together.”

“Sure,” his teammate says, not sounding very sure at all.

By the time they’re all on brooms, chucking around Quaffles and Bludgers, Jimin’s been given more than enough grief from his teammates about your presence there. He’s decently high up, so he can only hope you don’t hear his annoying teammates very obviously talking about you like you aren’t even there.

“Her again?” Joshua asks as he flies up to her, Bludger bat resting snugly in his hands. Joshua’s always been kind of aggressive, very forward. Beater was naturally the best Quidditch position for him. “You’re in deep, Park. Never thought you’d go this far just for a grade.”

Jimin opens his mouth to say something, tell Joshua he’s an asshole and that there’s more to this than just a grade, more to you than just your intelligence, but the Beater is already flying off, ready to practice his aim with the other Beater on the team.

Other than your appearance, practice is relatively boring. Every now and then, Jimin will look back down at you, check to see if you’ve abandoned him or not, and find you in the exact same position as before, resting on the wooden bench under the large oak tree with your notebook and pen in hand. He wonders what you’re doing. He always wonders what you’re doing.

Practice ends with the traditional Slytherin chant, a good luck charm for Friday. That is, if Jimin can get his Dreadful in Muggle Studies back up to something passing. If he can’t, Slytherin’s done for. Everyone bids everyone else a good night as they’re flying back down to the ground, heading towards the locker room to get changed and go do the rest of their nightly responsibilities.

“Hey,” Jimin says as he strolls up to you, broom in hand and sweat dripping down his forehead. He seems to catch you off guard, if the way you quickly tear a page out of your notebook like you’ve been caught doing something red-handed is anything to go by. “All done. Did you see me up there?”

You nod. “I have to say, you weren’t really as cool as you said you’d be.”

Jimin gasps, mock offended. “Lies! Blasphemy! I am very cool,” he says with a pout. “You try looking cool on a broom. It’s harder than it looks.”

“I have to admit I’ve never flown a broom before,” you concede.

“Wait, seriously?” Jimin says, pausing. “Never?”

You shake your head with a smile, like it’s something to be proud of. Jimin can hear his teammates filing out for the night, sending obnoxious wolf whistles his way as the two of you chat. Sometimes, Jimin really hates his friends. “I always skipped flying class. I hated it.”

“Well, that’s going to change,” Jimin decides then and there. “Come on, up.”

“Up? For what?” You ask, staying seated.

“I’m gonna teach you how to fly a broom.”

“Oh gods, no. I’d be awful at it,” you say, furiously shaking your head.

“No one’s awful at broom-flying,” Jimin promises. “Come on, please? I’ll teach you. I’m a great teacher, I promise.” He holds out his hand, motioning for you to take it.

You look from Jimin’s eyes, to the Firebolt in his hand, to the other one outstretched in front of you, like you’re not sure which one to trust most. A small smile graces Jimin’s lips, a promise etched on them. You take his hand.

“Okay,” Jimin says, standing in the middle of the field. It’s beginning to get dark now, the only lamps on the field the lights from the torches placed along the outside walls of the castle. It makes everything look a little warmer, makes you look like you’re glowing. “So you’re going to mount the broom, one leg on one side and one on the other—”

“This is extremely uncomfortable,” you deadpan.

“You get used to it, I promise,” Jimin says. “And then your hands just go on the front of the broom to balance yourself.”

Slowly, you lean forward on the broom, hands gripped tightly on the wood. It’s obvious you feel as though you’re about to topple over, but Jimin wouldn’t let that happen to you. Not in a million years.

“Here, like this,” Jimin says with a chuckle, reaching over to hold onto your hands, showing you the proper way to grip a broom. Your palms are sweaty from nervousness, and Jimin tries not to pay too much attention to the way he feels his heart jump a few beats at the touch. You let Jimin adjust you as he pleases until he’s satisfied with your form. “Okay. Kick off.”

“Oh, Jimin, I don’t know,” you say, the nerves coming up all at once.

“You can do it, Y/N,” Jimin says softly. “I believe in you. I’ll catch you if you fall. I promise. I’m right here.”

With a little more encouragement, you slowly push off the ground. The Firebolt Jimin has is certainly a more professional broom, but that doesn’t make it any more difficult to use, even for a beginner such as yourself. Its turns are smoother and tighter, aerodynamic enough to gain speed steadily but still quickly.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” you say, shouting, “Jimin, I’m doing it! This is—holy shit!”

“I knew you could!” Jimin calls back. You are by no means up very high, staying low to the ground in case you do end up falling off, but you complete a couple of loops around the practice field before touching back down on the ground, momentum sending you flying forward regardless. You topple off Jimin’s broom, doing a couple of rolls on the grass, coming to a halt a few meters away from where you abandoned his Firebolt.

Jimin rushes over to make sure you’re okay, only to find you laughing to yourself.

“See, I knew you could fly,” Jimin says with a grin, pulling you back up to your feet.

“That was actually kind of fun,” you admit, conceding defeat. Somehow, Jimin had a feeling you wouldn’t really be awful at flying the broom. You’re not awful at anything. You could never be.

“But the real question is, can you look as cool as me while flying?” Jimin jokes.

“I don’t know,” you say sarcastically. “I think I might have to learn a few more things from you.”

“Damn right,” Jimin says confidently, appreciating the subtle praise coming from your lips. “I’m the coolest Quidditch player around. Other Quidditch players cower in my presence.”

With a laugh, you say, “I’m sure they do. I really liked doing that, Jimin. It was very… exhilarating.”

Suddenly, Jimin gets an idea. “Would you like to try something?”

“What?”

“You’ll see,” he says suavely, smirk plastered on his face. He quickly runs over to grab his broom, settling himself on top of it, closer to the front of it than he normally sits. “Come on, hop on!”

“Are brooms meant for two people?” You ask, concerned. You’re starting to see where he’s going with this.

“It’ll be fine, I promise. Come on, Y/N. Please?” With hesitant steps, you make your way over to him, setting on the broom behind his body. “Wrap your arms around me. It’s alright, I promise I won’t let you fall. You’ll be alright.”

The moment Jimin feels your fingers resting securely on his stomach, arms wrapped around his torso, he takes off. You gasp, surprised by the sensation, but Jimin’s always been a decent flyer and the added weight is hardly a barrier for him. Six years of Quidditch playing under his belt alongside broomstick training since he was little makes for a pretty smooth ride.

“Oh my gods, Jimin, we’re so high,” you say, making the mistake of looking down. You must be at least ten meters above the castle walls now.

“Look up, Y/N,” Jimin instructs, flying around in circles once he’s reached a pleasant altitude. You follow his order, gasping softly when you do. It’s nighttime now, only the field’s edges illuminated by the warm yellow light of the torches, but darkness means a night sky above you, and more importantly, the celestial bodies within it.

“Oh Gods, it’s beautiful,” you say, and Jimin only wishes he could turn his head to see the look on your face, but your safety is decidedly more important. “I never—I never realized you could see them so close.”

“I thought you might like it.” Jimin grins to himself.

“Like it? I love it,” you exclaim. He feels one of your hands leave his waist, imagines that you’re reaching out above you, almost as if you can touch the stars with your fingertips. And as the two of you fly around on Jimin’s broom without another care in the world, your body pressed closely against his, warmth radiating through his robes, he knows for certain, then, that if you wanted to touch the stars, all you had to do was ask.

“Still, after all of that, he surely loved her. He must have,” Jimin presses, perhaps more for himself than for the purposes of the project.

“I don’t know, Jimin,” you hum to yourself. “I don’t really think he knew the full weight of his actions. It could have been misplaced.”

“But isn’t that the whole point of the story?” Jimin asks, looking at you. You’re hesitant to meet his gaze, but hold eye contact regardless, eyes flickering every now and then. “That even if Gatsby didn’t know what would happen to him, didn’t realize how ridiculous and ignorant he was being, he still found affection for her. Fitzgerald created a love story so sad that it uncovered the darkest secrets of the era.”

You look skeptical. “But could that have been true love? Was it real?”

Jimin scoffs. “Of course it was real. It was impossible for him not to fall in love with her.”

“Park, you coming tonight?” Seungcheol pops his head into Jimin’s dorm as Jimin’s putting away the last of his schoolwork, deciding that fuck it, he’s not gonna learn anything else about The Great Gatsby before his presentation with you tomorrow and that he might as well just enjoy himself tonight. Admittedly, a rager on a Tuesday isn’t the most appropriate timing for a party, but it’s Hogwarts, and there are no rules. Especially not in the Slytherin dungeons. Besides, even if they do get caught by administration, only the kids who organized the party will get in trouble for it. Jimin doesn’t arrange festivities—he just gets invited to them.

