#this is a modern au if she can’t pass out in a haunted basement by god she WILL sleep in a binder she doesn’t need to be wearing anyway | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

recurring-polynya · 3 years

Note

For the AU request, whichever one(s) you prefer (for RenRuki of course):

the X-Men universe

the Mafia/criminal underworld

the circus

as FBI agents (the X-Files world perhaps)

So, I got this ask, and I immediately wanted to go for X-Files, because I was hugely into X-Files when I was a tween/teen, and I think that my actual first published work of fanfic on the internet might actually be X-Files. (I didn’t even post it myself, I was like 12 and I didn’t have the internet at home, but a friend of mine posted it on Usenet for me, I have no idea whatever became of it). Anyway, I was going back and forth in my head who I wanted to be Mulder and who I wanted to be Scully, and then I got this ask:

@ulkoilla said:

I though the 10 would be full in about 1 microsecond so I didn’t even try :D This is maybe not AU enough for the purpose but I'd love to see your take on Bleach world where the shinigami work among humans as if they were in gigai -> they'll have to balance the supernatural, perhaps violent elements of their life with the modern day laws and such (like in Supernatural). Renji and Rukia have ofc gotten in trouble with the non-supernatural law (meet: Detective!Aizen?) and are on the run…

It suddenly occurred to me, What If: X-Files World, but Renruki are the cryptids. And it suddenly popped into my head exactly who I wanted to be Mulder. Anyway, I am sorry missrambler, if I messed it all up, I hope you like it anyway.

Also, I somehow thought that I would save myself some trouble by combining two prompts, but then it ended up… really long. (Forty! Eight! Hundred! Words! Go to Talks-Too-Much-Jail, Polynya!!)

PS: This takes place in D.C. because it’s X-Files and also because I am familiar with D.C. and I never get to write about places I know about. A half-smoke is a local delicacy that’s halfway between a hot dog and an Italian sausage. They are delicious.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

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Ichigo Kurosaki had known that an office with a view of the Smithsonian might be too much to ask, but he had not expected to take have to take two separate elevators down to sub-basement C, and walk past a storage room, two broom closets and a weird old vending machine full of brands of snacks he swore he hadn’t seen since he was a child.

Maybe Agent Inoue has a huge lab, he told himself. Maybe it needs to be 50 meters below ground because she collides large hadrons down here or so that her work can’t be picked up by spy satellites.

He had to turn sideways to get past a rack of wire shelves full of banker’s boxes, but there, on the other side was a door sporting a handwritten cardboard nameplate reading “Special Agent Orihime Inoue.”

“Come in!” a voice called inside, just as he raised his hand to knock on the door.

Ichigo blinked twice, and then went in.

The office was cluttered, mostly with more cardboard boxes, but books were also stacked precariously on top of boxes on top of books. The walls were plastered with maps and graphs and photographs of hazy blurs in front of staircases. There was a large poster showing a UFO, with the words “I WANT TO BELIEVE” in block caps below it.

A woman with long chestnut hair twisted up into a bun and held in place with three pencils was hunched over a metal box full of diodes and transistors and other things you would buy at Radio Shack. Or rather, that other people would buy at a Radio Shack. Ichigo had never set foot in a Radio Shack in his life.

“Er, good morning,” Ichigo said, as the woman looked up and blinked at him owlishly. “Agent Inoue? I’m Ichigo Kurosaki. I’ve been assigned to work with you.”

“To spy on me, you mean,” Agent Inoue corrected, cheerfully shaking his hand with great vigor.

Ichigo bristled. Yes, he had been directed to ‘provide additional documentation on Agent Inoue’s activities,’ but that hardly counted as spying. She was known to be somewhat scatterbrained, and having an organized person around would probably be a great benefit to her. “If you have any doubts about my qualifications or motivations--”

“Oh, don’t take it personally!” Inoue replied, slotting a lid onto her electronics project, and attacking it vigorously with a jeweler’s screwdriver. “Just because you’re a spy doesn’t mean you aren’t a nice person. Also, I read your file, you have a very interesting background! Degree in literature with a focus on folk legends. Teaching at the academy for the last few years while working on your book.” She took a momentary break from her screwing to fix him with her big, soft brown eyes. “Tell me, Agent Kurosaki, what do you think happens after you die?”

Ichigo froze. “I would be buried? Maybe there would be a funeral first?”

Inoue started laughing so hard that Ichigo was sure he caught a tiny, adorable snort. “Sorry, sorry! I wasn’t clear!” She sniffed, and wiped a tear from her eye. “Do you believe in continued existence after the death of the body? An afterlife, religion-based or otherwise? The existence of ectoplasm, cold spots, spirit photographs, EVP?”

“Are you talking about… ghosts?” Ichigo asked hesitantly.

“Yes!” Orihime replied with a nod. “Ghosts.”

“We-elll…” Ichigo drew out. “I believe that people believe they observe certain phenomena, as part of the cycle of grief and--”

“Just say ‘no’ if you don’t,” Inoue interrupted him.

“Er, no. I don’t.”

“That’s okay. Are you good at carrying heavy things?”

“Am I... I guess?”

“Perfect!” She shoved the box into his arms, and Ichigo’s knees almost buckled under the weight. “Let’s walk and talk, I want to go get a reading over near Franklin Square before 9 am. We’re gonna pass a really good half-smoke cart on the way, do you like half-smokes?”

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“Take a look at this,” Inoue said, her cheek half stuffed with sausage, jabbing a finger at the LED read-out of her mysterious box.

It was rather hard for Ichigo to see, because he was holding the box and the readout was on the other side, but he did his best to crane his neck around. “What am I looking at? The squiggles? I’m sorry, it looks like nothing to me.”

“Exactly right!” Inoue announced, waving her half smoke in the air. “Not a sniff of spiritual residue!”

Ichigo pressed his lips together. “Um… is that good?”

“It is interesting,” Inoue corrected. “Five days ago, a sixty-four year old woman had a heart attack while sitting in that bus shelter.” On every day since, I have been able to record EMF fluctuations, and on Sunday, I was able to get a voice recording that sounded like a woman reciting a grocery list. But this morning, nothing! Nada!”

“Well, uh, ghosts gotta move on eventually, right? Otherwise, just about everywhere would be haunted, right?” It’s not that Ichigo had suddenly started believing ghosts or anything, but there was something about Agent Inoue that just made you want to go along with her and see where all this panned out.

Inoue shot him a finger gun. “Or, they get moved along.” She shoved a folded paper map at him. “You can put that thing down.”

Ichigo eased the Spirit Detect-O 9000, or whatever it was called, to the grass and accepted her map. It was a street map of DC, meant for tourists, emphasizing all the local transit routes and popular attractions. There was also a great loop marked on it in orange highlighter, zig-zagging back and forth through the city. There was a little ‘x’ marked on Franklin Park, with “Tuesday, early morning” written in a bubbly hand.

“What is this?” Ichigo frowned. It didn’t seem to match up with any of the metro or bus lines. It didn’t even match with the sidewalks, it appeared to cut straight through large buildings like the convention center.

“As far as I can tell,” Inoue said, her brown eyes very solemn, “that is the patrol route of our local grim reaper.”

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“So I actually got interested in grim reapers,” Inoue explained, once they were back in the office, “while I was investigating violent ghost phenomena.” She was eating a bag of corn chips that she had gotten from that ancient vending machine by punching it and then shoving her own arm up the chute. (She’d gotten Ichigo a bag, too, but he was too afraid to eat them.)

Ichigo was sitting at a cluttered table that Inoue had told him “could be his desk.” Half of it was taken up by a large aquarium full of rocks and a water bowl, but no life forms that Ichigo could detect. The other half was covered with back issues of “Ghost Hunter Technology” magazine. “You mean like poltergeists?” he asked.

“Not exactly. Poltergeists are noisy, but they aren’t usually able to kill their targets.”

“Kill? Ghosts can’t kill people, aside from, like scaring them to death,” Ichigo scoffed. “I mean, folklorically speaking. As we established earlier, I am not a ghost-believer.”

Inoue tipped her head to the side. “They do, actually, it just tends to get blamed on something else.”

“By ghost-non-believers.”

“By everyone, really, and that’s what’s so strange.” Inoue pulled a fat binder from a stack of seemingly identical ones, and tossed it open in front of Ichigo. “Edison, New Jersey, 2014. An elderly woman dies ‘of a broken heart’ a week after her husband dies of cancer. Coincidentally, a telephone pole falls on her house the same night and rips a hole in her house.” She turned a page. “Norfolk, Virginia, 2017. A young woman dies in what the police rule as a suicide, despite the fact that she made a 911 call 48 hours previous, expressing fear of her ex-boyfriend. Three days later, the boyfriend is dead of mysterious causes. Coincidentally, his apartment complex suffered significant damages from ‘a wild cougar.’”

Ichigo squinted at the pictures. The walls of the building were scored with what did appear to be scratch marks. “Hell of a cougar.”

“Exactly! And I’ve got dozens of these historic cases. But about four months ago, I was able to investigate one myself-- a young man named Joe Wallace. He lives here in the city, over near Dupont Circle. Wallace had cut off his toxic dad years ago, and refused to visit him in the hospital as he was dying. Four days after his father’s death, a truck crashes into his house in the middle of the night and then drives away before the police can arrive.”

“And he died.”

“No!” Inoue held up one finger. “Scratches and bruises, but he doesn’t die!”

“Okay, great. So what does he remember?”

“He remembers a truck crashing into his house.”

