#Officer Reyes is too hot that’s against the Law!

[dear-viv]

My God, Officer Reyes! 😍

[bellakitse]

The 'B' Word

“I’m crazy about you,” TK blurts out, stepping out of his hold to pace. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t see it coming. You were just supposed to be this cool guy I had good chemistry and good sex with, someone I would be friends with and share a bed with on occasion."

+

Carlos and TK run into Carlos’ three sisters on the street and decide to have dinner with them. Over the course of the meal, their friends with benefits relationship changes.

Written for @911lonestarweek - Day 1: Romance/“You are the only one for me.”/Fluff

Carlos holds the door for TK to walk through, trying to keep his grin at bay in the face of TK’s epic pout. He’d suggested a night of putt-putt, thinking it would be a friendly and easygoing activity they could enjoy as they try to put more emphasis on the friends part of their unconventional relationship. It was supposed to be a casual night out. However, Carlos didn’t anticipate that TK would be horrible at the game or be such a lovable sore loser.

“You cheated,” TK accuses him, the scowl on his handsome face cuter than it has any right to be. Carlos swallows back a sigh at the thought. It’s moments like this that show him how truly head over heels he is for the man before him.

He pushes that thought down too.

TK has made it more than clear he’s not ready for more than what they are right now – friends who enjoy each other’s company in and out of the bedroom.

He tells himself how he always does when these thoughts start to creep in that it’s enough for now. He gets to spend time with TK; he gets to touch him, hear the soft sounds he makes when they’re together, he gets his smiles.

So what if they don’t have a label?

Having some parts of TK Strand, Carlos has quickly learned, is infinitely better than not having him at all.

“At putt-putt?” he questions with an amused grin pushing away his less than pleasant thoughts. “You think I cheated at putt-putt?”

“Yes,” TK shoots back, his expression set in a childish frown, causing Carlos’ grin to grow.

“How exactly?” he questions, outright smirking when TK stalls, his pout growing as he can’t come up with anything.

“You distracted me with your you-ness,” TK finally answers, waving a hand in his direction as if it explains everything.

Carlos feels his face go warm, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling incredibly smug too. He reaches out, slipping a finger through one of the loops of TK’s jeans, pleased when TK comes into his space easily, his arms going around Carlos’ neck as he holds him close.

“That’s an interesting way to say you think I’m hot, sweetheart,” he murmurs teasingly as he presses his nose against TK’s temple.

“You already know I think that,” TK scoffs at him, turning his head to kiss the corner of his mouth, his tongue peeking out in a tiny teasing lick. “Don’t pretend now.”

Carlos lets out a steadying breath as his body instantly reacts to TK’s goading. “I still like to hear it,” he answers with a playful pout of his own, happy when it makes TK chuckle.

TK brings his hands down, cupping Carlos’ face between them, using the leverage to close the tiny height difference between them as he brushes his lips against his. “Needy,” he whispers, the word spoken against Carlos’ mouth causing him to let out a moan, proving TK’s point.

“Let’s go back to my place,” he whispers back, his hands giving TK’s hips a suggestive squeeze.

TK laughs softly as he shakes his head. “You promised me dinner.”

“I’ll make us something when we get there,” he promises now, groaning when TK shakes his head again.

“You and I both know – if we get behind closed doors, we’re not eating anything but each other, Reyes,” TK tells him, smirking shamelessly when he gasps at his words. “I want real food first.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, willing down the blush on his face and the arousal coursing through him at the mental image TK’s words have provoked.

TK goes to take a step away from him, ready to start walking on their quest to find some food, but Carlos holds on to him, grinning back at him when it makes TK raise a brow in question. He doesn’t answer with words; instead, he cups TK’s face like he’d done to him, swallowing the small gasp he lets out with his lips.

He kisses TK thoroughly, taking his time as he feels TK’s body go lax against his, kissing him back lazily, pressing his tongue against the back of Carlos’ teeth in a way that makes his toes curl from the butterflies he feels in his stomach.

Carlos could get lost in the act of kissing TK Strand and often does, like now, which is probably why he doesn’t realize people have walked up to them until there is a loud and obvious clearing of someone’s throat startling the two of them.

“What – “ TK starts to say, sounding dazed, and Carlos would take a moment to be proud of that if it wasn’t for the horror he’s experiencing in the face of his three older sisters standing before them, grinning like deranged clowns.

“Well, well, well,” Lola starts, like the rabble-rouser she is, her grin looking painful from how big it is. “Look who we have here being all indecent in public? Isn’t there laws against practically having sex in public spaces, Officer Reyes?”

“Would he have to arrest himself?” Valentina asks ironically – the oldest but by no means the most mature – piling on with a smirk of her own.

Sofía, the second oldest and usually the quietest, smiles softly at him, almost sympathetic if it wasn’t for the laughing glint in her eyes. “How much do you wish the ground would swallow you up right now, manito?”

“Very much so,” he grits out with a tight smile as their enjoyment of the situation grows. He feels TK’s body shift next to him a second before his hand touches Carlos’, linking their pinkies together. He turns his head, surprised at the gesture, and finds TK looking a little lost but supportive of him. It loosens something in his stomach, and as TK gives him a half-smile, Carlos is helpless but to return it. “TK, these are my sisters, Valentina, Sofía, and Lola,” he says, pointing at each of them in turn, getting a wave back from all three. “Girls, this is TK,” he continues, not adding anything else though he can see the curiosity in his sisters’ eyes. “Anyway, we were going to go grab a bite to eat, so – “

“What a coincidence, so are we!” Lola exclaims happily, her brown eyes twinkling, and Carlos shakes his head, already seeing where she’s going with this.

“We should all get a bite together,” Valetina continues, and Carlos has to stifle the groan that is dying to come out at the tag-teaming happening before him.

“We barely get to see you, hermanito,” Sofía adds on with a sad face that fools no one.

“We saw each other two weeks ago at Mami’s for Sunday lunch,” he points out, rolling his eyes when the three of them shrug their shoulders in unison.

“Way too long, bro,” Lola answers, getting a nod from their other two sisters. “And we’re obviously not sharing enough if none of us knew you have a boyfri – “

“Okay!” Carlos interrupts before she can finish the dreaded ‘B’ word. The last thing he needs is his meddling sisters spooking TK with that title. He looks at him with an apologetic look on his face, hoping he understands. “Do you mind if they join us?”

TK looks at him for a moment and then at his sisters, a sly grin making its way onto his face that fills Carlos with dread. “That depends,” he starts, raising an eyebrow at the girls. “How many ‘baby Carlos’ stories can I get out of this meal?”