“Of course, who do you think I am?” Jimin says with a scoff. He shrugs off his large, drapey robes, laying it down on his bedsheets so only his dress shirt, tie, and slacks remain.

“Good,” Seungcheol says. “It’s not a party without you, Park!”

Jimin laughs. “I just gotta run and do something really quick, but I’ll be back in a flash. Save me some Felix Felicis!”

“Will do, Chief!” Seungcheol calls as he leaves Jimin to his own devices.

Jimin had mentioned the party his housemates were throwing tonight to you in passing, but neither of you had placed much emphasis on it over the past few days. But with the presentation less than twenty-four hours away, Jimin’s getting a bit antsy, desperate to let loose for a little, and he’d love to bring you with him. Perhaps work up enough courage to tell you how he feels about you.

He finds you sitting in the owlery, which may possibly be the furthest place from the Slytherin dungeons you could find. You’re playing with a couple of owls, some treats in your hand as you teach them tricks.

“Hey,” you say, not even looking up as you hear the door creak open. “What’s up?”

“There’s a party tonight in the Slytherin common room,” Jimin says in lieu of a hello. He’s really just trying to get straight to the point.

“Is that why you look all university casual?” You ask, looking up at him. Without his robe on, Jimin certainly looks much less dressy than he normally does.

“Maybe,” he says.

“So? Why are you telling me that Slytherin house is having a rager?”

“Because I want you to come,” Jimin says with a smile, a charming, mildly-sleazy one he hopes will get you off of the floor. “Please?”

“A party? That sounds like the very opposite of my ideal environment,” you say with your eyes wide. “What makes you think I’d want to go?”

“Well…” Jimin says, faltering. You’re right. From the short time in which Jimin’s gotten to know you, parties aren’t necessarily your cup of tea. In fact, they aren’t tea at all. They’re coffee. You’re a tea-drinker and parties are essentially coffee to you. Is he really that confident that he can convince you to come? “I’ll be there.”

“You’re that confident in yourself, huh?” You muse, smiling as you shake your head. “Think I’m gonna abandon my current evening plans just to hang out with you in a dingy dungeon filled with other Slytherins?”

“Yes?” Jimin feels less and less sure of himself as this conversation continues. He definitely went about this the wrong way.

“I’d be the only Puff there,” you mumble.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Jimin quickly responds. “All the houses are allowed to attend. Granted, it’ll be majority Slytherin, but there will be some other Puffs there. I promise.”

“You really want me at one of your parties, huh?” You ask, standing up. In the glow of the evening light, as the sun sets outside, far below the view from the owlery, you shimmer.

“Of course I do,” Jimin says like it’s hardly a question, because it’s not. The fact of the matter is: Jimin wants you beside him. “Just for a little, I swear. If you don’t like it we can leave and come back up here. I’ll sneak us some Felix Felicis. It’ll be a fun night no matter what.”

“If you say so,” you say with a sigh, pulling off your robes so all that’s left is your own dress shirt, tie, and skirt. Jimin doesn’t think you needed to take your robes off just for the occasion, but you look beautiful nonetheless. “Well? What are you waiting for? The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.”

The party is already in full swing by the time you and Jimin arrive at the door to the Slytherin common room. Someone’s cast a spell to muffle the noise from outsiders, so as to prevent this thing getting shut down instantly, though the parties almost always end before midnight anyway. The record player in the back has been enchanted to play music louder, though it can hardly be heard over the chatter and laughter in the room.

“Hey, Park!” People call as Jimin walks through the crowd, you close to his side. You’re holding onto his arm like it’s a lifeline, like losing him means imminent doom. Jimin waves to everyone he knows and even a few people he doesn’t, all of whom give you courteous nods of acknowledgement that you’re hesitant to return.

“See, it’s not so bad,” Jimin whispers in your ear as Seungcheol comes up to him with two glasses of Felix Felicis.

“Hey, Park! Is this where you ran off to?” He asks, motioning to you.

“Yeah,” Jimin says. “Y/N, this is Seungcheol. Seungcheol, Y/N.”

You send the smallest smile possible, one Seungcheol returns tenfold. “Nice to meet you. Here, I grabbed the both of you some Felix Felicis. Someone magicked them, so it tastes like fruit punch. Highly recommend!” Seungcheol bounces off, leaving you and Jimin each with cups of sparkling gold liquid in your hands.

“Bottoms up, right?” Jimin asks with a smile and a shrug.

You go along with him, clinking your glasses before downing the liquid. Jimin feels it rush through himself, lighting up his bloodstream. Real Felix Felicis is awfully difficult to brew, and much too valuable to be wasted on a shitty Hogwarts party, so this is a much more muted, cocktail-ed version of the potion, but Jimin swears the effects are all the same.

“Feeling any different?” Jimin asks after a little while. You’ve resigned yourselves to a couch in the corner of the room, away from the crowded center of the party, where the rest of Jimin’s friends are, in an effort by Jimin to make you as comfortable as possible. Not that he minds not being the center of attention—in fact, he quite enjoys just living in his own little bubble alongside you.

“A little,” you respond, leaning against him. Jimin pretends that his heart beats all the same, even if you’re pressed up against him. “You?”

“I’m feeling… lucky,” Jimin muses to himself, turning to you. You blink up, gaze meeting his own. Jimin feels like he could get lost in the sea of your irises, but maybe that’s just the drink.

“Is that so?” You ask, hazy grin plastered on your face.

“I think so,” Jimin says, leaning in. “I think the effects of the Felix Felicis are still there, even if it’s not the real potion.”

“Are you sure about that?” You ask, your lips slowly closing in on his own. He can feel each breath that leaves your mouth as you speak to him, feels the warm air hit his skin.

“Mind if I test my theory?” He says with a muted smile, closing his eyes.

You nod. “Go right ahead.”

Jimin leans in just a little further, eager to press his lips to your own, when, out of nowhere—

“Park!”

The two of you pull apart immediately, jerking away from each other like you’ve suddenly developed phobias of each other. Jimin turns his head to see Joshua strolling up to him. He’s already dreading this conversation.

“You never introduced me,” Joshua says, a little loopy. He’s definitely had too much to drink tonight.

Jimin sighs. “Josh, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Josh,” he deadpans.

“Nice to meet you,” Joshua says with a bow, nearly toppling over as he does. “Jimin talks about you all the time.”

Jimin’s eyes widen.

“He does?” You ask, confused. You turn to Jimin, who’s already fearful of the direction this conversation is heading.

“Yeah,” Joshua says. “Says he’s real thankful that you’re helping him out with that Muggle Studies project of yours. He wouldn’t get to play in the Quidditch game on Friday if it weren’t for all the work you’ve put into the project to boost his grade.” Jimin can see the liquid luck in his body evaporating. “He really appreciates it all. Gotten all close to you just so he can see if he can muster up a good grade. ‘M thankful to you, too. We need our Chaser.” Jimin turns to you to find a horrified look on your face, brows slowly furrowing in anger. “Well, have a nice night.”

Joshua saunters off, leaving Jimin burning in the ashes as you turn to him.

“Is that it?” You ask, angry, voice certain. He thinks he can see your eyes watering. “Is that all you wanted from me? A good grade? So you could play in your fucking Quidditch game?”

“Y/N, no, that’s not it—”

“Really? Because that’s what it looks like to me. I trusted you, you know? I thought you trusted me, as well.”

“I do, Y/N, wait—”

You get up, clearly fuming, sniffing to hold back your tears. “You know I’ve had a crush on you since third year? Third year! And I was going to tell you after the project was over but I guess I don’t have to anymore.” You fumble in your pockets, searching for something, when you pull out a folded up piece of parchment. Jimin recognizes it as the one from your notebook, serrated at one of the edges. You toss it at him, letting it land at the floor at his feet. “Here. A parting gift.”

“Y/N, wait!” Jimin calls, stumbling after you, but you’re already out of the door in a flash, yellow tie disappearing down the hall before Jimin can run after you. When you’re gone, Jimin’s left standing speechless, like the whole world around him is turning and yet he’s frozen in place. The noise filters in one ear and right out of the other, the party going over his head as he stands there, foolishly hoping that you’ll return.