Ichigo scratched his chin. “I am confused.”

“Look at this!” Inoue stabbed a finger at the pictures. “These are claw marks, not vehicular wreckage! There’s damage on the second story window! Wallace had scratches and defensive wounds, as if he had been fending off an animal! And look here, at the damage to the walls of the bedroom!”

“What am I looking at?” Ichigo asked, squinting at a photograph that looked like it had been blown up past the point of recognition.

“There were cuts and slashes in the walls and bedding as though someone had been fighting with a sword.”

“Like a Medieval Times sword? Was the guy a Medieval Times enthusiast?”

“More consistent with a katana. Do you like Medieval Times?”

“No one likes Medieval Times.”

“I like Medieval Times. You’ve probably never even been. But back to the ghost! Why would Wallace remember a truck crashing into his house, when nothing about the scene is consistent with that story?”

“He was...lying?”

“His memories were replaced.”

“His memories were replaced,” Ichigo echoed.

“Yes.”

“By… aliens?”

Orihime heaved a deep sigh. “By a grim reaper.”

“A grim reaper with a samurai sword.”

“How on earth did you come to this conclusion?”

Inoue raised one eyebrow. “Because when I placed him under hypnosis, Wallace didn’t remember anything about a truck. He did remember a monster with batwings and a mask made of bone and his dead father’s voice who tried to kill him, except that he was saved by a tall man dressed in black. The man had bright red hair and fought the monster with a sword that was also a whip and then he wiped Wallace’s memories.”

Ichigo stared at her. “You can hypnotize people?”

Inoue gave him a long-suffering face. Ichigo had the sudden flash that he was going to be seeing that face a lot in the days to come. “Yes, I am a certified hypnotist.” Inoue’s phone suddenly started playing “Tubular Bells”. “Oops, that’s an alarm. Come on, we have a meeting with some important people. Do you like diners?”

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Agent Inoue apparently did not care for public transit, but she walked very quickly. Ichigo was concentrating so hard on keeping up with her that he nearly collided with her back when she stopped very suddenly.

“You don’t mind if we make a quick stop, do we?” Inoue asked.

“You said the meeting was with important people.”

“Oh, don’t worry about them!” Inoue pursed her lips. “You see that bodega right there?”

They were in a part of downtown that was mostly mid-to-upscale restaurants and government buildings and FedExes. But sure enough, there was a dingy little bodega nestled between a Mexican-Indian fusion place and an Au Bon Pain, the windows stuffed with t-shirts from the last administration and a variety of cell phone chargers. The overhead sign read “Urahara Shop.”

“Y...eah…” Ichigo replied.

“That place is a hotbed of supernatural activity.”

“Is it?” Ichigo asked.

“I am almost positive that it is a supply point and meeting place for grim reapers, monster slayers, cryptids, alien hunters, and lycanthropes, but the owner is on to me.”

“I see,” Ichigo said levelly.

“Can you go in and pretend to be a customer? They have lots of good candy you can look through. Inoue dug in her purse and came up with a fiver. “Here. Buy a scratch ticket or something.”

“I’m not buying a scratch ticket, they’re a scam.”

“If the big guy is working the counter, he’ll glare at you until you buy something, so be prepared.”

As Ichigo pushed open the door, he realized he’d never actually agreed to any of this. Agent Inoue’s secret hypnosis powers, once again. Whatever. It was a bodega, there were a thousand of them in DC. They all had the same Nats t-shirts and coffee mugs with pictures of the Washington Monument on them. Ichigo pretended to be interested in a rack of comics. He tended to prefer indy comics over the big publishers himself, but even so, he didn’t recognize any of the books. Maybe they were by local authors.

Up at the front of the shop, a tiny, dark-haired woman was giving whatfor to the man behind the counter, a tall fellow with pale, straw-colored hair sticking out in tufts from under the saddest hat Ichigo had ever seen, a shapeless, battered bucket, striped green and white.

“Well, I can sell you a new battery for your phone, Miss Kuchiki, maybe that would help.”

“Not if it only lasts as long as the last one you sold me! I really need to get in touch with my partner, except that even if I could get my phone working again, his battery is probably dead because everything you sell is the same crap!”

“Ah, that’s too bad! You know, I think Mr. Abarai was in here a few days ago… I wasn’t in at the time, but Jinta said he came in, asking about…”

The man trailed off, and Ichigo glanced up to see the shopkeeper looking directly at him.

“...metrocards. But as you know, we don’t sell metrocards anymore.”

The woman made an aggravated noise. “You’re so useless! If I write him a damned note, will you give it to him if he comes in?”

“Oh, of course! Anything for you, Miss Kuchiki!”

The conversation trailed off as the woman hunched over the counter to angrily scratch out a note.

Ichigo stuffed the comic he was flipping through back on its rack. He skipped the enormous display of bedazzled flip-flops and started perusing the surprisingly extensive selection of gum.

“Here!” the woman finished and shoved her note at the shopkeeper. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Have a wonderful day!” the shopkeeper tootled, giving her a little finger wave.

Ichigo felt bad for the woman. “Er, excuse me?” he said as she passed.

She turned to scowl at him. For such a tiny person, she seemed to contain a remarkable amount of rage.

“Do you need to call someone? You can use my phone, if you’d like.” He held it out like an offering.

The woman blinked at him for a moment.

“I didn’t mean to be nosy! You were just kind of loud and you sounded worried about your, um, partner.”

“I’m not worried about him, I just need to find him.” Her face softened. “Thanks, Mister, but I can’t reach him on a regular phone. Don’t worry, I’ll track him down eventually.” She turned to leave, then stopped to jab an accusatory finger at Ichigo. “And that’s professional partner, not… you know! Whatever!” She stomped out.

What a strange, tiny person.

Ichigo selected a gum and walked up to the counter.

“Oooh, dragonberry lime, good choice!” the man trilled. “Anything else I can get you? Bottled water? Fanny pack? Spare phone battery?”

“I’ll pass,” Ichigo replied dryly.

“I imagine it’s against FBI policy to let a stranger use your cell phone,” the shopkeeper said sweetly.

Ichigo’s brows furrowed. “This is my personal phone. And how did you…?”

The man gave a chortling laugh that sent shivers down Ichigo’s spine. “Because headquarters is three blocks away and only an FBI agent would wear a suit that square.”

Ichigo took his change and his gum and shoved them both in his pocket. “Yeah, well, your hat sucks.”

The man laughed harder. “Doesn’t it, though?”

Once he was outside again, Ichigo handed Inoue the gum and her change. “The owner of that place is a creep.”

“The guy in the green and white hat?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Urahara. You’re right, he’s the owner. Were there any other customers?”

“Just the short lady. You must have seen her come out. She was ripping Urahara a new one for some dodgy cell phone battery he sold her. I think she must have been NSA or something. She said she was trying to get ahold of her partner, but she needed a special phone.” As he said it, Ichigo realized it would be pretty odd for an NSA agent to be buying cell phone batteries from some shady bodega.

“No one came out,” Inoue replied.

“She definitely did! I heard the bell over the door ring.”

Inoue regarded Ichigo very seriously. “Agent Kurosaki. I was standing here the whole time. You were the only person who went in or out.” She looked at the gum. “Ooh! Dragonfruit lime! Do you want some?”

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They were late to the meeting.

Two men were waiting for them in the back corner booth. One of them had pinched, pointy features and piercing blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. His chin-length haircut was pretty dramatic, but not as dramatic as his pure white trench coat. A cup of black coffee sat on the faded Formica table in front of him, but it didn’t look like it had been touched.

His companion was an enormous, good-looking Latino who was shoveling pancakes into his face.

“Inoue,” the dramatic guy said. “Who’s this?”

“This is my new partner, Kurosaki,” Inoue replied. “Kurosaki, this is Uryuu Ishida,” she indicated the white trenchcoat guy, “and Chad,” Mr. Pancakes.

“Also known as the ‘Lone Archers,’” Ishida specified. “We are apolitical actors who are interested in revealing the truths that are regularly hidden from the general populace by secret forces that conspire within the machinery of the American government.”

“You can just call me Chad,” said Chad.

“Good morning!” the waitress said. “Can I get you folks anything?”

“Oh, yes! I’m getting mozzarella sticks! Do you like mozzarella sticks, Kurosaki? They’re so good here!”

“So’re the pancakes,” added Chad.

“I’ll just have a coffee,” Ichigo announced. He glanced at Ishida’s cup. “Black.”

“Double mozzarella sticks, please!” Inoue chorused. “And a cherry coke!” She leaned over to Ichigo and spoke out of the side of her mouth. “I’ll give you a mozzarella stick.”

“Do you want some pancake?” Chad offered to Ishida. “I never think to offer.”

Ishida waved him off with a hand. “Agent Inoue. At great personal peril, I was able to obtain a sample of the item we discussed.” He slid a small paper packet across the table. “There are two tablets inside, but one should be sufficient for your purposes.” Ishida leaned forward, his mouth set in a firm line. “I was cautioned very strongly against using this, unless one had a firm plan for handling the… consequences.”

“I understand,” Inoue replied, stuffing the envelope into her purse.

Ichigo wanted to ask more questions, but the conversation shifted very quickly to some USGS floodplain maps that Ishida wanted Inoue to obtain for him that were apparently not available from the public webportals, allegedly because of filesize. Ichigo could practically hear the air quotes around the word “filesize.”

“We’re going to look for Jersey Devils next weekend,” Chad explained, sounding pretty excited about it.