Carlos lets out that groan he’s been holding back as his older sisters all smile at TK like he’s a new shiny toy.

Being the boldest one of his sisters, Lola steps towards TK, slipping her arm through his. “All the stories you want, my dude. Let’s start with the one where Carlos would play Selena’s ‘bidi bidi bom bom’ on repeat and do her spins in the living room until one time he almost threw up on the carpet from twirling so much,” she recounts, throwing a grin at him over her shoulder as she and TK start walking ahead.

Carlos closes his eyes for a moment, opening them again when he hears snickering at his side. He glares at Valentina and Sofía and their matching grins.

“We better catch up to them before she tells him that you can’t get through a single Disney or Pixar movie without crying like a baby, and that’s why you don’t watch them in the theater anymore,” Valentina warns him, laughing at him when his eyes widen.

He doesn’t move for a moment, letting them pass before him. TK throws a look back at him, half-worried but also gleeful as Lola says God only knows what in his ear, and Carlos can’t help the mixture of apprehension and tentative joy he feels at his worlds colliding.

“Keep up, manito, before we steal your boy away,” Lola shouts out, already crossing the street with TK still wrapped around her arm.

“Shit,” Carlos swears low before rushing to catch up.

 ֎֎֎

 They end up at some hipster tapas restaurant. It’s not his usual style, but his sisters and TK seem to like it as they all pick from the multiple small plates at their large table. The girls each have a wine glass in their hands and blessedly don’t blink an eye when TK says he doesn’t drink and orders an ice tea.

He sits next to TK, with his sisters on the other side of the table, watching the two of them like they’re putting on a show for their enjoyment. He glares at them, hoping they’ll cut it out, but they seem to just find his scowls enjoyable – ignoring him in favor of focusing on TK.

“So TK, how did you and our little brother meet?” Valentina asks, starting off the inquisition.

TK pauses mid-reach for the papas bravas at her question before grabbing the dish and scooping some onto his plate for him, giving him a smile when he says thank you. “Um, we met on a call,” he starts to say, taking the plate of garlic shrimp he offers him in return. “I’m a firefighter; we were answering a call to a car accident, and Carlos was the leading officer on the scene.”

“Ohh, a firefighter, nice,” Lola says, throwing him a teasing look. Carlos is grateful for it as it makes TK laugh, and he misses the pointed look his other sisters give him at the way he and TK interact so easily.

He knows they are dying to ask.

“How did you snag such a hottie, Carlitos?” Lola continues, turning her teasing towards him.

Carlos rolls his eyes; used to his sister’s good-natured ribbing, he opens his mouth to mess with her, only for TK to let out a snort.

“Well, first, look at him,” TK answers for him, turning to look at him with a teasing but soft look of his own, a sweet smile playing on his lips. “He’s gorgeous.”

Carlos feels his heart jump at the easy way TK compliments him, not shy in the least as it makes his sisters share another round of looks that this time TK catches.

“It seems to be a family trait. You’re all very beautiful,” he says to them with a charming smile that has Carlos groaning and laughing at once as it totally works on all three of them.

“Don’t butter them up,” he complains as he sees the twinkle in all their eyes. “They’re already insufferable all on their own. If you hype them up, they’ll just be impossible.”

“It’s not hype if it’s true,” Sofía says with a flick of her curly hair, getting a nod from Valentina and Lola.

“That’s right, wey,” Valentina continues, grinning at the face he makes at them. “Listen to your boyfriend; we’re beautiful.”

Carlos freezes at the word boyfriend, but TK just laughs with the girls, moving the conversation along as he asks more about Carlos’ childhood. He leans in, listening intently as the girls share embarrassing but honestly sweet stories about him. Each looking at him with the great love he knows they feel for him.

TK hangs on to every word, smiling softly over at him every few minutes as he files away information – like his love for anything custard and his intense fear of cicadas.

“One time when I was 15, this kid in the neighborhood was picking on me,” Valentina tells the story, sharing smiles with Lola and Sofía as they start to chuckle, remembering the moment.

“We were all playing outside, and he came over and started making fun of my glasses or clothes. I don’t even remember, but I was on the verge of tears when Carlos, who had been playing with his action figures on the porch, comes running and kicks him as hard as he can on the shins, surprising the kid. He tripped, and Carlos jumped on him, hitting him with his tiny fists, screaming at him not to be mean to his sister,” Valentina pauses, looking over at him fondly. “I’m eight years older than Carlos, he was only seven at the time, but he was still protecting me.”

“Awww,” TK gushes, looking over at him with a tender glint in his pretty green eyes. “That’s so sweet and so in character.”

Carlos feels himself blush at the focus of everyone around the table, fidgeting as they all grin at him. “I protect the people I care about,” he grumbles, embarrassed.

“I know,” TK answers softly, reaching out to take his hand. “Trust me, I know.”

Carlos stares at TK feeling a shift in the air, his silly heart giving a flip as hope starts to sneak its way inside it.

“What else?” TK questions, turning back towards his sisters but not letting go of his hand.

The girls share another look between them, and Carlos can only guess what they’re thinking before they jump into more stories.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughter and childhood anecdotes, and before Carlos knows it, they’re settling up the bill and walking out of the restaurant. They linger outside for a moment before, one by one, the girls hug TK first, telling him he needs to come to the next Reyes’ lunch and that their mother is going to fall in love with him. TK smiles through it, not making any promises other than checking his schedule with him. He forks over his phone easily when Lola asks to add him to WhatsApp with the promise of baby pictures of him, and Carlos just knows she’ll add TK to a group chat before the end of the night.

They turn to hug him, tight and warm as always, each whispering in his ear how much they like TK and how happy they are that he’s found someone who makes him smile the way he’s smiling. He hugs them back, all the while looking at TK over their shoulders, wondering what’s just happened in the course of the night.

He hails them a cab and reminds them to text him when they each get back to their homes, getting fond rolls of their eyes as they promise before getting into the cab, leaving him and TK alone with this sudden shift in their relationship.

Neither says anything for a moment, each knowing one of them needs to start.

“So,” he begins, biting the bullet. “I guess we should talk about tonight because I don’t know if you realize this, but my sisters just left with the impression we’re in a serious relationship, and that means I will have at least a dozen texts by morning from my mother.”

“Sure,” TK says, nodding quickly, nervous energy pouring out of him. “But first –“

TK takes a step into his space, and then another until his chest is pressed against his, and Carlos instinctively puts his hands on TK’s slim waist seconds before TK covers his mouth with his, in a hungry, almost desperate kiss. Carlos matches his energy, pouring all the love and longing coursing through him, claiming TK’s mouth the same way TK has claimed his heart.