He walks over to the folded up piece of parchment, leaning down to pick it off the ground. Opening it up, he finds, drawn on it, a portrait of himself, done partly in quill ink and partly in pen ink. It’s of him smiling, his mouth open wide and his eyes crinkled up into crescents, wrinkled at the edges. At the bottom, a note:

Jimin,

You will always be my muse.

Y/N.

Jimin doesn’t realize he’s crying until he sees an angry splotch in the corner, seeping into the parchment and causing a bit of ink to bleed.

Overcome with emotion, Jimin storms over to where Joshua is, lounging on a windowsill with another cup of Felix Felicis in his hands. “Fuck you,” he bites, making Joshua jump back in shock.

“What’s gotten into you, Park?” He asks, frowning.

“Nothing,” Jimin spits. “You’re just a fucking asshole, you know that? You’re a dick.”

“What did I do?” Joshua asks, and Jimin can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Maybe he’s not. Maybe Joshua really did think Jimin was just trying to use you to get a good grade, but that doesn’t make him any less of a giant fucking tool. Regardless, Jimin doesn’t stay around long enough to give a response, storming up to his room and collapsing on his bed, the portrait fluttering to the ground beside him.

If Park Jimin was dreading have to give a Muggle Studies presentation the day he was assigned it, it pales in comparison to how much he truly does not want to give it the day of. You haven’t spoken a word to him since the party last night, barely even acknowledging him as he takes his seat next to you, in preparation for your project. Jimin feels like he’s lost all control of himself, his hair a disaster, face puffy and swollen, friend group a disaster and his crush refusing to speak to him. Not to mention, if he fucks up on this presentation he doesn’t even get to play in the Quidditch game on Friday.

“First up will be... Park and Y/L/N,” the professor says. Jimin definitely did not see this coming.

Slowly, the two of you trudge up to the front of the room, little pieces of parchment in your hands as cue cards, to a couple of wolf whistles from the friends Jimin is trying desperately to distance himself from.

“You may begin,” the professor croaks, pen in hand as he’s ready to take off marks for every little thing Jimin gets wrong.

Jimin clears his throat. He turns to look at you, but to no avail. Slowly, he begins. “The Great Gatsby is a story about a man in an unrequited love with a woman, willing to do anything to gain her favor. But more than that, it’s a story about love and loss, and about a time period in which everything seemed so great, that it became infected with poison.”

Slowly, the ten minutes allotted for each presentation tick by, you and Jimin speaking exactly on cue, like robots. The professor nods every now and then, writing something down here and there on the piece of parchment in front of him as the two of you continue.

“The Great Gatsby is more than just a love story,” you say, quickly glancing down at your parchment for a reminder. “It is a cautionary tale of love, warning readers of what happens when you devote yourself too much to a single person, and what happens when it inevitably fails.”

Jimin’s breath catches in his throat. Is this it? Is that how you feel? Is that what happened?

That’s supposed to be the last line of your presentation, and people begin applauding when Jimin clears his throat, desperate to say something else. “No, wait. It’s more than that, more than a cautionary tale of love.” For the first time in what feels like eons, you meet his eyes. Jimin can only hope you’ll trust him on this, let him have just this. “It reminds us that love can be blinding but sometimes, the passion makes it worth it. It reminds us that love is not a weakness, but a strength. And that sometimes, even if the results are deadly, it’s worth it.”

The room erupts into a soft applause, the enthusiasm of a class of tired, homesick teenagers absolutely electrifying. But, if it’s any consolation, Jimin meets his professor’s eyes, and he earns a nod in response.

After class, the professor calls Jimin up front for a moment. The time leaves Jimin antsy, as he’s desperate to speak to you, talk to you, say something. Explain himself.

“Mr. Park, you did well today,” the professor says.

“Really?” Jimin asks.

“Yes, you gave a very enlightening presentation. Did you learn a thing or two from Y/N?”

Jimin looks up to where you’re standing, gathering your items silently, keeping your eyes trained down. “I learned a lot from her,” he says.

“I can tell. You both received an Exceeds, so good luck on your Quidditch game on Friday,” the professor says. Jimin can’t help but wonder if it’s a grade he received slightly out of pity, but he’ll take it.

“Thank you, Professor,” Jimin says with a bow, eager to leave the room as he sees you doing the same.

“Oh, and Park, one more thing,” the professor says. Jimin turns to him, and the professor simply smiles, sage and wise. “Good luck with her, too.”

Jimin rushes after you.

Unsurprisingly, Jimin finds you in the owlery. Almost like you were waiting for him.

“Y/N,” he says.

“You went off script,” you say in response, refusing to meet his eyes. You’re standing by the window, watching as the winds move the clouds across the sky.

“I had to,” Jimin says, walking over to you.

“No, you didn’t,” you spit. “You wanted to. Because everything is what you want, isn’t it? I know that we got Exceeds. Congrats on your Quidditch game.”

“Y/N, please. It’s more than that,” he begs, reaching down to take your hand in his own.

You pull it away, turning to gaze into his chocolate eyes. “Is it, Jimin?”

“Yes, Y/N. It is,” he pleads. “Admittedly, I was happy to hear that you might be able to help me get my grade up but that wasn’t why I hung out with you, or asked you to show me the owlery, or taught you how to fly a broom. People always talked around about how strange and peculiar you were, but I knew that you weren’t weird. You were just different, and my friends are fucking assholes. I’m sorry for that.”

You turn away.

“Y/N, please, look at me. I did all of those things because I wanted to spend time with you. I shouldn’t have taken you to the party, though, I should have just spent the evening with you. I wanted to tell you how I felt about you, but I never got the chance. Y/N, you’re my muse.”

You turn to look at him, finally letting him capture your gaze. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course,” Jimin says. “I’m sorry for all of this. I just—I just want you.”

“You have me,” you whisper, sniffling slightly. Jimin swears he can feel tears welling up in his eyes as well, but he blinks them away.

And finally, after ages of waiting, of Jimin trying to muster up the courage but then chickening out, after days of dealing with his shitty friends and spending his hours up here in the owlery, he leans down and presses his lips to yours.

It’s a soft kiss, nothing deep, nothing angry, but passionate nonetheless. It feels like warmth blooming inside of him, from the inside out. Blossoming like the flowers in spring. You hum contentedly to the feeling of his lips on yours, and suddenly, everything feels alright.

When you part, Jimin can’t help but press another kiss to your nose, and then your forehead, your cheeks, and the corner of your lips, each light, feathery touch making you giggle. You settle in for the night on the cushions, letting a few owls roam about the room, speaking in hushed whispers of a future for the both of you.

“I know you said you’re not really a sports person,” Jimin begins. “But my Quidditch match is on Friday and I’d love it if you’d come. Not like, as my girlfriend or anything. Unless you want that.”

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend, Park?” You tease.

“I’m also asking if you’d come to my game.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to Jimin’s nose. This feels right. “Yes and yes. I’d love to.”

Friday afternoon, the bleachers are shaking from students, Hufflepuff and Slytherin filling up the stands as they watch their house teams play in the first game of the season. And even from all the way up there, as Jimin weaves in and out of the other players, tossing the Quaffle through one of the rings to score another ten points for Slytherin, he spots you standing in the bleachers, a girl in yellow amongst a sea of green, and he grins.

#jimin fluff #jimin angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jimin scenario #bts imagine #jimin imagine #bts au #jimin au #bts hogwarts au #bts hogwarts #jimin hogwarts au #w: boats against the current #i: crave death

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ao3feed-farcry · 4 years

Link

by BrokenBranch

Y/N, Juinor Deputy and the trigger of the end of the world is tired. Tired of running, fighting.. she is a tool for the resistance and the cult.

After reading a certain book her mind had been torn between two worlds. Could she bring peace to Hope County?

Words: 1206, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: FarCry5, Farcry, Farcry New Dawn

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Joseph Seed, John Seed, Jacob Seed, Faith Seed, Pastor Jerome, Nick Rye, Kim Rye, Sharky, Hurk, Mary May, Sherrif Whitehorse, Deputy Hudson, Staci Pratt, Deputy Pratt, Peggies - Character, Misc characters - Character, npcs

Relationships: joseph seed x reader, Female Deputy | Judge & Joseph Seed, Female Deputy x Joseph Seed

Additional Tags: Romance, Drama, Peace, Switching Sides, Bringing peace to hope county, judges, Wolves, jacob has a crush on the dep, Fluff, Mention of smut, slight nsfw, Making Out, Abandonment, Pain, anguish, End of the World, Pregnancy, love hate relationship, Rejection

#ao3feed #fanfic #far cry

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englass · 5 years

Text

Affirmation

Pairing: John Seed x Reader

Warning(s): Possessive behaviour, innopropriate thoughts/desires

Word Count: 2,150

- - -

The day is a stunning one, the sky a pure and unmarred blue, pastel soft and light in the slow transition from early to the late morning. There’s not a cloud in sight and the sun is radiant in that knowledge, claiming full ownership over the vast and endless sky as it washes the land in a swaddled warmth, beaming proudly from up high.