“There’s only one, Chad,” Ishida corrected. “It’s just ‘Jersey Devil.’”

“There could be more than one,” Chad shrugged.

Thirty minutes later, they departed. Inoue had an order of mozzarella sticks in her purse. Ichigo had an armload of backissues of the Lone Archers’ ‘zine, which was, conveniently enough, titled The Lone Archer. There was no doubt in his mind that at least Ishida was completely off his rocker. The jury was still out on Chad… he struck Ichigo as the sort of guy who just went along with Ishida’s nonsense because he was a good friend and also liked taking camping trips and doing layout for ‘zines.

“So what was that thing they gave you?” Ichigo pestered. The idea of that little paper packet had been burning a hole in his brain the entire time.

“You busy tonight?” Inoue asked, raising an eyebrow slyly. “Between 10 and 11?”

“What are we doing?” Ichigo asked cautiously, wondering if he would be able to charge his time.

“We’re going to try and attract an angry ghost.”

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“Are you… sure this is… a good idea?” Ichigo asked for the sixteenth time, as Inoue focused the thermal camera on him.

They were in an old, abandoned lot that had formerly served as a Metro service facility. It was pretty spooky all on its own, filled with train cars too dilapidated for salvage.

It was 10:25pm. Inoue had set up no less than 17 different pieces of ghost detection equipment. Ichigo was questioning his life choices.

“You told me you don’t believe in ghosts. If ghosts don’t exist, then what could possibly go wrong?” Inoue posed.

“Well… that’s true,” Ichigo granted. “And, for the record, I still do not believe in ghosts. But in the Pascal’s wager sense of things, I am considering the ramifications of what happens if there are ghosts that exist, regardless of my belief in them.”

“And?” Inoue asked.

“Well, you said that these ghosts have hurt and killed people before. It seems like trying to attract one without having any method of, um, fighting it, seems kind of… irresponsible?”

“Ah, but you see, I’ve specifically picked this time and location to coincide with the grim reaper patrol routes I’ve been mapping out. Our friendly neighborhood psychopomp ought to show up just on schedule to fight the angry ghost for us. We’re doing them a favor, as I see it.”

“How so?” Ichigo exclaimed.

“It’s not like we’re creating an angry ghost out of nowhere. We’re just attracting an existing one to our location. We’re saving the grim reaper the trouble of having to hunt it down.”

Ichigo pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was it so difficult to argue with Inoue? Possibly because she was so incredibly earnest in all her beliefs, and all her arguments were in completely good faith, it’s just that her logic came from some other dimension. This woman has solved multiple, high-profile murders, including several that were ice cold, Ichigo reminded himself. So she’s quirky. I am sure I can learn a lot from her.

“Okay, everything is in place!” Inoue announced, placing her hand on her hips. “Go hide behind that pile of moldy seats!”

Inoue took Ichigo’s place at the center of her recording equipment. “Agent Orihime Inoue speaking,” she said, for posterity. “It is 10:28pm. I am crushing one tablet of a substance called ‘Hollow Bait.’” She crunched the little white tablet, which looked an awful lot like an Alka-Seltzer, between her fingers, and then made a flying leap for the rotting pile of damp, orange upholstery that Ichigo was crouched behind.

“So, just out of curiosity,” Ichigo started. “How long would we have to wait, theoretically, with nothing happening, before we would declare this a bust?”

Inoue pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Usually, I would give it about two hours, but if you’ve got somewhere to be, I don’t mind if you leave early. It is nice to have company for a change.”

“No, I don’t have anywhere else to be,” Ichigo replied. “I mean… sleeping, I guess.”

Inoue gave a charming little laugh. “I don’t sleep very well. And hunting for ghosts is more interesting than most of the stuff on Hulu.”

The way that she said it gave Ichigo the distinct impression that Inoue was, well, lonely. But that didn’t seem correct. She was weird, sure, but she was also friendly and talkative, and, er, well, she was extremely cute. Surely she had tons of friends.

“How’d you get into ghost hunting, anyway?” he tried to be conversational.

“Hmm,” Inoue hummed noncommittally. “Let’s just say there was an incident in my teen years, where my memories don’t match up to the property damage.”

Oh. Ichigo wondered if he should apologize, when suddenly, a cold chill ran down his spine and a sound like a roar echoed in his ears, except he didn’t actually hear anything. “Did you hear that?” he gasped.

“It’s the EMF detector,” Inoue nodded, scrambling for the reader and Ichigo realized he could hear a faint beeping.

“No, not the beeping, it was like a… a… scream…”

“You heard a scream?”

“I didn’t exactly…” Ichigo trailed off as he heard two more, coming from different directions. “There’s more than one. Monster screams. Not human screams.”

Inoue stared at him, eyes wide. “I don’t hear anything. Have you ever been tested for latent psychic ability?”

There was a sudden change in the air pressure, and a fetid, rotting smell, even worse than the Metro seats. Ichigo grabbed Inoue by the shoulders and rolled out of the way, just as the pile of junk they had been crouched behind compacted like it had been through a car crusher. Or smashed by a giant foot.

“Whoa!” Inoue exclaimed, trying to push Ichigo off of her so she could see what was going on.

Ichigo blinked through the night. He couldn’t see anything, but there was an area of space that looked thick and hazy, like it wasn’t refracting the harsh glow of the sodium street lights quite correctly.

“We have to get out of here,” Ichigo gasped.

“Can you see it?” Inoue asked, her eyes wide and excited.

“Not-- not really,” Ichigo replied, pulling at her arm. The air blurred, and Ichigo had the sense the thing was jumping at them. He could tell it was fast, but he couldn’t see it, he didn’t know what to--

“Howl, Zabimaru!”

It was both there and not quite there, a liquid blade made of glass and starlight, that snapped through the air at the invisible thing. The monster bellowed, and whipped around, charging at a dark figure standing atop one of the old Metro cars.

“Pick on someone your own size, ugly!” the man bellowed, and as Ichigo squinted, he realized that their savior was dressed all in black. He was tall, and his hair was pulled back in a spiky ponytail. It was bright red. He was also wearing sunglasses, even though it was the middle of the night. They were pushed up on top of his head, to be fair, but Ichigo had a feeling this detail would stick with him.

“You can see that guy, right?” Ichigo asked Inoue desperately. “The guy who’s fighting the ghost? The guy that looks just like the guy in your report?”

“There’s a guy?” Inoue asked. “No. Where is he? Can you usually see ghosts?”

“I don’t even believe in ghosts!”

“Well, maybe you don’t believe in them because you can see them and you don’t want to, did you ever think of that?”

“I don’t think now is the time to interrogate my personal traumas!”

Suddenly, there was another drop in pressure, and Ichigo had the sense of heavy breathing and sharp teeth. “Inoue. I think there’s another one.”

“Well, can you get the guy to come fight this one, too?”

“He seems busy,” Ichigo squeaked.

Something black flashed by his vision, and there was a loud crack and a sound of something screeching in pain. A second dark-clad person had arrived, landing softly on sandaled feet. There was the same unreality to her, a sense that she wasn’t entirely there, as well as a certain familiarity that Ichigo couldn’t place. Her sword was bright in the darkness, like moonlight reflecting on snow.

“Oi, there you are, you big dummy!” she shouted at the first man and Ichigo realized with a jolt that it was the angry woman from the bodega. “I’ve been looking for you for four days!”

“I had a problem with my gigai and maybe you should check your texts once in a while!” the tall guy shouted back. Ichigo refused to think of him as a grim reaper. A grim reaper would not wear sunglasses.

“My phone died!”

“Can we-- ow! -- discuss this later? I’m glad you’re okay, I missed you. Why are there so many Hollows in this train yard?”

“You’re such a sap! And the Hollows are here because some stupid humans got ahold of some Hollow bait.” The woman turned, and glared at Ichigo. Her eyes burned with blue flame, like the burner of a gas stove.

That would have been the last thing Ichigo remembered, if he had actually remembered it, or any of the things that came before it.

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Ichigo was sitting at his desk.

Inoue was sitting at her desk.

The sun was streaming in the window. The clock on Ichigo’s phone read 7:12am.

Inoue frowned. She examined a coffee cup on her desk. She took a hesitant sip, and then made a face. “Why are we here?” she wondered softly.

“I hate to pull an all-nighter,” Ichigo said, stretching, “but it sure does feel good to be caught up on paperwork!”

Inoue regarded him. “Kurosaki,” she said, “how long have you worked here?”

Ichigo frowned. “Well, I guess this is my second day.”

“Right. So… how much paperwork did you have to catch up on?”

Ichigo blinked. He very distinctively recalled working through the night-- his hand cramping, the incredibly spicy Thai food they’d ordered, Inoue’s seemingly infinite Boy Bands of the 90’s playlist. “I… was helping you, I guess?” Come to think of it, why was he filling out paperwork by hand, anyway? His laptop sat next to him, the lid closed. It wasn’t even plugged in.

Inoue’s fist slammed down onto her desk. “Gosh darnit! They wiped my memories again!!”

#wacky au requests #my writing #in my youth i shipped mulder and scully so hard #and now it's like...girl #you could do so much better #it is not possible to do better than gillian anderson

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writtenonreceipts · 4 years

Text

words words words the fanfic saga continues...should have another part up by this weekend. Thanks for the wonderful comments and support for the first part, y’all have no idea how much it means!