He holds him so close he’s sure TK can feel the way his heart is pounding against his own.

“TK – “ he gasps out, his skin tingling at every point of contact. “What – “

“I’m crazy about you,” TK blurts out, stepping out of his hold to pace. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t see it coming. You were just supposed to be this cool guy I had good chemistry and good sex with, someone I would be friends with and share a bed with on occasion. This was supposed to be simple. But every day, I fall for you a little bit more and more with your kindness, your patience, the way you make me laugh and smile even when I don’t want to.”

He runs a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up, looking adorable even as his eyes have gone wild. “You weren’t the plan. You came into my life when I was at my worst, and for some reason, you still wanted to be around me, offering me the best of you, and I have been trying to ignore it because I thought it was too soon after my break-up or because deep down, I think you deserve better than me.”

“There is no one better than you,” he interrupts, needing TK to understand that once and for all. “You’re not perfect, TK, I know that,” he says, holding up a hand when TK goes to argue. “But there is no one better – you are the only one for me.”

TK lets out a gasp at his words, finally not moving about, coming to a stop, and Carlos takes the chance to touch him again, bringing him in closer as he cups his face, tilting it up to him.

“Your sisters looked at me tonight as someone worthy of you,” he whispers, his eyes going glassy. “I so want to be that. I want to be worthy of your love.”

Carlos smiles, feeling everything inside him melt for the man in his arms. “Oh, baby,” he whispers softly, leaning in to kiss his forehead, his eyelids, cheeks, and the tip of his nose before he brushes his lips against TK’s.  He pulls him into a hug when he feels him tremble. “Don’t you get it? You already are.”

“Carlos – “ TK gasps something like a sob into his neck.

He pulls him back, making sure he’s looking at him before he finally says the words he’s been holding in for so long. “I’m in love with you, TK.”

TK lets out a wet laugh, nodding rapidly as he grasps his shoulders. “I’m in love with you too,” he answers, smiling brightly, matching Carlos’ own smile.

The kiss they share is salty from their mixed tears but perfect.

Breaking the kiss, they press their foreheads together, basking in the moment and the change in their relationship. Carlos doesn’t think he’s ever been happier, but after a moment, he finds himself letting out a groan as a realization creeps in.

“What is it?” TK questions him curiously.

“I just realized that if my sisters learn we weren’t official before we ran into them and that dinner with them helped in any way – I’m never going to hear the end of their mocking,” he answers, blinking in surprise when TK lets out a chuckle that quickly turns into a deep belly laugh. It only grows as Carlos pouts at him in return.

“Not even five minutes of being boyfriends, and you’re laughing at my pain,” he says, trying to keep from smiling but being unable to do so at the use of the ‘B’ word and the way TK lights up at it. “You’re lucky I love you.”

TK sobers at his words, the laughter dying out but the loving smile staying in place. “I am so lucky,” he says softly, taking his hand.

Carlos intertwines their fingers, bringing their hand up to his lips, laying a kiss over TK’s knuckles. “I’m lucky too.”

[breanime]

Eyes

Here this bitch (me, I’m the bitch) goes again writing some self-indulgent nonsense! This is partially inspired by @fairytellerxo​‘s post about Miguel with a badass and partially inspired by my nightly Galindo fantasies. 

WARNING: cheating, mentions of steam

*gif not mine*

The party was winding down. Your feet were starting to hurt; you had always been about the action more than the talk. Adelita, your jefa, was the talker. You were the doer. But now that she’d agreed to work with the Galindo cartel, you had to schmooze politicians and law makers and Federales.

It was odd; wearing a dress, heels, and jewelry stolen from a rich lady you carjacked a year ago standing with all of these shot callers… You were used to sleeping in the desert, sharing a tent with Adelita and Minnie, wearing the same outfit for days on end while you ran from town to town, promoting Los Olvidados and inviting villagers and townspeople to join the cause. This—wearing a skintight dress and having to dodge lusty old white guys who saw you as a hot commodity—was new to you. New and unwelcome.

Thankfully, Adelita was there with you, wearing a smart pantsuit and passionately talking to a small crowd about the needs of the people. She was a natural at this. Angel Reyes was out back with his MC, waiting for her and there to make sure nobody fucked anything up for the cartel—but you knew his interest was more than just business. You saw the way he looked at Adelita, and more importantly—you saw how your friend looked back at him. Besides Adelita and the MC, there was one other person there who made you feel at ease.

Miguel Galindo—the married cartel boss—was there too.

You knew Miguel was watching you. You knew because you were watching him, and even if you weren’t—Miguel did not have the kind of stare that was easy to ignore. He was the Galindo heir, after all. You turned your back to him—knowing he would hate that—and smiled as you continued talking to the office assistant. You could feel Miguel’s eyes on you, and you swallowed down a smirk as you continued to ignore him. A clerk brought you a coffee, and as you turned to thank him, you caught the look on Miguel’s face.

He didn’t look pleased.

You had a kind of…understanding with Miguel—or so you thought. There was a distance between him and his wife—a pretty, well-dressed woman called Emily—that was clear enough for anyone to see. So when he started staring at you, and going out of his way to talk to you when he would cross the border for his business with Adelita, you didn’t discourage him. You could see past the tailored suits and cool demeanor, you could even see past his reputation as El Diablo—an image you’d know well before you knew him as a man. Instead, you could see the intelligence in his eyes, hear the power and confidence in his voice, recognize the surety and strength in his walk…

And so you took the devil into your bed.

You didn’t drink all of your coffee, instead dropping the cup on a table as you sauntered off. You caught Adelita’s eye, and she gave you a look that said “don’t start any trouble, tromba”. You grinned. “Tromba” was whirlwind in Spanish, and Adelita’s chosen nickname for you. You glanced behind you to see Miguel, his eyebrow quirked in interest as he surveyed you. You knew he had trouble figuring you out, couldn’t read you as easily as he read others in his life, and you knew he liked that. He liked the mystery, the fire. And so did you. You put your hand on the bannister, one foot on the first step, and looked behind you, eyes focused on Miguel just like his were on you. You gave him another smile, a special smile—your Miguel smile—and winked.

You didn’t have to look to know that he was right behind you.

You knew Miguel was following you, but you didn’t acknowledge him, not until you felt his hand on your upper arm.

“You lost, querida?” He asked, a cool smile on his face.

“Are you?” You asked back, tilting your head. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs, Señor Galindo?”

“I should,” he answered, hand still holding your arm, “I should be working, but I’ve been so distracted by you in this dress,” he pulled you to him, his hand moving to caress your face, “I can’t think of anything except being inside you.”