Holland Valley is bathed and praised in the golden light, it’s open and welcoming landscape taking on a new vibrancy that has it looking cleaner, touched in a way that religious folk would lay worshipful words and gazes upon. Blessed with a holy vision that demonstrates all of God’s glory and majesty in a single picture; a truly gorgeous day.

While most made use of the new and preening glow to the Valley others continued with their daily lives, a new skip and easiness in their otherwise busy and wary forms. You were much the same. Despite how much you would’ve loved to be outside, taking in the full breath of the big skied county, there was still stuff to be done.

In the modest garage that acted as a makeshift hanger for your beloved seaplane you stayed, the heat of the day invading the cool space as you tinkered away with an content smile and an absent mind. Elora was an old plane, probably about the same age as Carmina, the name of your good friend Nick Rye’s plane, and required quite a bit of TLC.

She was definitely getting on in her life, worn down through the many years she’d been in your family, but still flew with all the grace she had from when she was first built. Old in number, but not in soul. Still, you tried your best with what you had, your modest salary and the little extra you made from the one-off repairs you did for people, helping you enough to support yourself along with your ageing plane.

Standing up on the safely steps next to the wing of Elora you worked away on her, giving her a good polish while fixing anything that looked remotely out of place as you went. A radio was playing in the background, sitting innocuously on a workbench as old songs came through in merry tones. Indulgently, you started singing to the songs and parts you knew, humming and mumbling when you got a line wrong or didn’t know. It was a comfortable atmosphere you were lost in, focused solely on your plane and the joy it gave you.

So lost were you in the moment in fact that you failed to notice the familiar and well dressed man that leaned against the doors of your makeshift hanger, arms casually crossed across his chest as he watched you with an admiring focus. Truly, it would be a shame to interrupt you, seemingly enjoying yourself as much as you were, but your lack of attention had him itching. He’d need to rectify that.

Leaning over the wing of your plane, raising onto your tiptoes slightly as you reach across, you startle at an unexpected but light banging, a knock on metal sheeting. Looking up toward the sound you don’t even try or think to hold back a smile, a wide beam lighting up your face when you spot a man that you would class as a friend standing by your hanger door. It was always an experience when he was around.

“Oh, hey there!” You chirp happily, “I didn’t expect to see you today. How are things? No problems with Affirmation I hope?”

While you and Nick had a friendly sort of competitiveness running between the two of you, each cheering for your own respective planes while still holding a fondness for the other, John Seed was not quite a part of that. He was especially nice with you, a teasing sort of fellow on occasion but still rather polite and respectful to you all the same, but when it came to Nick John could walk the line of nastiness rather well. All passive aggressive taunts with snide smiles and biting words.

Affirmation was a beautiful plane, no doubt about that, but it was hardly a fair comparison when put between two old and weather worn seaplanes. You‘re pretty sure John knew it too, and still does, but you had the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t get involved in such a thing unless he knew he was going to win. He seemed a little sly like that, only showing his hand once he knew the game was his, but talk is that he used to be lawyer before coming here so you shouldn’t be too surprised by that. Although, why he directs it all at Nick you’re not too sure. There must be history there you don’t know about.

John chuckles lowly at the question, subtly eyeing you from his place besides the hanger door. “No, thankfully she’s doing well. Still flies as smoothly as the day I first got her.”

“I’m glad to hear it; I know how much you love her.” You can’t help the softer shift your smile takes as you wipe your hands with a stained rag, looking up at him as you do so.

Having the infamous John Seed come to you, a hobbyist pilot and mechanic, looking for extra help regarding his prized plane was admittedly quite a pride-filled moment for you. Why he had chosen to come to you out of all the other capable pilots and qualified mechanics across the county to help him with her you weren’t too sure, but it had certainly stroked your ego. And filled your wallet; John had paid quite handsomely for your time, far too much in fact, but despite you rejecting the amount he wouldn’t have it. He could be quite persuasive.

Stepping down the safety steps you make your way to John, your smile never fading with your rag still in hand. “So, what can I help you with today, Mr. Seed?”

Oh there’s a lot of things you could help him with, John thinks blithely, watching the natural sway of your hips before crawling up your body to the kind twinkle in your eyes. You were too sweet for your own good, an innocent little thing that was always willing to help and sacrifice for those in need. Even when they didn’t deserve it.

John had witnessed you offering your mechanical skills to some of the congregation’s members, your workshop a neutral zone free from discrimination, and it had left him positively warm the first time he’d seen it. Your acceptance of them and, by extension, him was a welcome change from the near constant hostility and wariness of the local rabble. But, that also meant that he had heard the whispers of slander made against you, a relatively new inhabitant to the Valley.

Slander that John knew his presence alone would stoke.

Nick Rye had originally tried warning you away from John, their little rivalry bleeding an growing dislike onto both fronts, but you had stood firm on having a part in this little three-way. John had found it amusing at first – “birds of a feather should flock together”, you had said, looking between them with an cheesy smile, “we’re all pilots after all!” –, but now that amusement was long gone and had been replaced by a selfish want for more; he wanted out of that silly little triangle.

And if his continued presence would ensure that outcome then... well, he’ll be sure to pay you more frequent visits in the future.

“Back to formalities are we now, my dear?” He says with a teasing grin. “And there was me thinking that we’d finally gotten past that stage in our relationship; I thought we were close.” Not close enough apparently, a part of him growls, hidden behind an exaggerated display of mock offence.

Nervously you laugh, head bowing slightly as your eyes flicker away from him, rubbing the side of your neck self-consciously. Such an adorable picture you make.

“Right, ‘m sorry. I guess I’m just so use to being formal with people nowadays that it just slipped out.” Looking up at him from under lashes you give him a small, but guilty smile. “Sorry, John”

Good Lord, what do you do to me.

John runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it over as he gestures dismissively. “No need to apologise, dearest. I understand. You’ve been a busy woman lately,” a grin quickly blooms across his face, one too many teeth on display, as he leans closer with a teasing sparkle to his ocean eyes, “or should I say, deputy.”

You don’t quite hear the way John’s tongue drags over the title, accentuating every syllable, like a filthy secret that only he knows about and can’t help but gloat over. Instead you only groan painfully at the title, shaking your head lightly as your hands come up to cover your eyes, a flush of embarrassment painting your cheeks a pretty shade of red.

Your obliviousness is both equal parts adorable and infuriating.

“I’m not a deputy yet though, John. I’m still just an intern.”

“Well, from what I hear you won’t be that way for long.”

“I highly doubt that, John.” You say disbelievingly, “Besides, I’ve barely been here six months. There’s no way they’d promote me so soon.”

“It’d be criminal if they didn’t.” He huffs. “You’re a hard worker dear, you do a lot more for the county than your woeful colleagues do. You deserve some form of recognition for the work you put up with, a reward may-“

John’s eyes widen, trying hard not to give way to predatory grin just itching to get out. Yes, that could work.

“How about I treat you to dinner?” He suddenly asks with a charming smile, catching you off guard.

You blush shakily. “Oh, uhh, I mean... that’s very kind of you John, but really there’s no need!”

“Nonsense, it’ll be my treat. Think of it as a thank you for all you’ve done for me and the county so far.”

And ‘so far’ indeed; there was no way John was going to let you slip away. You were special, he was sure of it– convinced even. Someone just for him. If he could just land this dinner date with you then he’d be sure to prove himself, prove how perfect the two of you could be together. He just needed you to say one simple word...

Watching John and the hopeful gleam in his sky coloured eyes, plus the burning guilt you felt for even thinking of turning him down, you slowly nodded to his offer. It would be nice to get to know him a little better, maybe even learn a bit about the resident cult that everyone keeps warning and scolding you over. You’d always preferred seeing both sides of the story and forming an opinion from there, even if you’d never act on it once you had one. Conflict wasn’t your thing.