TW: Angst, anxiety, depression, talk about death, drug references, alcohol references. (I’d honestly say the drug and alcohol are pretty mild but I just want to be safe for ya)

They are the runaways. Before she manages to return home with her basement full of demons, Aelin meets Rowan. Several times. Set within the events of THIS fic. Part three. Throne of Glass modern AU

hello, good-bye (part 2)

It is a year after she meets him for the first time.

Technically it is their fourth meeting. But the other three don’t count. Not really.

The first time they met she’d just overdosed and was sitting in a hospital bed wondering what the best route of escape was. Lysandra slept over her legs, drooling. Aelin had no recollection of how she got in the hospital. Nothing beyond the needle, the pills, the desperation.

The second time they met she vomited on his shoes. They were damn nice ones too. She offered no apology other than the fact it was his own damn fault she was going through withdrawal symptoms. It was his own damn fault for being so annoying. And why was he covered in cartoon stickers?

The third time they met they weren’t supposed to know names. They weren’t supposed to know histories. They weren’t supposed to be there together. Even though they found themselves in the same uncomfortable chairs staring over the same stale coffee. They were supposed to share stories of support and weakness. Those meetings were always worthless in her opinion.

So this is really the first time they meet.

Aelin is sitting in a coffee shop sipping on her chocolate hazelnut blended double espresso with extra whipped cream when she sees him.

He’s impossible to miss really. Tall and broad shouldered his physic is certainly glorious to behold. Not to mention the tan skin that gleams with post-workout sweat. His hair is silver and hangs to his shoulders, longer than when she first saw him. But that time doesn’t count, she reminds herself.

The little shop is full of the late afternoon crowd of caffeine seekers and rain avoiders. And with the deluge going on outside, quite a few people have sought refuge. Aelin wants to be annoyed, but she reminds herself that she is one of those rain avoiders.

And between watching the rain or watching the group of teenage girls giggle of text messages—Aelin decides on watching him as he orders. She doesn’t know why. It’s not like she’ll say anything to him. Better to be as far from his as possible. Because as much as she doesn’t want to—she really does remember him. He is cold, harsh, broody. She knows he has a past, but with the snippets she’s gotten. It’s a hard one. Dark and cruel.

He doesn’t notice her until his name is called. Rowan. And he’s taking the first sip of the double espresso with caramel and vanilla. She’d always thought he’d be the black coffee sort. He’s turning to find a spare table and his eyes meet hers.

She’d never admit it to anyone, but she’s always loved his eyes. From the day she woke up in that hospital bed those rich green eyes have haunted her.

Aelin fingers one of her many scars—the one on her right hand, over her knuckles—and she considers what it would be like to not feel so alone. Because right there, even with barely three feet between them, another human being has never felt so far away.

Her fingers move to the inside of her wrist where the thinner scars reside. So far away.

“This chair taken?” His voice is low and brisk.

Aelin looks up at him. She shrugs, not even bothering to blush or play coy or something else she might have done once. “No.”

It’s not like he’ll try and talk to her. Anonymity is his life. From the hospital where he works to the meetings he attends. He has no ties to her. It’s not like she wants any either. She knows his condescending look. Which really is hypocritical when you think about it. If he’s an addict too, he can’t judge her. Can he?

But she judges him. Because what else can she do? She judges him for barely talking to her in the hospital. At the meetings. She judges him for the stupid sticker he gave her where he scrawled a meeting location and phone number. She judges him for never really talking about what he’s gone through. Because how can you change and get better when you don’t accept the past?

She’s a hypocrite too.

“What?” she asks realizing in her stupor he’s actually decided to talk to her.

“Your bag?” He repeats, a single eyebrow raised.

Aelin fumbles realizing her too big purse is sitting in the proffered chair. She snatches it up and takes it into her lap. Maybe that will help the way she shakes and the feeling of panic welling up inside her. Why is she so focused on him with scenarios dancing in her mind of things that will never happen? Things that are stupid. Things that—

“I didn’t expect you to actually show up,” Rowan says.

Aelin snaps her eyes to him as he drinks his coffee. “Excuse me?”

“To the meetings,” he replies.

“It’s none of your business,” she says, cold and sharp. Her hackles are on the rise and already she’s debating her escape.

“No, I guess it’s not.”

“Why would you even care?” she asks. They’ve sat in silence for too long and she doesn’t like it. Even though she told herself there was no real reason to talk to him, she can’t help it.

He smirks. “I thought it was none of my business?”

She calls him a name and is slinging the strap of her purse over a shoulder.

“Wait,” he says. He holds up a placating hand but his face is unreadable. “Stay.”

Aelin glances outside where it’s started to rain. She purses her lips and relaxes back into her seat.

“I’m Rowan,” he says finally. “Seeing as how we’ve never officially met.”

The wince is too hard to conceal or pass off as a shiver. Aelin shrugs it off and doesn’t quite meet his gaze. “Aelin.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat which causes Aelin to look up. His eyes are narrowed slightly as one finger runs along the lip of his cup. He’s scrutinizing her. It’s like she is an open book before him. Everything there is to know is tattooed upon her skin. So, Aelin meets his eyes and holds that intense stare.

“I guess I’m still trying to figure you out,” he says. “I thought I’d have it down already.”

“Because I’m so easy? So like all the other girls who’ve fallen apart in your hospital?” Aelin replies. Maybe it’s a cheap shot but she doesn’t care.

He cocks his head to the side but says nothing. So she says nothing either.

And they remain that way until the rain has subsided and Aelin is safe to run out to her car and leave him behind.

Tucked in the pages of her favorite book, Aelin finds the sticker.

It’s of a cartoon daisy with a smiling face in the center and happy yellow petals dancing out. It’s a terrible sticker really. Why would anyone think it was a good idea to create something like that? But she ignores the thought because all she can do is trace the words and numbers on the back of the sticker.

She never bothered to remove the backing. Never bothered to put the sticker on her car or phone or anywhere else but in her favorite book. She doesn’t really know why.

But now she’s feeling the crushing blow of having lost another job. It’s not her fault. Not really. She can’t afford regular gas. She’s basically living out of her car. The only skirt she owns has bleach stains. And she’s still craving like it’s only been a day since her last hit.

Maybe it is her fault. Everything is after all.

But those numbers scribbled on the backing of the sticker are written so neatly, so carefully—it would be a shame not to put them to good use.

So she puts them into her phone and dials. It’s a miracle she still has a phone anymore honestly. Or a car. Or her favorite book.

“Hello?”

His voice is clipped. Aelin can tell how tired he is in that one word and the way it’s a sigh barely escaping his lips.

A small noise hisses out of her throat.

“Aelin.” It’s not a question. In the background she hears keys jingle and a door close and feet pounding on stairs. “Where are you?”

That is a wonderful question.

Somehow, Aelin realizes, she’s made it to her car. It’s sitting in the middle of the parking lot of the restaurant where she used to work. She knows that without the money she would have gotten from tips she won’t be able to buy gas.

Before she can force herself not to, Aelin is telling him where to find her. She’s promising that she’ll stay right there. She’s promising that she’ll stay on the line. Even as the panic seizes her and she is desperate. She is desperate for anything, anything, that will calm her down.

He arrives just as she’s manages to calm herself down.

I’m fine. It’s fine. Just breath. Deeper than that. Hold the air in. Slow. Slow. I’m Fine. I’m fine.

Aelin untangles her fingers from her seatbelt as he gets out of his car. As he walks over to her, she pulls her self out of the seat and leans against the car.

“You didn’t have to come,” she says quickly. “It’s fine. I overreacted.”

She just hopes the tear streaks on her cheeks aren’t that noticeable.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, completely dismissing her words.

Aelin stares at him.

“There’s a pizza place just down the road,” he continues. Rowan nods to the restaurant behind her. “I’m guessing that one will be on your blacklist for a while.”

Did he just try and make a joke? Aelin stares more intently.

“Come on,” Rowan says.

This time it’s more of an order and Aelin obliges.

When they’re seated at the pizza place with water and breadsticks in front of them, Aelin notices the watch on his wrist. Hot pink with Dora the Explorer on the face.

“What the hell is that?” She makes a face and stares at the watch.

Rowan glances down and shrugs. “A watch.”

“Smart ass. Why the hell do you still have it?”

“I need to tell time when I’m on shift and can’t pull out my phone.”

“It’s pink.”

“It’s a watch.”

She stares at him. He stares right back.

Who is this man? She wonders. Who is this man that is so arrogant and cold and confidant? Who is he, so calm and capable?

She hates him for it. Hates him that he seems to have moved on from his past. Hates him that he is so put together and not a wreck like her. I bet he doesn’t have panic attacks in his car. I bet he isn’t wondering the best way to cash in on his sobriety.

“You made it through the full sixty day run,” Rowan says, “you told me to keep track.”

“That was months ago,” she replies. She can’t help but to glare at him. But to hate him.

“And?” he presses. “How has it been?”

Aelin saves herself from responding by taking a long sip of water. She looks around the restaurant. It’s pretty small, but a cute place. It has wood paneling, checkboard tablecloth, and a jukebox in one corner. A family of four sits in one corner.

“Fine,” Aelin says. “Why do you care anyway?”

“Why’d you call me?” he returns.

Aelin doesn’t want to answer. If she answered she’d have to explain why she can’t call Lysandra. Which would lead into not being back in Terrasen. Which would lead into why she met him in that hospital so long ago.

“What made you move out to Wendlyn?” she asks instead. “Terrasen has a better medical program.”

“Family,” he says. Though, it comes out more like a growl. “Why would you move out to Wendlyn?”

“Family.”