You licked your lips, and you saw his eyes follow the movement. “I don’t want to get in the way,” you said, knowing full and damn well that getting in the way was exactly your intention.

“No?” He questioned, his wandering hand dropping down to your neck. “Is that why you’ve chosen that dress to wear tonight?” His other hand fell to your waist. “That why you’ve been giving me those eyes all night?”

You blinked up at him. “These eyes?”

Miguel chuckled, and you couldn’t help but smile back. Miguel’s eyes always lit up when he smiled—when he really smiled—and you had started to see that glint in them more and more as you spent time together. “Yes, hermosa, those eyes,” he said back. He leaned in, and you could smell the subtle, expensive cologne on his skin. “Those ‘fuck me’ eyes…”

“Well,” you put your hands on his waist and smiled up at him, “Fuck me, then.”

Miguel pulled you to him and kissed you roughly, his tongue sliding into your mouth as his hands traveled down the curves of your body. “There’s a spare room down the hall,” he reported, kissing you as he spoke, “We can go there, and tonight… I’ll have you in my bed.” He kissed your cheek, moving so his mouth was right on your ear. You tensed, trying to calm yourself—you didn’t want him to see how much he affected you. Not yet. “I’ll have Nestor go ahead, make sure we have the whole house to ourselves…” He kissed your earlobe, making you shiver. “We can order out, eat in bed…” He lowered his head and licked at the base of your neck, his beard tickling your sensitive skin. “…Make love in the pool until your legs are too weak to move.” You felt his following chuckle in your skin, and it vibrated all the way down to your bones. “I can carry you back to bed, though. If you want…” He pulled back, his dark eyes shining as he grinned at you. “How does that sound, querida?”

You nodded, not entirely sure you could speak from the weight of your own lust.

Miguel laughed again, and he kissed you—soft and slow this time. You sighed into the kiss, and you could feel his smile against your lips. “Come on,” he said, his voice low and deep, “Let’s get you out of that dress.”

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

Soooooo I have a bunch of these stuck in my head, if anyone is interested in reading more--lemme know! Thanks for reading! And let me know what you think, please!

Taglist: @lexxierave​ @loveintheroyalfamily​ @suchatinyinfinity​ @fanfictionrecommendations-com​  @maxslime-blog​ @elanor-of-imladris​ @songforhema​ @lucielandss @fandomlifeandeverythingelse​ @themadhatter92​ @realduckvader​ @the-blind-assassin-12​ @christinawxxx​ @anabella-baby @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme​ @luminex3​ @littlemermaidprobz​ @ashkuuuu​ @luckysstrikes​ @carlaangel86​ @floralpeaceofmind​ @dylanobrusso​ @teacuplotus​ @iaintnofurry​ @thesumofmychoices​ @ymariejp​ @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ @mrsjaxtellerfan​ @whovianayesha​ @holamor​ @drinix​ @rhabakoli​ @stories-you-wont-hear @king4thesirens @starkrobb @marauderskeeper​ @charlylama @gollyderek @leahnicole1219 @evanlys19  @something-tofightfor @banditthewriter  @binbons-is-theloml

Miguel Galindo: @glimmerglittergirl​

[jmeelee]

Hey! For the mini fic prompts, please can I request no. 21, things you said when we were on top of the world? For Sterek, if possible, but if you feel more inspired to write something for one of your other ships then go for it. Thank you!😊😘❤️

This prompt made me think SPACE!! So here is a Sterek + The 100 AU

The prisoners line up, two by two, a solemn procession through a wide, deserted corridor and down a steep launch ramp into the dropship, and the symbolism isn’t lost on Derek. Up until a week ago, Chancellor Argent probably fashioned himself a benevolent god, sparing two hundred juvenile delinquents from certain death while attempting to ensure the survival of the human race. But that death, while certain, was at least humane. A pin-prick to the vein and eternal oblivion. Today Chris Argent lords over the proceedings with a grim, stoic face as his only child—his daughter, Allison—boards the ship in her gray penitentiary jumpsuit, her heavy, rubber-soled boots squeaking against the floor, echoing over the persistent, invasive hum of the rocket engines. Today the Chancellor can’t deny what this really is: a probable suicide mission.

Allison makes her first of three stops before claiming her seat in the shuttlecraft, pausing in front of a guard who removes her handcuffs. Thus far, the guard has pushed each young man or woman roughly toward Nurse Melissa McCall, but he gently nudges Allison forward, a wary eye darting toward her father. With shaking fingers, Nurse McCall wipes antiseptic over the porcelain skin on the inside of Allison’s right arm, fastening a metal bracelet with colorful blinking lights around her wrist.

“It’s a vital transponder,” Melissa informs Allison. “With this, we’ll be able to monitor your blood pressure, breathing rate, radiation levels, and all sorts of things from right here in the control room of our space station.” Melissa offers a reassuring smile, but it trembles like her hands. Moments ago, Derek watched her fasten a transponder to the arm of her own son.

Now Allison faces to her father, the final stop on an assembly line sending kids to slaughter. He gives her the same canned speech he has to all the others. “When you walk onto this ship, you are hereby pardoned of your crimes. I hope you’ll use this chance to atone for your impermissible behaviors and mistakes. This is an unpress—“

Allison shoves her metal-cuffed wrist under his nose, stopping his spiel. This isn’t freedom, as her father would have the prisoners believe; she knows it, Chancellor Argent knows it, Melissa McCall and the rest of the Council know it. They’ve simply traded one set of shackles for another. She tilts up her chin and holds her father’s eye. “Good bye, Dad.” Derek swears more streaks of gray crop up at Argent’s temples, grooves deepening at the corners of his eyes. She turns away and takes her seat next to Scott McCall—the star-crossed lover for whom she’s defied both Colony law and her family—sitting back and letting Officer Camden Lahey fasten her harness. She doesn’t spare her father a second glance.

Chris Argent’s wounded face broadcasts so much pain Derek prays he’ll call an end to this crazed endeavor, but he straightens—the same steel in his spine hardens Allison’s, allowing her to walk with grace out of a detention cell and into what will likely become her coffin—continuing on with the pomp and circumstance. Derek’s rekindled hope burns out like a dying star.

When Derek averts his eyes from the dramatic family scene he spots who he’s searching for, prisoner 129, Stiles Stilinski, watching Derek with dawning horror, tension festering at the hunched line of his shoulders.