“Okay,” You say softly, chewing your lip. “Yes, sure, that’d be lovely. As long it’s not any trouble of course!”

“Dear, the pleasure is all mine.” There’s a thrill that works down John’s spine, his grin victorious. “How about tonight? I have some work I need to do first, but I could always pick you up if you’d prefer?”

“Oh, no no no,” you shake your head quickly, “that’s fine. I’ll just make my way around to yours. Is about six okay?”

“Perfect.” His grin turns a touch salacious before he schools it back into something tamer. Yes, six is perfectly fine for him. You’ll both get the entire evening to yourselves, no third parties, just the two of you. Oh, the potential mischief he could very well get into with you... such a delicious temptation, if not a reality in the making. “I’ll be expecting you then.”

Emboldened by your agreement John covers the last few steps between you with a new air of confidence, his gait slow but sure. Looking down at your curiously innocent eyes John can’t (doesn’t) stop himself from taking a little bit extra from the moment than he knows he rightfully should; the affection he’s grown for you over the last few months openly raising its head, along with his hand.

Testily his fingers brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear before trailing along the line your jaw, his gaze an electrical blue that thrums with a manic, if not poorly subdued, energy to it that is focused purely on you. Unbidden the small blush covering your cheeks deepens, his sudden forwardness toward you rather unexpected. And for a reason you can’t quite seem to place you’re not too sure whether to feel flattered at this sudden interest he has in you, or absolutely terrified by it.

#john seed #john seed x reader #reader insert #far cry john #far cry 5 #fc5 #far cry #fanfic #fanfiction

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pandorasboxofmuses-blog · 5 years

Text

The Wolf and the Deer (Chapter 1)

Synopsis: A chance encounter with Jacobs men leads to a life you never thought you'd ever be a part of. (Reader X Jacob, Gender Neutral, Advanced Warning for Smut in Later Chapters)

Warnings: Swearing, violence

Montana. It wasn't just exactly the type of place you liked to frequent; you were a city kid who had been more skyscrapers in your life than you had cows. But, your boss had asked you to go there and write a report on a new religious group, Eden's Gate. "There's always something deeper going on", he assured you, "This could be the story that starts your career, kid." So you'd packed a month's worth of items into a suitcase and set off, driving with the perfect road trip playlist at your fingertips. You'd already made contact with someone in Hope County, a pilot called Nick Rye. He seemed to be a nice guy and honestly, you were glad for having someone to interview when you got there. It wouldn't be easy to get to talk to anyone within Eden's Gate, they seemed to shy away from technology, so at least someone who had first hand experience with them was a start.

One of your colleagues, who was obsessed with ghosts, has given you a tip off that there was a hotel in the north of the county called the King's Hot Springs. It was supposedly haunting but you didn't care, you were just glad your have a bed for the night. By the time you pulled up outside, it was nearly dark out and the temperature had seemed to drop rapidly. Parking up, you grabbed your over night bag from the back seat of your car; you'd bring the suitcase into the room in the morning, you'd decided, just in case you didn't like the feel of the place and didn't want to stay for more than a night. The hotel was oddly quiet, the receptionist able to offer you a choice of rooms. You took one in the corner of the building, where you were sure you could get to work without any disruptions from noisy neighbors. After taking a quick shower to refresh yourself after the long drive, you pulled on some shorts and a t shirt, settling down on the bed with your laptop open. Hours went by as you researched the area. There wasn't a lot of information on Eden's Gate, most of it seemed outdated, back from when the project first started.

Stopping, you decided to put a film on. The signal here was pretty bad but it was enough to watch something in low quality at least. As you settled back against the pillows, a loud noise interrupted you. No, it couldn't be, was that.... Was that a gunshot?

You listened for a moment, muting your laptop. Another gunshot, then a string of them and men shouting. "Secure the building!" You managed to hear. Instantly, your fight or flight instincts kicked in. You grabbed your boots, hurriedly putting them on and picking up your bag, arming yourself with the penknife you had in it. Slipping your bag onto your back, you slowly opened the door and peered into the corridor, holding your breath. At the other end, a group of men were kicking the doors in, grabbing anyone inside and dragging them outside. Guns in hand, all scruffy looking and clad in Eden's Gate logos. Shit.

You closed the door as quietly as possible, turning and pacing over to the window. Opening it, you climbed outside and glanced around. Bad luck, one of the men turned the corner of the building.

"They're getting away!" He yelled, taking aim with a bow that he had in his hands. As you ran, you felt an arrow pierce your thigh and cried out in pain, blood gushing out from the wound that was now there. You could barely see it in the dark. But you couldn't stop, not now. So you kept going, running as fast as your body would allow you to. Coming across a stream, you ducked down into a large pipe that was hidden beneath a bridge. You held your breath as you listened to the cars and men running above you. Only a few but still too many to challenge with no gun. Even if you had a gun, you'd never used one before and probably wouldn't have been able to get a clear enough shot off.

Almost half an hour went by before you dared to make your way back out. You'd used a scarf from your bag to tie around your thigh in an attempt to stem the bleeding, shivering in the cold night. You couldn't stay there, you'd bleed out or get pneumonia if you did. So, you found a main road and began to follow it, silently praying to whoever was listening that you'd find safety soon.

Coming across a small cabin, you found the door unlocked and went inside, pushing a table in front of the door in an effort to stop anyone else from getting in. The lock had been broken, probably by the same men who had come to the hotel. Moving into the bathroom, you turned the tap on, grabbing a towel from a cupboard and wetting it. You went back into the main room, holding the towel onto your thigh to soak up the blood, starting to look around the kitchen for anything you could use to properly clean and dress the wound. That was when you heard yet another noise. Would this day never end? This one wasn't a gunshot, no, this was vastly different. Static. Your eyes travelled to the radio that lay on the countertop beside you. A voice came through, clear as day.

"Hello."

#far cry 5 #far cry 5 imagines #far cry 5 fanfiction #jacob seed x reader #jacob seed #far cry 5 smut #jacob seed smut #gender neutral reader

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far-cry-all-the-time · 5 years

Text

Ship-a-ton

Tagged by @newdawnfarcry and @jacobmybeloved ! Thanks !! 💖

And tagging @deputyoneill @deputyshitlordsantana @highwvymen @shellibisshe @outranks @naromoreau !

1. First ship you ever wrote fic for:

The first fic I ever wrote was for TMR but there was no particular ship... So first ship probably was Bellarke or Murven (The 100) or maybe Sterek (Teen Wolf).

2. Ship you write the most now:

It’s probably Deputy x Jacob Seed.

3. Ship you read the most now:

Probably Deputy x Jacob Seed as well lol... But tbh I read all the FC5 and FCND I can find because YES.

4. Newest ship:

It must be Captain OC/Reader x Roger Cadoret since ND came out not that long ago ?

5. Rare ship you wanna read more of:

Deputy OC/Reader x Eli Palmer !!!

Captain OC/Reader x Roger Cadoret !!!

Captain OC/Reader x Thomas Rush !!!

6. Your taboo ship:

I don’t think I have one ? Maybe Deputy x Nick Rye because I don’t want anyone to come between Nick and Kim but at the same time I love Nick way too much lmao.

7. They never met in canon ship:

Not really a ship but, as a brotp, definitely Joey Hudson x Jacob Seed !!

8. Your unexpected ship:

I can’t think of anything smh.

9. The ship you always forget to give love to:

I’ve been meaning to write a Florence Emerson x Faith Seed fic forever oops...

10. Ship your OC with a canon character (if applicable):

Here we go !!

Deputy Lila O’Cain x Staci Pratt

Aster Seed x John Seed

I don’t really ship my sweet baby Nicholas Attwell with anyone yet sooo idk.

Nayla Taylor x Jacob Seed

Florence Emerson x Faith Seed but Florence x Mary May is also valid

Ash Avery x Selene

11. Ship you’re embarrassed to ship:

None, I think ?

12. Your most romantic ship:

Definitely Lila x Staci !!

13. Your sexiest ship:

Probably Nayla x Jacob if I ever decide to continue the fic I started lol...

14. Your most tragic ship:

Lila x Staci as well or maybe Aster x John.

15. A ship you want more content for:

Anything with Eli, Thomas and Roger to be honest...! But also, I need more Joey.