Both answers are an admission. Both answers are pained. Both answers are lies.

She doesn’t know how it escalated from there. Between slightly hating him and slightly admiring him—Aelin talks with him every few days. Sometimes she goes a week or two. But she’ll always check in. He has become a friend of sorts to her. Which is good. Otherwise she’d be right back to where she starting at the beginning of their relationship.

But it’s not a relationship. It’s hardly anything at all.

Her phone rings at some unholy hour one night. Aelin doesn’t know why, but she answers it.

“Hello?” she scratches out.

She is met with his breathing. Unsure of what to do, Aelin remains quiet. Her phone presses into her ear with heavy force until she’s sure she’s going to break something.

“Rowan?”

He makes a strangled noise on the other side and she’s kicking off her blankets, dancing around her tiny room for her shoes.

“Rowan, I’m coming over,” she says.

“No.” The word is barely a whisper. “No. I’m at the hospital.”

She waits.

“There was an accident. Pregnant woman hit by a drunk driver. She stoked out on the table right before me. Just died. And the baby too. But that man…he just walked away. Cut on his head and some bruised ribs. He gets to walk away.”

Aelin wraps her fingers around her blanket tight enough her hand starts to hurt. He’s told her once about his high school sweetheart. Rowan was going to marry her. Not just because she was pregnant but because he believed she was his soulmate. The one. The only. The end.

She’d been hit by a drunk driver on her way home from his apartment.

That had been his end too. Drowning was the way he’d been determined to go. Drowning by alcohol.

“Rowan,” Aelin whispers. She wishes she was at his side. If only to hold his hand or catch his tears before they fell.

“Talk to me?” he begs.

She tells him about Lysandra. Her best friend. The reason she made it away from Arobyn and Clarisse alive. Then she talks about Aedion. A cousin she doesn’t even know if he’s still alive or not. She doesn’t talk about Sam though. Not now. But she talks about another friend whom she loved. Little Elide who first dreamed of running away. Aelin doesn’t know what happened to her, but she does know that’s where the idea first came from.

Be free. Run. Live.

Simple words. Simple ideas. And she tells him everything. Right up until the sun begins to rise.

“Thank-you,” he says when her voice finally gives out.

“Rowan?” she begins then pauses unsure of what she really wants to say.

“Yeah?”

Aelin wants to invite him over. Wants to say he can always come. Always call. He’s not alone. He never has been. But the words dry up in her throat unlike the tears that are slowly tracking down her cheeks.

“Good-bye,” she says instead.

“Good-bye.”

tags:

@ tottenhamboys20

#rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #rowaelin #throne of glass #queen of shadows #kingdom of ash #the fanfic no one asked for continues #it's a slowburn even though nothing really happens my bad guys i tried #fanfiction #runaways

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awesomenightfall · 5 years

Text

The first part of the “DA Protags are Bad Adults Modern!AU”.

---

Work at the university had been brutal and Solona Amell wanted nothing more than to go home, rip her bra off, and sit in a bubble bath for a few hours while reading a nonsensical smutty romance novel and drinking an entire bottle of wine.

She loved academia, she really did, and the study of magic and the arcane was an important one, but if she had to listen to one more old, crusty mage-cum-lecturer with too many degrees and not enough brain cells tell her that her research on the Blight was archaic and irrelevant one more damn time she was going to flip a table and --

Her thoughts of slaughter and revenge halted as soon as she managed to open the old, rickety, door to her apartment. It was a far cry from the lavish estate she had been raised in, but it was her oasis in the chaos of Kirkwall, a small bit of independence that she was proud of, despite the leaks and the chipped paint, and the noisy neighbors who had ceiling-thumping-sex at very inconvenient hours.

As soon as Solona opened the apartment door, she was greeted to the sight of her roommates on their worn, secondhand couch. Hawke was wearing nothing but a sports bra and gym shorts and Ellana was naked from neck to waist, wearing only a thin pair of underwear. There was a quart of melting ice cream between them and a cooking show blasting from the TV. Solona could only deduce from the sweltering, unrelenting heat of the apartment and the tear tracks down Ellana’s cheeks that a) the air conditioner was still broken and b) her elven roommate was still reeling from her recent break up.

Solona sighed deeply. Her bath and the next chapter of Swords and Shields would just have to wait.

“Hawke,” Solona addressed her cousin, who was busy spoon feeding Ellana ice cream while simultaneously dabbing her cheeks with a tissue. “Didn’t you say you had a friend who could come and fix the AC?”

“Hello to you, too. And actually, it’s Ellana’s friend Dagna who said she’d come over to fix it, but she’s been holed up at work. She’ll be here soon, don’t worry so much, Sol. It’s not good for you. Remember your blood pressure,” Hawke said easily, in her Hawke-ish, charming way that almost made Solona forget that she was annoyed.

Almost.

Solona stripped off her outer shirt. If she couldn’t beat them…

She plopped down next to Ellana. “Are you alright?”

Ellana waved her hand. “Oh, fine. I’m fine. I’m tired of dwelling on my bad luck with men. Let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about Hawke.”

“Always a fascinating topic of conversation,” Hawke agreed and Solona rolled her eyes.

Ellana wiped her face with the back of her hand and wiggled her eyebrows, instantly cheered up. “Fenris, you know, the elf from the building that Hawke is crazy about, passed by the apartment on the way to the basement to do his laundry and I swear, I’ve never seen Hawke run so fast!”

“I never run after a man.” Hawke plucked the spoon from Ellana’s hand, dug it into the soupy ice cream, and slurped it indecently. “But for tattoos and muscles, a girl might just power walk.”

Solona threw a couch pillow smattered with cigarette burn holes at Hawke’s head, laughing despite herself. “You’re incorrigible.”

“But you love that about me,” Hawke said with a shit-eating-grin.

She did, but there was no way she was going to admit that out loud. Hawke was loud, ridiculous, and unpredictable, but her heart was in the right place. Still, Solona would have preferred it if Hawke could settle down, just a little, instead of burning the candle at both ends all the time, but that just wasn’t Hawke’s style. Hawke with her five part time jobs (some of them not quite legal, Solona deduced, but somehow she never got arrested -- Solona suspected that Hawke’s very connected dwarf friend, Varric, had something to do with that but the rumor was unconfirmed) and endless energy and need to help people.

Solona loved her cousin but her poor life choices with partners and work and living in general really left a lot to be desired.

Ellana Lavellen, the third part of their trio, was sweet but young, and only slightly more put together than Hawke. She was a graduate student that had ventured far, far away from her clan to come to Kirkwall to study and write her dissertation on eleven history and relics.

“I think I’m going to title it: ‘How the Shem Steal Dalish History, Give It a Mediocre Andrastian Twist, and Slap Their Name on It’,” Ellana told her the first time they crossed paths in the library. “I was going to call it, ‘The Study of Shem Perverting Dalish Culture for Political Gain’, but apparently that was ‘too controversial’. Can you imagine?”

Solona liked her immediately and the rest, as they say, was history.

“You know, you can’t be sad forever over one guy ghosting you,” Hawke said to Ellana.

Ellana sniffed, affronted. “We were together for a year and then he just ups and leaves. To do ‘field research’. Except he just disappeared off the face of the planet. That’s more than just ‘ghosting’. That’s-- that’s-- a full blown haunting!”

Solona had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Apparently Hawke’s penchant for the dramatic was contagious.

“Maybe he did you a favor,” Hawke suggested. “Your friend Dorian said he dressed like a hobo, anyway.”

Ellana took another couch pillow and shoved it in Hawke’s face. “He did not! It-- it’s a style choice!”

“A bad one!”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk!”

“Stop defending him, he ditched you!”

Solona shoved herself between the two arguing roommates, hands on both of their faces to pry them apart. “Alright, you two. Break it up.”

“Yes, Mother,” Hawke said snottily, acting every bit like the rebellious teenager she once was. “All I’m saying, Ellana, is that there are plenty of fish in the sea. You’re cute with perfect tits--” Solona snorted, “-- shut up, Sol, so let me hook you up with someone.”

Ellana’s frown softened. “... who?”

“Anyone you want. Just name them.”

“... Varric?”

“... anyone but him,” Hawke amended. “Trust me, it’s for your own good.”

Solona desperately wanted to ask if it was because, as she had long suspected, Varric was secretly Hawke’s Sugar Daddy and that was how she could afford to live life on part-time salary, but that was more than Solona ever really wanted to know about her cousin and her proclivities.

Hawke waved off Solona’s openly suspicious look. “All I’m saying is that many have tried and failed miserably. The dwarf is immovable. A fortress against venereal temptation. Ellana needs someone… easier. What about Merrill?”

“Why?” Ellana asked. “Because we’re both elves?”

“No,” Hawke corrected. “Because you’re nice and she’s nice and you can be nice together. How about it?”

“Isn’t your brother dating Merrill?” Solona asked.

“No, Carver has his thumbs up his ass and is wasting time pining away from afar. Besides, I’m not suggesting they get married,” Hawke said. “Maybe they just go on a casual date. Make out. Have sex and then report back in graphic detail.” Solona slapped Hawke on the arm. “Fine, fine. Maybe just the first two, then. Spoilsport.”

Ellana chewed on her bottom lip. “Well… it couldn’t hurt. It might be nice to go out.”

“Great! I’ll text her. You won’t regret it, Merrill is the best.”

Anytime Hawke said, You won’t regret it, the person almost immediately began to regret it, but Solona didn’t want to rain on Ellana’s parade.