Stiles is smart. Too smart. Keen brown eyes take in Derek’s blue uniform, shirt fitting looser around his broad shoulders in the half-year they’ve been parted, and the other puzzle pieces snap into place. He’s working from the outside edges—extra rationing, his father’s execution, his stint in solitary confinement, this culling of convicts—but as he twists each piece this way and that in his mind’s eye, the picture becomes clear. There is a reason why capital punishment is the new norm for breaking the most mundane Colony laws. Their space station is dying; the powers that be are dropping extra cargo in the hopes of surviving a little longer. This time, it happens to be human cargo.

Every teenager who files into the ship brings Derek and Stiles closer together, until Stiles is passing right in front of him. Heat radiates from Stiles’ skin, like steam from a rare hot shower. Derek sways closer, imagines reaching across the infinitesimal space and having Stiles’ body under his hands one more time. He’s one of less than a dozen guards accompanying the prisoners to what will ultimately be their freedom, or their deaths; it would be so easy, and to do so after this period of separation would be a balm to his bruised soul. But now is not the time. The time has been cruelly stolen from them.

He’d happened upon Stiles, perched in a window seat on G deck during his first week on patrol. “This corridor is off limits,” Derek had told him, still high off the power trip of his newly earned guard title.

“Yes, sir.” Stiles offered a jaunty little salute and a sardonic smirk, and Derek was a goner. Stiles knew it, too, because he kept coming back, day after day, and Derek let him. Eventually, Derek had come to think of their meetings as cosmic kismet.

“Of all the windows on all the stations, you had to park your ass in mine,” Derek joked, watching Stiles doodle in his sketch pad with the graphite pencil Derek pilfered for him. “Why this particular window?”

“It has the best view,” Stiles whispered, brown eyes abandoning the page he’d been intently focused on, zeroing in on Derek’s face instead. But Stiles was right. Everyday, without fail, ten minutes before Derek’s shift was due to end, Earth came into view out the window, bursting with blues and greens and whites, the colors vivid, alive; nourishing their souls after a constant diet of stark, muted grey aboard the ship.

“When I see it, I feel like I’m on top of the world. Like anything is possible,” Stiles said. “It gives me hope for the future.”

“That’s funny,” Derek replied, heart beating a frantic tattoo against his sternum.

Stiles laughed, eyes twinkling. His face was pale as the moon under the circadian lights of the ship, a constellation of moles standing out in stark relief along his jawline. “Why is it funny? Because Earth is a toxic wasteland and won’t be able to support life for another hundred years?”

“No.” Derek smiled, softly. “Because that’s how I feel when I look at you.”

Now, as Stiles passes by, Derek feels anything but hopeful. Stiles shakes his head, the move tiny, imperceivable to anyone else, a flick of brown hair—grown long in his six-month confinement—off his forehead. Don’t be a hero, it screams.

He watches the transponder get fastened to Stiles wrist (I sucked a bruise there on our first night together), memorizes the hard line of Stiles’ mouth when the tiny needles inside the cuff pierce his pallid skin (his lips were always so soft when I kissed them). Derek shoves the memories to the back of his mind, where they need to stay if he has any hope of going through with this.

Once they’re all loaded into the shuttle, strapped into rows of harnessed seats, a Council member steps up to the small box mounted on the adjacent wall, presses a series of buttons, and a three-minute timer pops up onto the display, flashing green as it counts down. Hot beads of sweat roll down Derek’s spine, seeps through his shirt, but he ignores that, too.

00:03:00

When he’d first gotten wind of the culling, he’d gone straight to Erica Reyes—his friend Vernon Boyd’s girlfriend and an apprentice engineer—and bribed her to give him a breakdown of the launch process.

“Hypothetically, how could they make this happen?” Derek had desperately questioned, cutting through her technical muttering.

She shoved the extra ration coins he’d slipped her in the pocket of her moth-eaten lab coat. “Each station is equipped with cargo crafts, but the Council would never touch those. It’s too public, everyone would know they were launching defenseless kids into space. The only thing I can think of is the hunk of junk ferry rocket on S desk they use for spare parts.” She shook her head. “It’s prehistoric. I’m no rocket scientist, but that thing would be lucky to survive reentry into atmosphere.”

“There will be children on board, Erica. Most are eighteen, coming up for parole, but some are as young as twelve.”

She’d frowned, the coin’s jingling in her pocket. “I’m sorry, Derek. You don’t send people into space in a relic if you care whether or not they make it to their destination. Whether they’re twelve or twenty, the Council doesn’t give a shit.”

“So tell me what I can do.”

00:02:00

The Chancellor stands before the doors to the ship, monologuing like a villain, gaze focused on the harried teens in front of him. Some glare back, some blink away tears, some struggle against their restraints. “You’ve been given a second chance at life,” Chris Argent tell them. “You’re the pioneers; the course is yours.”

00:01:00

Derek’s eyes dart around, counting a total of sixteen adults, including the Chancellor, remaining on the deck. He’s lucky they valued secrecy over security today.

00:00:30

The time comes.

The descending numbers on the launch pad flash red, as Erica told him them would. He has twenty seconds before the hatch automatically shuts, and manual override becomes impossible.

Argent is still droning on, telling the teens they are making history, they will be the first humans to leave this space station in over three hundred years. They should be proud.

He steps up behind the Chancellor, pulse skyrocketing, and taps him on the shoulder. Chris Argent pivots, eyebrows lowered. “What is it, Officer Hale?”

Derek’s green eyes drop to the pin on the collar of the Chancellor’s shirt—the insignia of their Colony, that once stood for unity. So it’s in the spirit of togetherness, for better or for worse, that Derek lets his hand quickly drop to the holster attached to his belt, and before anyone can think to move, there’s the sharp sound of a gunshot.

Chris Argent grabs at his stomach, blood flowing like a river between fingers, splattering Derek’s boots like droplets of rain.

The sight of the Chancellor’s wound pulls the remaining people on the launch deck toward them like a black star, and Derek ducks under the arms of the guards who reach for him instead of helping their leader, rolling under the hatch as it seals shut, locking him inside the dropship. Furious banging erupts on the doors as he falls into the unoccupied seat next to Stiles, tucking the still-smoking gun between his knees as he buckles his harness.

“I could have survived anything, if I thought you were up here, safe and alive,” Stiles tells him. Derek can read the fear in his wet eyes. “Even if it was only for a little bit longer.”

A series of bleeps emit from the instruments in the cockpit. The purr of the engines becomes a roar, and Stiles’ fingers dig into the plastic armrest like claws.

“I couldn’t have lived with myself if I let you go alone,” Derek replies, wiping the star-bursts of blood off his face. “So here we are.”

Stiles nods. “Here we are. We won’t be on top of the world for much longer, but at least we’ll be together.”