#get to know me #lily answers #otp #tag #ask #questions #far cry 5

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peaxhcringe · 6 years

Text

Crash

Fandom- Far Cry 5

Paring- John Seed x reader

Rating- Contains some spoiler on John’s boss battle

Summary- Reader loses the only person she could ever trust or say yes to

Word Count- 1076

A/N- I came up with this at 3 in the morning and finished it at 5:37 so sorry if this is terrible. There is also a small spoiler if you haven’t finished John’s region yet

--------

I watched anxiously as John took off in Affirmation, my hands immediately beginning to fidget with the new ring I held on my finger. My hazel eyes followed him as it flew through the cloudless sky of Falls End it looked so graceful. I smiled as I watched him, remembering all the times he took me on midnight flights above Holland Valley, stars surrounding us as the moon shone brightly illuminating the ground below us a smile etched across both of our faces admiring the beauty of the entire Valley as it passed underneath us.

I'm brought out of my sweet memory by the sound of gunshots ringing in my ears, forcing me to look the way of the shots only to see the Deputy themselves climbing into a plane and immensely taking off down the airstrip.

"No No No," I say quickly running towards the airstrip and watching as their plane flies into the air racing off towards John

I begin to try and calm myself down knowing John is a good pilot he knows how to fly his plane he should be ok, but just as those thoughts flow through my mind I see Nick Rye's plane fly into the air following after the Deputy.

Two against One.

No matter how good a pilot John is there is now he can survive two against one. I debate on climbing into a plane of my own, but I've never learned to fly John mentioned it to me before, but I declined thinking I'd never need to know how, oh how I was so wrong. I start to once again twist the ring as my hands become clammy and my breath begins to quicken. My eyes darting through the sky watching as the Deputy's and Nick's plane quickly catch up to John, the sound of bullets firing from their them fill my ears making the fear for John's life worse.

I stand in the middle of John's airstrip my entire body shaking in fear and anxiety for the life of my fiancé, the only person I've ever loved in my life, the only other person I've trusted. As I looked through the skies their planes fly over, but my fear worsens when I notice the smoke billowing out off John's plane like smoke from a wildfire. I continued to watch all my emotions jumbled from the scene before me only for certain fear flows through me.

My face instantly becomes pale, my mouth becomes dry, and my body begins to tremble as the sound of John's voice echoes through the walkie I held at my side

"I'm losing control! I've ha--! down"

I step back as I watched his plane nose dive towards the ground, hitting it, causing an explosion to ring through Falls End. My mouth hangs open in my shock as it all plays before me, my eyes quickly searching the sky for John hoping he found a way out before the plane crashed. I let out a sigh of relief when I see him floating to the ground on a parachute, but it's quickly ruined as I watch the deputy follow John to the ground.

Without giving it a second thought I quickly find an ATV and begin to head towards John hoping to make it to him before the Deputy does.

*******

I halt to stop when I reach John's Bunker, my eyes immediately tearing up when I see him lying on his back in the mud. Jumping off the ATV, I rush over to him sliding to my knees and quickly bringing my small hands to his face

"John, John it's me," I say my voice breaking as I see his bloodied and bruised face

When I get no response or movement from him I instantly bring one of my hands to his neck checking his pulse and thankfully there is one, but it's very weak.

"J-John?" I ask again praying to get a response

I once again get no response I lose it, I allow my tears to fall some landing on his chest, my body trembling in both fear and grief.

"Y-Y/n?" I hear John say weakly slightly opening his blue eyes

Without saying anything I quickly bring my hands to his face and smile at him, but it's all quickly ruined as his eyes begin to close again

"John no, please don't close your eyes let me see your stunning blue eyes," I say as I wipe some dirt off his face

I smile once more when he opens his eyes

"Good, keep them open I want to see them"

I jump a little when I feel his thumb brush across my face wiping my tears away

"I love you Y/n" He coughs out as his eyes start to close again

"I love yo- John, please don't leave me, you can't I need you. We need you to be here with us" I choke out one hand now resting on his slowly rising chest and the other on his cheek

"Us?" He questions his eyes barely open

"John, I'm pregnant," I say letting out a small laugh

His eyes open fully once again, the blue slowly fading away from them, he looks at me with a weak smile across his face

"Really?"

I wipe away a few tears before saying

"Yes I planned to tell you today, but never got the chance"

I close my eyes when I felt his thumb wipe away more tears, everything now hitting me that this will be the last I'll feel his touch or his he sweet voice I look into his fading blue eyes, the last time I'll ever look into them, those beautiful blue orbs. Tears stain my vision as I bens down to kiss his lips one last time the moment our lips touch I feel the life leave him. Almost instantly I break down tears bringing my head into his chest taking in his smell. The smell I'll never get to enjoy anymore, the chest I'll never get to lean on again when I'm in the pain or in need of comfort, he'll never get to hold our child, he'll never to get watch them grow, never see them change, never see them live.

That Deputy is going to pay for taking John away from me, they are going to pay for everything they are doing to this family and the project, even if I’ll need to do it myself.

#fc5 #far cry 5 x reader #Far Cry 5 #john seed x reader #john seed #death #sad #fc5 spoilers

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sin-like-me · 6 years

Text

Equal Measure

Pairing: John Seed x (tried for a Gender Neutral Deputy)

Word Count: 4,223

Warnings: I swear, I enjoy it, and I am unapologetic. Heads up.

Summary: Associations can be dangerous, determination concerning, and a small bit of plastic incredibly weighty.

Quick Note: This is the first time I have ever shared something I have written. Be advised there is no beta reader. The idea sprang from owning the very quilt mentioned... Also, I deeply appreciate Ubisoft and their writers for creating this entire universe. I seek only to borrow the Seeds from time to time to do with them as I will.

<~~~~~~~~>~~~~~~~~~~<~~~~~~~~~~~>~~~~~~~~~~~~~<~~~~~~~~~~~~>

‘What in the hell am I doing?!’

This is the thought that has been echoing in your head for the last twenty minutes; its insistence so loud it nearly drowns out the surrounding cacophony of frogs. Incredulity seeps from every pore as your heavily booted feet unerringly find purchase on the forest floor. It is your sure and steady tread through the darkness that impedes the wake-up call you so desperately need. You marvel with a slightly disconnected humor as your body takes over, blazing a trail to your possible destruction. Apparently, common sense was thrown violently from a window in lieu of a surety of heart.

‘I’m going to get myself killed over a damned ill conceived notion. Sorry Resistance members, your “hero” has perished due to their own asininity. Why, you good folk thought that if the Deputy ever fell it would be at the hands of a Peggie? Maybe a Judge? More the fool you.’

A fallen tree lies across the trail and without a second thought you nimbly vault over, landing with a surprisingly mute thump. These past weeks have improved your physical prowess and given you a new appreciation for stealth. Hell, once upon a time that little feat would have taken several tries before it was landed successfully. Who knew that fighting for survival would carry such excellent side benefits? Well, ya know, other than staying alive to see another day.

‘I am a damned fool, or maybe just damned.’

Above, a sliver of moon barely illuminates the neatly tied package hooked to your belt. The item in question was a bit bulky, though light weight and useful; loot you happened upon while clearing shelter for the night. That something so simple, ridiculous even, could quite possibly bring about your death was mind boggling. Logically you knew that what you carried would not only be welcomed but deeply appreciated by the Rye family. Alas, the moment you realized what you had chanced upon HIS face swam into view; vaguely alarming you with just how quickly you drew the association. Hell, if you had an ounce of self preservation you would turn on your heel and head towards Nick’s place.

‘It’s juvenile for fucks sake!’

Trying to push aside the feeling of panic clawing its way up your sides, you mentally recall every single detail leading you to this point.

‘Maybe I’m blissed out of my mind. I HAVE to be. Were there any of those damned Bliss flowers around?’

A few hours earlier you caught sight of the small white home, its silence deafening on the edge of the surrounding chaos. Blood was smeared across the front walk, the windows shattered and no vehicles, nor Bliss bouquets, present. It appeared abandoned, a potential place of rest. Crouching you held your gun at ready, muscles tensed as you methodically peeked through windows, watching, waiting, aware and patient.

Moving silently and swiftly you covered the entire perimeter neither observing nor hearing the slightest of sounds or movements from inside. Tossing a rock into several of the windows from behind cover of the truck, you held your breath half hoping for a confrontation and half dreading one. A minute become five. Nothing. It had to be clear. The Peggies weren’t known to be particularly patient. You stood, stretched your back. The weight from your survival pack taking a small toll after a solid 8 hour hike. Only a few more feet… deep, steadying breath and you leveled your shotgun at the door. Haste made your steps a bit louder than you would have liked, but as you threw open the door and swept the room, you had to smirk. Out of the corner of your eye you managed a glimpse of your face plastered on a wanted poster.