“It’s disgusting in here,” Solona announced. “I can’t sit here another moment longer.”

“Dorian’s apartment complex has a pool,” Ellana suggested. “It’s not open now, but we could climb the gate and sneak in. The security guards are usually napping at this time or watching soap operas.”

“Before Captain Killjoy nixes the idea, I’m making an executive decision and we’re going,” Hawke said quickly before Solona, could in fact, nix the idea. “It’s either that or die of heatstroke. I vote pool.”

Solona unstuck herself from the couch. “Fine, but we better not get arrested. I’m lecturing tomorrow.”

“What could go wrong?” Hawke wondered aloud.

“With you?” Solona asked. “Only everything.”

#dragon age #hero of ferelden #f!hawke #inquisitor #k writes trash

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yoongi-sugaglider · 6 years

Text

Somebody Save Me

This case might just be the death of a young detective. Sleepless nights and stress filled days haunt the young detective Kim Taehyung but he’s determined to find her. Even if it’s the last thing he may do…Warnings:angst, mentions of torture, mentions of murder, strong language, detective au

Word count:1967

A/N:So this chapter ran away from me a bit lol. I got some inspiration from two of my close friends @bbl90 and @btsstan4life so thank you both so much for that~ Anyways!Hope you all enjoy this one and remember! If you liked it please don’t hesitate to drop a like or reblog or even a comment!I appreciate them all as they provide the motivation to keep writing~

<<Part Four---Part Six>>

Chapter Five:A Home Cooked meal and Good Company

Taehyung groaned to himself. What is it about basement file rooms that made him feel like he was crawling with spiders and other creepy crawlies? Not to mention the sheer depressing weight of a room full of paperwork, something he always tried to avoid at all costs.

He shoved a box of files they'd acquired into the back seat of Namjoon's car, slamming the door shut with his hip before climbing into the passenger seat and closing it as well. He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, a soul-rending sigh escaping him that caused Namjoon to turn to him with a concerned look on his face.

His brow furrowed as his eyes scanned the weary posture of his friend. Taehyung's cheeks were sunken, probably from far too many convenience store meals that lacked anything in nutritional value besides the general carbs to keep him going another day. His eyes were sunken as well, dark shadows haunting beneath them like the ghosts of late nights spent going over old clues and retracing dead leads.

"Hey..." Namjoon's voice was quiet as he garnered his partner's attention. Taehyung blinked blurrily as he turned his head to look over at Namjoon, his face expressionless as he waited for Namjoon to continue. "You alright there buddy?" Namjoon paused, chewing on his lower lips as he chose his words carefully. "I mean... you've barely slept more than 24 hours in the last week. Why don't I take you home so you can get some rest?"

Taehyung scoffed, sitting up slightly straighter as he rested his elbow on the leather of the car door and leaned his head to rest in his hand. His eyes scanned the bustling streets and sidewalk, glaring at those that dared to pass by with their busy lives and happy faces.

"I can't afford to take a break hyung. That girl is counting on us and we've basically gotten nowhere!" He hand clenched into a fist in his lap as he ground his teeth in frustration.

"That may be so." Namjoon countered, his frown deepening as he leaned forward slightly to see Taehyung's face. "But you're not helping her any if you don't take care of yourself. You've changed Tae. I can't even remember the last time you laughed, let alone had a decent home cooked meal." He huffed as he tried to make his point.

"What good are you gonna be to her if you collapse from exhaustion and end up in the hospital or dead?" His voice softened, full of concern and urgency. "Come on Taehyung. Jimin and Jin-hyung are in town visiting. Why don't you come over and let Jin-hyung cook you some good food? We can all go over the files together and you can sleep on the couch tonight."

Taehyung closed his eyes, his resolve weakening before cracking at the mention of Jin's cooking. "Alright, alright, at least it's not the couch in the office. I swear I'm really starting to hate the smell of leather at this point."

Namjoon chuckled, a small smile of triumph turning up the corners of his lips as he started the vehicle and easily pulled into traffic, glad to finally have a moment of victory even if it was this small.

***

Namjoon turned his house key in the lock, nudging the door open with his elbow as he shifted the weight of the box of files he'd been carrying so that he could see over it into the house.

"I'm home baby girl!" he shouted into the recesses of his home as he stepped inside to let Taehyung enter as well. Taehyung grunted under the weight of his two boxes, shuffling inside with a slight pout to his lips.

"Why does this thing have to be so heavy?" Namjoon grunted as he dropped his box beside the console table just inside the entryway. He dropped his keys beside a family photo as Taehyung nudged him aside to drop his boxes on top of Namjoon's.

"I don't want to hear about it old man. I had to carry two of those dang things. The least you could do is not gripe about it." Taehyung grumbled as he shook out his sore hands.

Namjoon smacked his partner on the arm. "You can complain all you want. If it weren't for my smooth talking we would have never even gotten access to those files." The two began making their way through the house, moving through halls filled with smiling pictures of friends and relatives and several tasteful paintings.

"Yea... that smooth talking. Want me to mention to your wife how you were flirting in the elevator with that pretty little secretary and how you gave her your number?" Taehyung smirked as he dodged another of Namjoon's hits.

"I didn't give her my number. I gave her Jimin's number. He needs to go out more instead of being holed up in his office all day like you do." Namjoon said just as they walked into the kitchen.

The room itself was large, allowing for modern appliances in tasteful black steel and mahogany cabinets that spanned the length of the back wall before opening out into an even larger family room.

"What's this about giving secretaries Jimin's number?" A young chocolate skinned woman asked from the kitchen. She stood at the stove beside a tall older man, her head quirked towards the newly arrived men and a teasing smile on her lips.

Namjoon chuckled, making his way to his wife with a large grin on his face. She smacked his arm with a sauce-covered spoon which earned her a snicker from the taller man standing off to the side of them.

"I was flirting for the job.I didn't mean anything by it." He wrapped his arms around her waist as she turned back to the large bubbling pot on the stove, placing a gentle kiss on her temple as she gave a long-suffering sigh.

Tae plopped onto a barstool at the large island beside the other male in the room, giving him a soft smile which the older man returned before turning his attention to Namjoon once more.

"For the record hyung I don't need dating help. I do just fine with the ladies on my own." He pouted slightly, his plump lower lip sticking out slightly at the implied insult.

"Yah! We all know you spend your nights and weekends locked up in your office Jimin. Let Namjoon help you out. He got himself an amazing catch maybe it's time you took a page out of his book." The elder waved his knife in the air, his back turned to the others as he was busy chopping vegetables. His waving hand earned him a smack from Namjoon's wife despite the rising blush on her cheeks.

"You're no better Jin-hyung. You spend all day catering to your students Mister Law professor. You can't tell me you're out and about slaying the dating scene." The man named Jimin huffed, folding his arms on the black and gold-flecked marble countertop and resting his chin on his folded hands.

Jin turned, a cocky smirk dancing on his lips. "I'm far too handsome to limit myself to just one relationship. I have to spread my beautiful face to the masses or I'd be doing the world a disservice." His thumb and index finger cupped his chin as he flashed the room a dazzling smile which earned him a collective groan from the room. He sheepishly turned back to chopping carrots, muttering nonsense about ungrateful children to himself as he turned his aggression to his knife chops.

***

45 minutes and a six-course meal thanks to Jin and Namjoon’s wife later and the group had retired to the living room.Jimin, Jin, And Taehyung were sprawled on the massive oversized couch and across the stained glass coffee table, Bri sat in a large recliner while Namjoon sat on its arm with his arm wrapped lovingly around her shoulder.

“So what’s the deal with this case Joonie?” Jin asked, self consciously adjusting his glasses as his fingertips drummed on the arm of the sofa.

“The cops pretty much cold cased it. Said it wasn’t worth their time searching dead ends and running in circles.” Namjoon mindlessly rubbed circles on his wife’s arm as he spoke, his eyebrows creased in a frown.

“That’s why they sent it to us. Because that whole garbage dump of a department can’t do more than sit around and eat donuts all day while the real men are on the streets doing their dirty work…” Taehyung spat the venomous words from his lips as if just speaking them left a dirty taste in his mouth.

Namjoon leaned forward, his tone scolding as his frown increased. “Hey now, not everybody there is useless!”

Taehyung scoffed, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. “True, there was you and Chief Min. But that’s about it. You’re gone and last I hear Yoongi hyung wasn’t doing so hot in the stress department.”

“Last you heard? You just talked to him yesterday.” Bri interjected, her laugh knowing as she got regular updates from her husband on their progress.

“Yea and he looks like death itself. The man doesn’t sleep and his next step in his addiction is a freaking coffee i.v drip 24/7.” The statement earned Taehyung a well knowing chuckle from the group and yet despite that he seemed unusually restless.

“Taehyung… seriously why is this case bothering you so much?” Jin asked, leaning back a bit to get a good look at his stressed younger friend.

Taehyung shook his head, getting up from the sofa and rubbing his hands on the thighs of his jeans. “Jimin come help me…” He mumbled and the two made their way to the front entryway to retrieve the three large boxes of files. Returning to the living room they passed the boxes around, one to Bri and Namjoon and another to Jin.

“Well?” Jimin asked softly as he sat back on the sofa and placed the box he’d still been carrying on the floor before him.

“The girl...woman that was kidnapped.” Taehyung closed his eyes in pain and inhaled deeply before continuing. “Her name is y/n y/ln”

Jimin’s eyes shot open wide and his jaw dropped slightly at the name. “Wait...you mean that girl you had a crush on that lived across the street from us when we were kids?”