With a jarring blast, the ship detaches from the space station, and they free-falling, barrelling toward Earth, a planet left for dead three hundred years ago, at a thousand kilometers an hour.

The first leg of their journey is relatively calm, the sun outside the windshield a red thumbprint against a blue-black sky dotted with stars. Some of the passengers pray, some excitedly discuss the probability of surviving on the surface of a world ravaged by nuclear and biological war. Stiles reaches over, squeezes Derek’s knee, and he jolts, losing the grip on his gun. It floats weightless through the cabin, prompting some of the former inmates to unfasten their harnesses and somersault through the air. But soon the stars fade, as does the light, replaced by smokey-gray clouds of atmosphere.

“Everyone, get back in your seats!” Allison Argent warns.

One boy mockingly laughs as he floats in front of her. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do? Just because your daddy was the boss doesn’t mean you get to be in charge. You’re not—“

A loud bang on the port side cuts off whatever he was going to say, their calm voyage turning abruptly terrifying as turbulence jerks their vessel. The boy crashes into the front window as the ship lurches downward, his head leaving behind a smear of blood. He speaks no more. Muttered prayers become shrill screams, and the acrid scent of vomit fills the cabin.

The ship shakes, primal roar of the engine mutating into a piercing wail as they plummet. “Derek!” Stiles yells as grey smoke gives way to red flames and spiderweb cracks splinter the windshield. Erica’s voice fills his ears, warning him the shuttle’s sensor systems may be too antiquated to safety guide them through strong winds and dangerous atmospheric conditions. The prayers return at a fevered level, some people crying desperately for their mothers and fathers over the stuttering grind of failing mechanics.

“Give me your hand,” Derek yells back, locking their fingers together. The desire to say something profound flares in his gut, to use his last words to convey how much finding Stiles in that window seat on top of the world meant to Derek.

“Stiles,” He rasps, hardly recognizing his own voice. It’s the only thing he has time to say.

They are a meteor, burning fast and bright through the sky. Derek closes his eyes, and makes a wish.

The crash rattles every bone in his body, his front teeth slicing through his bottom lip like a razor through silk. His neck lolls with abandon, body jerking like a rag doll, but his harness—and Stiles’ solid grip on his hand—hold him secure as the shuttle skids to a halt, a gaping wound torn through the outer and inner hull on the starboard side. The smell of stale vomit is overpowered by melting metal, burning fuel and coppery blood.

“If the outside air is still poisonous, we’ll be dead in minutes,” Stiles gasps, and no one gets up, searching each other for signs of radiation sickness.

None come.

“It pains me to say this,” Scott McCall grimaces at Allison, “but maybe your father didn’t heartlessly send us to our deaths after all.”

“Maybe,” she concedes. “But he’s still a dick.”

One by one they slowly exit the ship. The buckle of Derek’s auto-release jams, so he pulls a utility knife from his holster with numb fingers and saws at the neon orange straps. He unhooks Stiles, and together they stumble, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, toward the laceration in the wall, holding each other steady as they adjust to the gravitational pull of Earth. They step outside.

Derek blinks, jaw dropping. It’s not the ravaged, nuclear wasteland they’ve read about in their Earth Studies textbooks; the unsurvivable world.

All around him chirping birds sing and clicking crickets jump. The sweet scent of soil fills his nose, sharper than anything he’s ever smelled aboard the space station.

Snow-capped mountains dot the distance landscape, a lush green canopy hangs above them, multi-colored blossoms bloom around their feet, and warm sunlight kisses Stiles’ moles.

“I’ve never seen so many colors,” Stiles exclaims, eyes roaming over the verdant hills, listening to the wind whisper through the tall grass.

“You were wrong,” Derek tells Stiles, cradling his smiling face between his palms. He laughs. “This is the best view.”

Their lips meet in a kiss that tastes like fresh air, like freedom, like hope.

They’ve hurtled through space, crash-landed in the dirt to face insurmountable odds.

They’re the lowest they’ve ever been.

They’re on top of the world.

Send me a pairing and a prompt and I’ll write you a mini fic

[katrandomtiger]

Glass Knives Ch5

A Hitman 76 and detective Reyes fic.

Read it on AO3

October 4th, 207X – 19:30 – Watchpoint Apartments

Gabriel swore as he dug through his couch cushions looking for the cellphone which was currently screaming for his attention. Short glowered from his perch on the back of the armchair, he was very displeased with being removed from Gabriel’s lap.

“Reyes,” Gabe managed after finally managing to recover his phone.

“Hey Gabe, it’s Jesse,”

Confusion flickered across Gabriel’s face as he repositioned himself on the couch and patted his lap. Short ignored him but Gloria came trotting up to claim the position.

“Hey Jess, what’s going on?”

“Well, I wanted to tell you that the FBI wants me out in D.C. in about two weeks. Figured you’d like the warning that you’ll need to find a new partner to pick on soon.”

Gabriel smiled, “That’s great! How’s your mom taking that?”

“Well, uh, I haven’t told her yet, you’re the first one to know,” Jesse chuckled nervously.

“Jesse.”

“Look, Gabe, I’m just worried how she’s going to take it. You know how she gets about law enforcement, especially the FBI.”

“Have you at least told her you got in?”

“I…”

Gabriel sighed and rubbed the side of his face, “Jesse you need to talk to her. She’s your mom, I doubt she’s going to throw you out just because you’re moving up in the world.”

“I- I just don’t want her to be afraid of me,” Jesse finally whispered.

Gabriel’s heart dropped at those words. He knew that Jesse sacrificed a lot when he became an officer but to think he was thinking that his own mother would be afraid of him turning her in…

“Jesse,” he started, “If your mom can beat the shit out of five rival gang members twice her size with just an iron skillet, I highly doubt she’s going to be afraid of her incredibly capable, loving, and loyal adoptive son going into the FBI.”

Jesse chuckled at that.

“And unless you’re going to tell the government about the best places to buy meat in the desert, I don’t think you’ll really be telling them anything they don’t already know.”

“You’re right. Thanks Gabe.”

“Tell me how it goes, ok? If you don’t show up to work tomorrow I’ll know.”

Jesse laughed again, “I’ll send you a text that I’m alive, alright? Talk to you later…hopefully.”

And with that he hung up and left Gabe in the silence of his apartment. The sound of Arashi ripping out of the parking lot across the street was the only thing to disturb the peace.

Carefully, Gabriel slid himself out from under Gloria and headed into the kitchen where he grabbed a beer and a pack of cigarettes off the counter. Unable to stand the silence that permeates every inch of his apartment, he steps out to the terrace and falls into the chair he dragged out there ages ago.