‘Wanted? Yeah, well, good luck you fanatics. I will not go gentle into that good night.’

Lowering your weapon once you established an all clear, you viciously ripped down their pitiful attempt at intimidation. Scoffing you made damn sure to leave a heavy boot print on its face, unrepentant sinner that you were and all. Inside boxes were stacked high enough to obscure any view outside, but they also enabled some cover. A short walk-through and you mentally noted all entry and exit points, only stopping to complain once.

“Shit.”

The back door had been completely removed.

Thinking on your feet, you pushed and stacked boxes in front of the opening. It wouldn’t stop much of anything, but it would serve as a noisy warning. Truthfully, it gave you what you were craving: the illusion of safety. As satisfied as you were going to be with the makeshift barrier, you returned to the living room. The now cleared couch seemed inviting but a sudden breeze through the window frames invoked an involuntary shiver. Maybe you could find a blanket in one of the many boxes? Hell, it was worth a shot. Heading over to a solitary box sitting atop an old armchair you pulled your treasured Ka-Bar knife from the top of your boot. Making quick work of the tape, a surprised laugh escaped your lips when you immediately hit pay dirt. Luck seemed to shadow your every move… or perhaps divine intervention?

A quick thought was spared for the Seeds as you pulled a stack of cloth out of the box. Saviors of the modern world, yet death stalked their every move. Did they not see the blatant hypocrisy? Killing or force converting the masses in order to save them from “the Great Collapse”?! It was either utter bullshit or at the very least counterintuitive.

Ahha! Your hand skims smooth, thin blue cotton. While sheets were nice, something heavier would be better...annnnddddd BINGO! A quilt. You pulled it free and shook it out, letting the ends drop to the floor. The orange glow from the dying sun gave the back of the cream colored quilt an odd glow. Eyes scanning the windows, you made your way to the couch and sat down, sheets and quilt clutched in a fist.

Rule one of survival? Rest before resistance. Maybe the Resistance should make their own posters and hang ‘em right next to those ever so cheery YES! signs.

The light of the day dipped beyond the horizon. Night began to settle in, snuffing out the remnants of illumination and cradling you in its embrace of anonymity and obscurity. In the dark you seem safe and hidden.

The perfect silence is interrupted by a low growl from your stomach. Ah, well perhaps you need more than rest. You debate eating the cans of tuna spotted on the kitchen counter, but forgo it in favor of a protein bar from your pack. Quite frankly jimmying the can open with your knife was a little more effort than you wanted to expend at that moment. Besides the chalky texture wasn’t too terrible if you ate it quickly.

Hunger abated you set your pack and shotgun on the floor beside the couch within easy reach, and pulled the sidearm from your hip. No one was comfortable trying to sleep with a gun digging into their side. Hmmm, maybe a bit more light for the moment while you arranged yourself on the couch. Leaning up from your semi-prone position and grabbing a glow stick from the side of your hiking pack, you snap it in half, shake and are engulfed in a faint, eerie, green glow. Ah, to sleep in combat boots or not was the question. Sleeping without shoes was a luxury you had not indulged in recent memory. You had to always be ready, prepared to defend, run, or kill at a moments notice. You learned quickly that having your fight or flight response consistently heightened was not sustainable. There were moments of breaking, of utter mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion so acute you didn’t give a damn about anything at all.

This was one of those times.

Fuck the shoes.

You sat up again to unlace the well worn, well loved boots when you froze in place. Horrified amusement broke your arms out in goosebumps as its chill trickled down your spine. Oh, but God had a sense of humor. Draped across your lap the quilt you had quickly dismissed as non-descript was anything but. Large squares repeated a pattern in red, blue and cream and you couldn’t help where you mind raced. Vivid flashes assaulted your senses: blue eyes boring into yours, his cold, barely controlled fury lapping at your soul in ravenous waves.

You hated that you read their file before leaving the station on that fated night. For weeks you did not let yourself stop to think and consider. To empathize. You knew their documented history, knew the hell the Seed brothers had endured throughout what should have been a normal childhood. Fingers reflexively clutching the fabric in your fist, your eyes lost focus, thoughts turning further inward.

Each Seed brother had been and were being shaped by their experiences, each twisted in a different way, all needing balance.. And maybe even kindness. You offered them no excuses, could not forget nor understand their actions, but suddenly you knew you could empathize with their pasts. You could glean some form of perspective, and that scared you. Were the lines not black and white in this struggle? Were there actual shades of grey?

‘Damn it!’

You shook your head trying to physically dislodged these uncomfortable realizations. We are all a constantly evolving product of our experiences, the Seeds included. Maybe.. Maybe it was not too late?

Following that hope was a dash of reality. Too late for what? To save everyone? To be the hero to all? For peace? That is for children’s fairy tales. This was real life.. And real life was messy.

You focus on the quilt in our hand, a wild idea solidifying into a determined decision.

It is said that hope can be a dangerous thing, well, apparently you are now on a mission to prove it.

Before you could rethink your plan, you folded the quilt into a neat square, grabbed some of the brown packing paper forgotten on the kitchen floor, and deftly wrapped the package. No luck finding any tape, so improvise and adapt. You had some gauze strips and with a little ripping it would tie it closed in a pinch. Properly secured, you examined the finished product.. It was missing a calling card, something to let him know you had delivered it, knew where he was and that you could have easy access if you so chose… but what? Then it hit you. A slow smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you leaned back into the couch, hand going for your jeans pocket. You didn’t know why you hadn’t sewn it back on yet, probably saving it as a perverse reminder of your escape. It would be the perfect nod to and perhaps even a small dig at the man who considered himself just that “fresh” as Sharky would say.

Without a second thought you snaked a piece of gauze thread through the holes and neatly secure the small, innocuous object front and center.

Presently that tiny piece of blue plastic glinted up at you in the moonlight reminding you that yes, you were in fact enroute to one of the Seed’s compounds. Even knowing the danger you kept your pace, ducking under low hanging branches and freezing into a crouch as a twig snapped less than a klick to the west. Soundlessly your silenced P226 Amendment 2 was drawn and aimed towards the sound when you spotted a small pack of wolves stalking the vicinity. As long as lady luck kept your scent downwind you would be elusive, time to pick up the pace.

Keeping the river to your left you knew that the ranch was about an hour hike from your shelter, but that was assuming one could just waltz down the long drive and right up to the front door. You had no such luxury, so you kept to the riverbank and trees, skirting along the property line under the cover of night. You made decent time all things considered and when you found the dock you knew you had to scale the cliffs behind his home. Hmph. Good thing you took the time to wolf down that protein bar. Grappling on an empty stomach was difficult at the best of times, and grappling at night while surrounded by Peggies in various states of alert was NOT the best of times.

The cliff edge was approximately 30 feet from a side door leading into some portion of the vast building which John Seed called home. Cult members were stationed at lookout points along the four corners of the property with a small group at the front and to the sides. Right now the back was clear of patrols so you narrowed in on your destination: a patch of tall flowering plants. Pulling yourself up and over the final ridge with a soft grunt, you quickly crouched behind a nearby tree, scoping the surroundings before dashing into the midst of cover. The door was so damned close.. You unclipped the package from your waist and hefted its weight in your palm. You could throw it, but where was the personal touch in that? No, you did not come all this way pushing past exhaustion to just throw it and run. Sure the area was well lit, sure this was the home of one of the Heralds of the Collapse, but in this very moment you were foolishly unafraid. Unafraid or perhaps in some form of delirium from exhaustion.

Your suspicions spike when nary a soul comes to patrol the back door. It made no sense. The Seeds were many things, but unprepared and stupid were not one of them. Then a certainty flitted through your subconscious:

John knows I am here.

Alright, let’s say he does. So, what do you do? Do you sit here and debate the reason why, do you leave, or do you oblige the curiosities of a man who for reasons unknown obviously has no immediate intention of capturing you? Why Sharky’s voice rang in your thoughts at that moment were unclear but damn he was right.

“Ride or Die.” you whisper.

Standing tall, equal parts foolhardy and confident, you make your way to the backdoor, eyes always forward in defiance of any possible threats. With a studied casualness you ascend the two steps to the cedar stoop, package in hand. Well, so far, so good. Glancing up you spot a red light. Mhm, of course John liked to watch.