Jin’s head shot up at Jimin’s words. “So wait. You know this girl???”

“Knew…” Taehyung mumbled, his head hung low so the others couldn’t see the pain in his eyes. “We lost contact when she moved away in middle school… But as soon as I saw her face on the missing person’s report and saw her parents on the cold case file I knew immediately that it was her.” He chuckled bitterly to himself. “All these years and she was still just as breathtaking as the first time I saw her…”

“Doesn’t that make you a little too close to this case?” Bri whispered, her lips pursed in a concerned frown as she scanned his forlorn body language.

“I’m not a cop anymore. Being impartial doesn’t matter if you work for yourself…”Taehyung defended himself, sitting up slightly straighter as he shot her a slightly challenging look.

She put her hands up in self-defense. “Hey kiddo, I’m just trying to look out for you here. We’re here to help not stop you from doing your job.”

Taehyung sighed as Jimin placed a calming hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. “You’re right. I’m sorry Mrs.Kim…”

She snorted in reply, tossing a throw pillow at his chest from across the room. “Hey, I hold you about calling me that Tae Tae. Now come on, give us the details and then explain why in the heck you two came home with so many boring ass file boxes.”

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ashleyfanfic · 6 years

Text

I’ll Shine A Light On You

Title: I’ll Shine A Light On You author: ashleyfanfic Pairings: Jon Snow x Daenerys Targaryen (mentions of Sam x Gilly) Rating: E (I can’t really write things these days without smut!) Author’s Note: This gift is for @snowstormsss ! Yes, tis I! Your secret Santa! I hope you like this! I tried to incorporate what you requested, modern AU, Jon holed away in his house, Daenerys and her family running amok in his life until her album is made. I also used your favorite song, and hope that this is what you wanted. Merry Christmas! And Happy Holidays! - I did struggle writing this as I’m currently writing a Modern AU that deals with music and them being musicians called “Dangerous Woman”. I was afraid it would be too close to what I’m already writing, but I think it’s different enough. - This has not been betaed.

Jon inwardly groaned at the thought of having to spend another day with the spoiled pop princess, Daenerys Targaryen, and her insufferable family. He should have agreed, when they started this process, to record at the studio the record label had offered. But the prospects of spending time inside the city for a few weeks wasn’t one he wanted to contemplate. Instead, every day for weeks, now, they would invade his home. She would order everyone around, her family were cruel monsters from what he could see, and the entire experience put him off wanting to work with anyone ever again.

He had to remind himself that this was a favor for Sansa. Only his sister would be able to talk him into doing this for more than a day. She had even explained that they were difficult to handle and should he need her, she would come help try to keep control of the situation. Even she wasn’t able to keep any sort of control over the two men that traveled with Daenerys. The knock on his door caused him to take a deep breath before he descended the stairs and opened the door to the traveling circus that comprised the Targaryen family.

Viserys and Aerys were already arguing as Daenerys walked behind them, her large sunglasses still on with her assistant Missandei behind her. Sansa followed and gave a weary look to Jon. “You couldn’t just leave them in the woods somewhere?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid the record company would have my head. Besides, something’s going on. I can’t put a finger on it.”

Suddenly Aerys and Viserys stopped moving and turned to Jon and Sansa. “We need you to drive us back into the city. We have a meeting with our lawyers.”

“Why did we drive all this way?”

“To make sure Daenerys got where she was supposed to be,” Viserys said as if she was stupid. Jon noted that Daenerys had stopped at the top of the stairs and was watching them all before Missandei prodded her to go down.

“You’re going to leave her here?” Jon asked.

Aerys spoke this time and Jon thought that he would almost rather deal with Viserys than the older man who was obviously in some state of dementia. “Yes, hard as this may be to grasp, Viserys and I have other matters to attend. Miss Stark, if you please,” he said as he stomped from the house, followed by Viserys. Sansa rolled her eyes and followed them out.

Jon took a steadying breath as he mentally prepared himself to deal with the insufferable girl in his studio. He started down the stairs but could hear singing coming up the stairs as the door had been left open. When he entered the studio, he found Daenerys seated at the keyboard and Missandei on the acoustic guitar, both oblivious to his presence.

I’ll shine a light on you,

I’ll shine a light

And you will see my shadow

On every wall

And you will see my footprint

On every floor

Jon moved over to the board and clicked record as quickly as he could. She had shed the ostentatious fur coat she’d been wearing when she arrived. Her feet were also bare, her sunglasses gone. She was so lost in the song that neither of them noticed his appearance.

When they finished, both women smiled at one another. He was confused and planned to voice this as he opened the door. “What the hell was that?”

She looked up at him, startled. “It’s a song I wrote.”

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. “I was told you don’t write songs.”

She looked to Missandei, then back at Jon. “I write all the time. My father and Viserys don’t like the songs I write. They said they’re the kind of songs that get played in pubs and don’t make actual money.”

He shook his head. “Play it again from the beginning. Have they heard this song?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He shoved his hands into his jean pockets and tilted his head as he examined her. She was gorgeous, especially when she wasn’t scowling at him. “Play it again. You’ll record it. If they take issue with it, then I’ll tell them I wrote it.”

“Wait,” she called after him, “you like it?”

He nodded. “Most honest I’ve heard your voice since you got here. Start again with my cue.”

He went back into the booth and keyed up the recording. He nodded at her to go and the melody of the haunting song drifted into the booth. Jon was perplexed about the change in demeanor. She’d been ordering everyone around since she first walked into his home. She had a nasty attitude and snapped at everyone. He knew how these pop stars could be, but he was having a hard time reconciling that with what he was seeing now. He was going to ask as soon as he got the opportunity.

He opened his phone and texted Sam. You busy today?

Gilly is trying to take me to a hippy craft fair. Tell me you need my help.

Got a track I need drums on

Be there in fifteen

He ended the recording and Daenerys and Missandei walked into the booth with Jon and played it back for them. “I have a friend coming to lay down drums. But while we wait, why don’t you tell me what the hell is going on?”

Daenerys looked to Missandei who put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to make some tea,” she said, having become familiar with Jon’s home that last few weeks. She left them alone and he continued to stare at her.

“What do you think of my father and brother?” Off his look, she gave him a soft smile. “They make me anxious. I’ve found the way to cope with that is to be more over the top than they are. The diva behavior, tantrums...All to get them to ease off.”

“Why not get away from them?”

“They’re my family. The only family I have. I don’t want to be alone. I feel that enough with them around. Nothing feels more lonely than standing in a room full of people and...feeling like no one there could ever understand you.”

He looked away from her then, knowing that feeling. Ever since his wife died he’d held himself away from the world. Even keeping his family at arm's length. It hurt too much to let people in.

“So you act like a pain in the ass to...what exactly?”

“Make them appear easier to deal with by comparison.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re failing.”

She shook her head. “No, my father is getting worse,” she said softly.

“So, you’re not oblivious to it,” he asked?

She sighed. “No. But I don’t know what to do, either. Viserys would never agree to put him in a home because of the expense and he would never go because he thinks nothing is wrong with him. He has good moments where he’s clear-headed and remembers he’s my father and not just a business manager. I’ll take all the times he tells me I’m worthless if I can have those moments where he treats me like the daughter he once loved.”

“You shouldn’t have to endure one to get the other.”

She lowered her head and bit her lip. “I shouldn’t. But I do. As for Viserys, well, he’s just an asshole.”

Jon chuckled. “So what are you going to do? Continue to play the part of the diva for the rest of your life to keep the peace which isn’t even really peace?”

“I’m going to maintain my family. Make this album, hope I can make the money to separate myself from them and take power of attorney away from my brother to take care of my father.” She folded her arms over her chest and sighed. “I’m sorry for how I treated you. I insulted you, Your Home, and your abilities. That’s unfair.”

His dark eyes watched her as she turned towards the stairs when Missandei entered with the kettle and tea tray. “All explained?” She questioned.

Daenerys nodded. “Yes.”

He stood and held out his hand for her to shake. “Jon Snow,” he said, explaining that he wanted to start over.

She stood as well and extended her hand, a bright smile on her face. “Daenerys Targaryen.”

*~*

Now that he knew the truth, he watched her play the part her brother and father expected of her. He didn’t know how she did it consistently, but he did notice that Viserys and Avery’s made a point of leaving her with him more often. They had actually like the song she’d written and commended him on a beautiful song choice. Daenerys has shared a secret smile with him.

Missandei has been sent on an errand at the market and Viserys and Aerys were looking at apartments in the city. Daenerys was currently snuggled under a blanket on his covered back patio as it snowed around them. He found her here often and she explained she enjoyed the quiet and snow.

“Why do you live out here all alone, Jon Snow?”

He handed the cocoa to her and took a seat beside her. “When my wife passed I just wanted to be left alone. It simply hurt too much to stay where I was. I found this place, studio already done in the basement, and bought it.”

“What happened to her, if you don’t mind me asking,” she questioned, her voice soft and soothing?

“Heart failure. There was a defect that no one ever caught and she...went into cardiac arrest one day...and was gone.”

She reached over and took his hand. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded and held her hand for just a moment until she tugged it away. There were becoming too many moments where they touched one another and it seemed to almost burn between them. Each time was getting harder to pull away.

She looked down at the cocoa in her hand and set it to the side. “It’s beautiful here.”

“It seems you’ll have a flat in the city soon. No more hotels.”

She heaved a sigh. “I’d rather have something like this.”