The town provides the noise he needs as he pops the top on the bottle in his hands. He blissfully falls into the monotone noise and environment around him.

It’s times like this that he misses the chaos his daughter used to cause with the cats. She used to go flying through the house with the feather chaser and Short hot on her heels. Gabriel would forgive a hundred broken glasses just to hear her laughter again.

Gabriel lets out a smoky sigh and sinks further into his chair. Old grief and anger threaten to surface again.

“Long day?” came a gruff voice from the neighboring terrace.

Gabriel tensed before reorienting himself, “You could say that,” he replied, not even bothering to glance over at the source.

The warm chuckle he received sent shivers down his spine and was enough to turn his head towards the voice. What he saw looked more like a miniature garden than a shitty apartment terrace. How long had it been since he was out here?

“Nice garden, planning on feeding the entire complex?” Gabriel quipped, earning another laugh.

A pair of broad shoulder and greying blonde hair became visible as the man stood up and moved along the planters, not bothering to face Gabriel, “Well, my ma made me learn how to grow herbs in planters before she ever let me go to college. Guess it’s just a habit now.”

Gabriel snorted, “I hear that. My dad is a five-star chef and he made damn sure that I knew how to cook for myself before I could even be home alone. He didn’t want me to end up like my mom.”

“Oh god, my grandma and mom both taught me to bake when I was little. My dad wasn’t entirely hopeless but grandma always told me that he was her greatest failure.”

Gabriel turned more to face the man and watched with interest as the muscles in his back worked over the plants. There was something familiarly alluring about him.

“Where are you from?” Gabriel asked after a few more rounds of trying to one up each other on family skills.

“Everywhere, I haven’t really stayed in any one place for a long time. I was born and raised in Indiana though, if that’s what you’re asking,” the man said before turning. His glasses sat skewed across a scarred face and his smile was lopsided, “How about you?”

A moment passed as Gabriel stared into the face of his would-be killer and the prime suspect in his current investigation. Cold fear shot down his back, replacing the warm familiarity, and he carefully stood up and bolted back into his apartment.

“Shit. Shit. Shitting fuck!” he growled as he yanked his jacket off the back of the armchair to search the pockets for his pistol.

Gloria and Short went skidding down the hall as he loaded the gun and went to grab his phone. Where was it? A sinking feeling came upon him as he peeked out the door and saw 76 standing with his phone in hand. The hitman tapped at the glass and made a confused gesture.

He aimed his gun at the glass, 76’s eye’s widened and he vaulted back over onto his own terrace once more. Gabriel listened to the footsteps cross the apartment before abruptly stopping. He waited.

A few minutes passed before scratching on his own door took the detective’s attention from the wall. Cautiously, Gabriel made sure the chain was hooked and cracked the door open. Nothing was there. He stepped back and opened the door as far as the chain allowed but he still didn’t see anything.

“Wha-“

‘Boof’

Gabriel spun around with his gun raised only to be met the soft brown eyes of a golden retriever. He watched in disbelief as the dog wagged her tail and laid down by his feet. Slowly he crouched down and gave the dog a tentative pat before spinning her collar around to reveal the name ‘Lucy’.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Gabriel whispered as he let go and slid down the wall to join Lucy on the floor.

Time passed at an unbearably slow paced, Gabriel strained to hear the footsteps next door start again but nothing came. At some point is hand wandered to the scruff of Lucy’s neck where he began to absentmindedly scratch as they waited.

After what felt like hours the footsteps started again. Gabriel jumped to his feet as the door to the neighboring apartment opened and closed. He braced his back against the door frame as the footsteps stopped in front of his door.

“Can I have my dog back?”

Gabriel blinked and looked down where Lucy was still laying, her ears stood up but she made no move to stand, “Uh, no?”

The door rattled as 76 tried to open it, “I’m not leaving until I get my dog, Reyes.”

Fear numbed his legs as 76’s pleasant tone from earlier lost all inflection and emotion. Ill thought out bravery tore the words from him mouth before he could stop them, “Why? So when I open the door you can shoot me again? No thank-you, jackass. Lucy is my dog now!”

A startled bark of laughter caused Gabriel to jump and tighten his grip on the gun.

“Dude, just crack the door open, let her out, and I’ll leave. Jesus Christ,” 76 snorted, the life returning to his voice.

Carefully, Gabriel cracked the door open and glanced out to see 76 standing in the hall. His hands were empty but it didn’t mean he was unarmed nor that he couldn’t just over power the detective.

Reports of hitman taking out small SWAT teams without any form of firearms were rare but not unheard of, in fact one of the handful of reports were from Soldier:76 himself.

“Don’t try any shit,” Gabriel growled before opening the door on the chain and looking back at Lucy. The dog glanced up at him and yawned before rolling onto her side, “I think your dog is broken…”

“Lucy, come.” 76 said, peeking through the crack in the door.

Lucy sneezed.

“What a well-trained dog you have here 76.”

The hitman glared at Gabriel before trying a whistle command, “You know I could just grab her…”

“Nope,” Gabriel yelped before slamming the door closed, “My dog now, I guess.”

“Reyes-“

“Nope.”

The silence from the other side of the door was deafening to Gabriel. He shifted his weight back and forth waiting for the hitman to make a move, a noise, anything.

Finally a sigh and a thump came from the door, “Fine. I’ll leave if you get her out.”

“Only if you go back to your apartment,” Gabriel relented, “and I want my phone back too.”

Something hit the floor before his phone slide under the door and between his feet. He listened as uneven footstep made their way down the hall. Gabriel waited a moment before cracking his door open and peeking out into the empty hall before holstering his weapon.

Taking a shaky breath, he walked to where Lucy was still lying and gently started to half-drag her to the doorway. Gabriel stumbled over her as he got to the door and listened for any activity before unlatching the chain.

Gabriel had no time to process as the door slammed into him and sent him to the floor. Fear froze him where he fell when the barrel of a large gun came into his vision. His life flashed before his eyes and he said his prayers-

‘Thwack’

He looked to up in disbelief as a foam dart bounced off his forehead and onto his chest. 76 laughed and lower himself over Gabriel so they were face to face, a nerf gun was grasped lightly in one hand.

“Wha-what the fuck?” Gabriel managed.

76 cocked his head to the side and confusion crossed his face once more, “What? I already got to kill you once. I mean, you’re still on my hitlist but I also don’t give a fuck right now.”

Gabriel gaped at the hitman as he stood and whistled a different command, Lucy immediately got up and trotted out of the room.

“You planned this.”