‘Well Mr. John Seed, enjoy the show.’

Dropping to one knee, you make sure to mockingly exaggerate every movement.

“An offering to the god Maximon.” you mutter sarcastically staring at the camera stationed in the corner of the overhang. “Google it John.”

You wink, a delicious trill of excitement tugging your lips into a smirk. Standing then, you flip him the nationwide symbol for get fucked, and waltz right back to the cliffs. Your shoulders feeling lighter, your burden moved. You would not be hunted this night.

He knew….and the ball was in his court.

As Fate would have it, John just happened to be on the ranch that night. He saw the Deputy the moment a delicate hand grasped the cliff's edge. Little known fact, the first thing he had done when he bought this ranch was to make sure security cameras were installed to cover every single angle of his ranch. At the time it was expensive, but he knew he would not regret it and as he sat back in his chair, the black leather creaking slightly with his shifting weight, he basked in his foresight. On the screen the slender fingers flexed as a head of dark hair came into view. John did not consciously acknowledge how his breath hitched in anticipation nor did he stop to consider how he recognized Rook from something as small as that hand.

Cerulean eyes narrowed under dark brows absorbing every single muscle flex, every minute facial tick.

“Oh what do we have here Dep-ut-yyyy.. Tsk, tsk.. You can do so much better than this pitiful attempt at assassination.” He leaned forward slowly, tapping the figure on the screen with a long, well manicured finger. “Frankly my dear, I am offended.”

Rook was crouching now, and John watched in amusement as the quick progression to the edge of the trees came to an abrupt halt. Time to debate that next move.

“Well, you certainly have my attention and curiosity…” eyes never leaving the screen, his hand closes around his radio. Switching to his personal security channel, his next order was very deliberate, “Call off all patrols for the next hour.”

A brief crackle of static, “Yes sir John sir.”

He smirked, they knew better than to question him and damned if they would defy him. He may lack Jacob’s military training, but he could command a flock through fear and charm.

“What are you up to my sinful Wrath?”

It was then he spotted a thick, square package being untied from the black leather belt slung snugly across the deputy’s hips.

“Explosives? How utterly mundane.” disappointment dripped from his words.

He watched as there was a sudden shift in the Deputy’s posture. From a crouching and tensely coiled machine arose a self-confident silhouette. No longer were the steps hurried, quiet, and cautious. In place was an arrogant stride, each step measured and calculated, and the demeanor focused on the goal ahead. Never once did eyes dart to look to the sides or behind. It was then he knew…

His... no, no, no… THE Deputy knew he was watching.

A shiver danced up the base of his spine, eyes narrowing. A devilish smile curved his lips bringing a sudden softness to his usually intense face.

“My, my aren’t we the brave one? All alone with no sign of Nick or Sharky? An unapproved outing perhaps? Ahhh, secrets upon lies upon secrets. Your sins seem to know no bounds.”

Rook had reached the door after a quick climb up the two back steps. John braced his forearm along the desk and leaned in so close that the screen almost grazed his nose. He should have been focusing on the package, but his eyes would not leave Rook’s face.

“Show me your sin… show me your wrath,” he whispers, almost begging.

In a surprising move, the Deputy falls to one knee and looks directly at the camera, eyes amused even through the technological barrier. Lips are pursed in a small smile, mocking and almost taunting him. The mic kicked on and he heard every single word that pretty little throat uttered.

“An offering to the god Maximon.” a soft intake of breath and … was that a fucking laugh?! “Google it John.”

The use of his name scattered any logical thought processes he may have had. Never before had Rook uttered it, not when tied to his chair, not when baptised.. The sound of it from those lips and in that voice was alarming. Equal parts dreadful and pleasing.

The package, which he had forgotten in his astonishment, was placed gently upon the deck and with a small pause, the Deputy looked back up at the camera and winked. His internal confusion mounted until, standing, he got the one finger salute. John barely caught the guffaw that was trying to escape his throat so what ended up coming out was a strained grunt.

“Ahhhh, and there it is mixed with a bit of arrogance.”

Did the Deputy think him a complete simpleton? He was an educated man. He damn well knew the legend behind the Mayan God Maximon. Obviously Rook was trying to draw some rather dramatic comparisons. John chuckled. Oh dear… Was it the sunglasses? My, how he enjoyed that little reference.

Watching the retreating form closely, John sat on the edge of his chair until the deputy’s head disappeared down the cliff. Once gone from the screen and his property, John finally stood to his full height of 5’10”. Running an unsteady hand through his hair, he made a quick grab for the radio before turning to descend to the back door.

Who was he to shun any offerings left by his admirers?

Cracking the door he peeked down at the package. Nothing was blinking or ticking.. He reached to his side, grabbed a conveniently placed broom and poked it. Surprisingly the package gave way with the brown paper ripping slightly.

Cloth?!

“What do you have up your sleeve?”

Pushing the broom back behind him, John stepped out onto the stoop and picked up the parcel. From what he could see inside the hole it looked like some clothing perhaps? Was the Deputy affronted by his fashion sense? Pft. He was damn meticulous about his choice of clothes, he was the face of Eden’s Gate after all. This look went over well for the most part.

He began to pluck at the gauze tying the parcel closed when a small blue button caught his eye. It was securely fastened to the middle of the package demanding to be noticed and there was absolutely no need for an explanation. John immediately knew what it was. Memories of the moment that he had Rook tied to his chair, the room encased in harsh red light.... He had leaned down, his mouth saying how he wished he had more to say yes to...ripping open that blue button down shirt… buttons scattered, flesh visible to his feasting eyes, sponge cleaning the fevered skin, his eyes demanding of those before him, commanding obedience yet hoping for rebellion.. Oh he knew this little button well.

His fingers closed into a fist around the small bit of plastic, tightening his grip until its form bit into the soft flesh of his palm. He shook his head to bring him back to the present before pocketing the button. Ripping the remaining paper away, John flicked out the cloth within and studied it briefly before throwing his head back and laughing.

It was a quilt… a quilt with blue planes and clouds in squares around the outskirts, and a red and blue plane circling each other in the center. It was obviously made with a child in mind, but John was oddly pleased. Sure the quilt was juvenile, but it told him quite a lot. The Deputy had somehow noted his admiration for planes in the only way possible: by the pattern on the coat he had only worn once when they first laid eyes on one another. It seemed a lifetime ago, that moment where it all began. The fact that those observant eyes had paid special attention to him, that Rook felt the need to gift this to him… spoke of something more than wrath.

He smirked, picking up the trash and tossing the quilt over his forearm to carry inside. This quilt was sure to be an interesting piece, and hell he might even display it in a mocking way amongst his Eden’s Gate symbols and books. For the moment he tossed the quilt over the dining room table, ignoring the blinking message light on his answering machine.

Was the Deputy coming around? Doubtful, but possible.

He made a quick detour through his kitchen and into his garage where there was a toolbox with exactly what he needed. On autopilot he rummaged through the necessary drawers, pushing aside bits of metal until he located the needle nose pliers and jump rings.

Striding back into the dining room John pulled a chair out in a quick gesture. Sitting thoughtfully, eyes glazed in contemplation, he was unaware as his hand toyed with the leather thong around his neck. A quick blink and he pulled up, ducking absently as it slipped from around his neck. What he was doing, he would not fully comprehend in the moment, but it was something he desperately needed. That tiny piece of plastic burned his thigh where it rested, heavy with meaning. Tugging it from where it lay hidden, deft fingers attached the weighty piece of blue behind his bunker key.

This was.. His? John brought the leather up to his neck, and after a brief debate slipped it back over his head. The weight from the key caused the leather to fall silently back into place, its familiar shape coming to a rest against his bare chest. Where there should have been the cool bite of metal, instead burned the heat of a secret contained in the form of a small blue button. Yes, this was his. His to carry or expose as he saw fit.

The Deputy… HIS deputy, was a weight he would shoulder, a sin he would either condone, commit, or eventually excise and cleanse. The path was not clear to him yet, but he would save Wrath even if it meant dragging them bodily into salvation: bloody, kicking, and screaming.

John chuckled as his hand closed over the handheld, the soft crackle of open airwaves loud in the silence of revelation, “Patrols will resume in an hour.”

Immediately he received his enthusiastic response: “Yes sir!”

Tonight? Well, tonight he would grant reprieve.

#john seed #far cry 5 #far cry deputy #far cry 5 fandom #far cry 5 fanfiction

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