He smiled over at her. “I can’t see your brother or father living out this far.”

She smiled. “They wouldn’t. Maybe that’s part of the appeal.”

“You could get away from them, you know.”

She nodded and turned her eyes to him, both silent as they stared at one another. They were both startled from the intense gaze at hearing Missandei announce her arrival.

She got up and walked into the house, leaving him alone to stare out at the snow that continued to fall. He knew he was in trouble. In over his head.

*~*

It was snowing hard and so Jon and Daenerys had retreated into the studio. Missandei had been summoned to help Viserys and Aerys to organize their move into their new apartment. Jon was seated at the control panel as Daenerys spun in the chair beside him. When she finally stopped, he didn’t look at her as he smiled. “You’re dizzy aren’t you?”

She chuckled. “Hush until the room stops spinning.” Daenerys sat up and moved closer to him. “What are you doing exactly?”

Her arm was pressed against his as the song played over the speaker and he pushed forward on one of the slides and the sound of cellos poured over top of the song. “These control which part of the song I want to be louder and softer. So, during the break, I want the instrumental, specifically the strings, to come in front.”

She sighed. “How did you get to be so good at this? Viserys told me you were a musical prodigy?”

“Some people thought that.”

“And you?”

“I simply liked playing instruments.”

“How many do you play?” she asked, tapping her nails against the board as she propped her head on her other hand.

“Sixteen.”

Her eyes widened. “Sixteen?”

He smirked. “Prince could play nineteen.”

“But that was Prince.”

“Are you saying I’m not as good as Prince?” He teased.

She nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” she said with a slight laugh. Her phone buzzed beside her and she picked it up, her eyebrow raised. “Well, that’s interesting.”

“What?”

“Roads are closed to get here. They’re being turned back to the city,” she said lowly. “Looks like I’m stuck here for the night.”

Jon’s dark eyes met hers and he shook his head. “You’re kidding.” She held up her phone to let him see the text from Missandei. Their eyes met again and he could almost feel the heat radiating from the look.

She put her phone down and tore her eyes from his as she stood. “We have a lot of time to kill,” she said softly. “You should show me the rest of your flat.”

She was crowding his space and he took in her scent. He powered down the lights in the other room, then stood as well, their bodies almost touching.

“You’ve seen most of it. Not the bedroom, though.”

Daenerys pressed a hand to his chest, just over his heart. He swallowed thickly, feeling his body respond to her touch and closeness. It had been so long since he’d been with a woman. Sam had accused him of forgetting how to do it. “That’s what I want to see most,” she whispered. “If you want to show me.”

Jon knew that he needed to decide here and now if he was going to do the dumbest thing he could do and give in to whatever it was that was growing between them. He heaved a sigh and leaned his brow against hers. “I’m...going to be honest, I haven’t done this in a while.”

She took a deep breath and leaned in to kiss him. Soft, unsure, but his mouth was divine. She caught his bottom lip between her teeth, brushing her tongue against the soft flesh before release. Her fingers slid into his hair and she leaned her head back a bit to feel his hands move along her back and into the back pockets of her jeans. Daenerys moaned against his mouth when she felt his tongue against hers.

She reluctantly pulled away from him. His dark eyes narrowed and she only smiled and took his hand to lead him from the room and up the stairs. He stopped her momentarily and pushed her against the wall, his lips finding hers again. She tugged his shirt over his head and her smile confused him at first until he felt her hands sliding over his chest and down his abdomen. “How pretty you are, Jon Snow.”

Jon captured her face in his hands, kissing her slowly, his tongue seeking hers as he pressed the length of his body against her. She moaned into his mouth, holding him against her.

He broke the kiss this time and took her hand once more to pull her along with him to his room. It was simple, only a few pieces of furniture and a large fluffy bed. She thought that this room, much like the rest of the house, suited him. She tugged her cardigan off followed by her camisole and watched as he swallowed thickly. She almost squirmed under his gaze, hoping that he found her acceptable.

She gasped as she felt his mouth on her bare breast, swirling his tongue around the pink nipple and then nipping at it with his teeth. She laced her fingers through his dark hair and smiled as he licked his way to the other. His hands were on the button of her jeans and she found it was taking him too long to get them undone and her hands joined his.

“Tell me you have something,” she whispered, not wanting to break the mood but needing to know how far they could go. He pushed her jeans over her hips and she sat on the edge of the bed as he sank to his knees before her, unzipping her boots and tossed them and her socks aside, his lips finding hers again, briefly as he trailed his lips over her neck and back to her breast. He divested her of her jeans his hands smoothing over her hips and thighs, his lips trailing over her ribs and abdomen, stopping to flick his tongue against he navel.

“Save that for later. I want you inside me,” she said as she tugged on his hair and pulled him over her. He helped her remove her knickers then they both worked on his jeans, panting as weeks of what had been building between them threatened to consume them both. She moved back on the bed and he followed, crawling towards her on his hands as knees, and she suddenly felt like it prey. She thrilled at the feeling. He leaned over her and reached for the table beside the bed, her hands running over the dips and planes of his body, then lower to stroke over his cock. She chuckled as he nearly ripped the drawer from the nightstand in an effort to find what he was looking for when he finally muttered, “thank fuck.” She looked up to see him dump a sleeve onto the table then tear a pack away. She plucked it from his hand and pushed him to his back, then straddled his thighs. His hands moved along her body as he sat up on his elbows to watch her remove the wrapper and begin the torturous slide of the condom over his cock. He hadn’t used them since before Ygritte.

As he watched this silver-haired beauty adjust her position, he was deathly afraid he wouldn’t last one minute inside her. And then the silken grasp of her sex pulled him inside so slowly. It was all he could do not to thrust into her hard and fast. But he knew he had to keep the reins on himself or it truly would be over too quickly.

She gasped when he was fully inside her. “You think too much,” she whispered as she leaned forward and braced her hands beside his head. He leaned up and took one of her breasts in his mouth, sucking and biting as she rolled her hips towards his. Daenerys rolled her hips, delighting in the growl that he emitted. His arms wrapped around her, gliding over smooth skin and cause gooseflesh to rise where he touched.

“Daenerys,” he groaned when she sat back and began to ride him in earnest. He tried to think of things that would help slow this down like Sam in a dress, flesh-eating bacteria, her father and brother. How angry would they be if they knew what was happening here? The thought made him smile as he watched her with her head back, making quick shallow movements above him, and his name being whispered over and over again.

He knew he didn’t have much longer, watching her as she was. But they had hours still to use. His fingers worked her clit and she stilled over him briefly before she fell over the edge, her cunt squeezing around him as he felt the rush of his own release speed through him.

She collapsed on top of him, her head resting on his shoulder as he hugged her tight.

*~*

She was once more seated outside, the blanket around her shoulders, only now she was naked beneath it. Jon placed the hot cocoa on the table beside her as she made room in the chair and shred the blanket with him. He’d turned on the outside heaters and started a fire in the fire pit. He had slid his jeans back on but learned quickly that Daenerys liked being naked. He didn’t mind in the least. She moved to sit on his lap and brought the blanket around them.

“This is beautiful, you know,” she said softly.

He smiled against her hair. “You’ve said that once or twice.”

“I love it out here. With you,” she admitted.

He kissed her shoulder. “Good.”

She suddenly stood and walked to the door, his eyes following her as she went. When she stepped inside she dropped the blanket, then turned to him and smiled. “You’d better get to work, Jon Snow.”

Her cocoa was left behind and the sound of her giggles filled the house when he grabbed her.

*~*

Daenerys has finished recording in his studio weeks ago. He hadn’t seen her since, or even talked to her, really. He’d sent her label the album and she had sent back a simple text of I love it. Winter had melted to spring and he was seated in her favorite spot staring out at the new greenery. His guitar in his hand, he mindlessly strummed the strings and kept his eyes closed.

“What a pretty picture you are, Jon Snow,” he heard from behind him and saw her standing in the open door of his house.

He stood and creased his brow as he looked at her. Red jumper, dark jeans, and black flats. Her hair wasn’t in its normal complicated braids but instead hung down her shoulders to the middle of her back.

“What are you doing here?”

She smiled as she joined him. “Well, it is polite to introduce oneself to the neighbors.”

He stared at her, confused. “What?”

She walked closer to him and shoved her hands into her back pockets. “I did tell you I wanted to live up here. Your neighbor,” she put a hand on his shoulder and turned him to face the house higher on the hill, “put their house up for sale and I bought it.”

“What about your brother and father?”

“My father set the sofa on fire and I was able to convince Viserys to put him somewhere and I would pay for it. He agreed. Viserys moved back to London to stay close.”

“And you’re moving out here?”

She nodded. “It has all the things I want: a bathroom I can land a plane in, far away from the city, and a rather sexy and mysterious record producer that I cannot stop thinking about.”

He smiled down at her. “How could you possibly pass that up?”

“I couldn’t. That’s why I’m here.” They were silent for a moment but when she did speak, her voice was soft unsure. “Do you think of me?”

He nodded. “All the time.”

She grinned. “Good. Come to my new home tonight and I’ll make you dinner.”

“You cook?”

She looped her arms around his neck and leaned up to kiss him. “I can put a frozen lasagna in the oven.”

He chuckled. “Who am I to turn down the offer of frozen lasagna?” He brushed her silver hair away from her face and leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m glad you’re here.”

She closed her eyes as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer. “Where I’m meant to be.”

#joneryssecretsanta #jonerys #jon x dany #jon snow x daenerys targaryen #jon x daenerys

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