76 smiled, “Actually I didn’t, but it was fortunate you dropped your phone. Well, fortunate for me anyway.”

A feeling of dread deepened in Gabriel.

“It saved me a lot of time of trying to track down all your friends and family.” 76 began to walk out the door as he spoke before turning in the doorway, “Good news for you though, as long as you keep your mouth shut we should have no problems, right, Gabi?”

With that the door shut leaving Gabriel alone in the quiet of his apartment.

[zukoscomet]

The Thirty-Something Years of Half Jobs

Chapter 2 (”Not the Deuce”) uploaded here.

“Don’t freak out but I need to tell you something important,”

“Okay, big brother. Hit me,”

Bellamy still struggled to believe that the little girl he’d carried around on his back was now the young woman that sat in the passenger seat on his truck. Not just a young woman; a wife and a mom, too. And a kickass martial arts teacher. Now, it was his niece, Amei, that liked to cling to his shoulders for rides.

Octavia was jet-lagged, slumped in the seat like marionette cut from its strings. Her job took her on awesome business trips that Bellamy had always been envious of. Tokyo, this time. Her hair was down and limp, eyes shadowed, and her skin waxy.

The news she was about to receive would soon wake her up.

“O,” Bellamy took a deep breath in, hands clenched on the steering wheel. “Clarke and I are going to get married.”

He’d been expecting an excited squeal, her hands to fly to her mouth in shock. Instead, he got an eyeroll reminiscent of her teens. “Well yeah, you two have been engaged for what . . . six years now?”

Bellamy suddenly felt ridiculous, his skin turning hot. Octavia and Lincoln had married in less than a year of the proposal.

“No. I mean like we’re actually going to get married,” he emphasised. “As in been to the city clerk’s office, planning it as we speak, getting married.”

He’d finally got his sister’s attention. Her eyes snapped away from her phone. “Shut up. No, you’re not.”

Bellamy couldn’t help but smirk at the look of utter disbelief on Octavia’s face.

“Yes, yes we are.”

Then came the excited squeal. Twenty four years old and bouncing up and down in her seat. “Oh my god, really? You swear? Clarke’s gonna be my sister-in-law?”

He just nodded in return, starting the engine of his truck as Octavia naturally begun to freak out.

“My brother’s getting married, at last. When does Clarke want to go dress shopping? The place I got mine from is lovely. I’ll take her. Is she having bridesmaids? I’ve never been a bridesmaid before, Bell. Lincoln can take you to get a suit. You said he was going to be your best man when you first got engaged, right? I can’t believe this, I can’t-”

Bellamy grinned like a maniac as he listened to his sister babble excitedly. In this moment, he wondered why he and Clarke had waited so damn long in the first place. Octavia seem to come to the same thought.

“So what set things in motion after all this time?” Octavia cocked her head to the side before her eyes widened even more. “Is Clarke pregnant?”

Bellamy just snorted at her assumption, but somewhere deep down, he wished it were true. “No, no. One step at a time, O.”

“Jesus, Bellamy. You’re like 30 already. Learn to run or you’ll seize up,” Octavia laughed, putting her arm out of the window.

Next came the part of the conversation he’d been dreading.

“So when’s the big day?”

He could feel his heart speed us a little in his chest, the blood pumping faster. Octavia was going to be doing a different kind of freaking out when he told her. It took Bellamy three goes of opening and closing his mouth before the fatal word escaped him.

“Tomorrow.”

“Very funny, Bellamy. Fucking tomorrow.”

There was a long silence. Bellamy kept his eyes on the freeway and refused the urge to look at his sister.

“Oh my god, you’re serious.”

“Yep.”

“What the fuck?” Octavia sat back in her seat. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Typical Bellarke thing to do, if ever I saw it.”

Bellamy sighed at the old moniker that the other kids used for him and Clarke back in high school. It drove Clarke up the wall and everyone knew it so inevitably, it was never going to die.

“Where are you going to have it?” she asked after a moment of contemplation.

“Monty’s place.”

Bellamy and Clarke were damn lucky in that they happened to be best friends with Monty Green. Monty ran a restaurant on Central Park. The rent cost him a pretty penny but it also gave him a small section of land. A really nice bit, too. Enough room for a wedding ceremony for sure.

“Clarke wants you to be her bridesmaid. Raven and Amei, too. I’m taking you back to our place now so you three can sort things out. Or atleast that’s what she told me. And yes, I do want Linc to be my best man.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bellamy could see his sister recovering from her shock, regaining her posture.

“Want me to call him for you?”

Bellamy did the same, sitting up a little straighter in the driver’s seat. A wedding in less than twenty four hours. He was fucking crazy, but his friends, his family; they were, too.

If anyone could pull this shit off, it was them.

“Call Lincoln.”

“A wedding in a day? Wow, Griffin. I didn’t know you had it in you to be this ballsy. Did you have like really great sex last night or-”

“Stop there, I haven’t had nearly enough alcohol to hear the end of that sentence.”

If there was anyone that Clarke could rely on to bring her thudding back down to Earth, it was Raven Reyes and Octavia Blake. Bellamy could be brutal, but he was nothing compared to them. Her mom had tried to stop her from hanging out with them in high school. A bad influence on her, she’d said. But when Raven and Octavia had climbed the tree in her backyard to get into her bedroom, she’d given up. The girls had tended to use the Griffin’s front door from then on.

The Griffin-Blake-Reyes triumvirate, as Bellamy called it, was fucking unstoppable.

“So, where are we going to acquire a wedding dress that fits Clarke perfectly, looks gorgeous, is affordable, and has equally nice accessories?” Raven asked, tipping the last dregs of red wine down her neck. “Also, we need dresses for me, O and Amei.”

“Suits for the boys, too.” Octavia pointed out.

“Leave that to Bell and Lincoln. That’s their responsibility.” Clarke ruled, breaking the seal on a fresh bottle.

“Still leaves us with the dress problem.” O lent back against the pillows of Bellamy and Clarke’s couch.

In her peripherals, Clarke could see Raven sizing her up. Guesstimating her height. Dark eyes roving over the width of her waist, torso, thighs and breasts. Wasn’t exactly new. She had a short history with Raven, before she had Bellamy and Raven had Luna.

“See something you like, Reyes?”

“Oh, I’m taken and so are you. There’s a reason for me checking you out,” Raven smirked back at her, refilling her glass. “Leave the dresses to me. I know a guy. For me, he’ll fit us today.”

Clarke’s eyebrows quirked up. “Here’s where you tell me that this place is in the Deuce.”

Octavia coughed out a poorly-hidden laugh behind her hand. Raven alternated between scowling at the pair of them.

“I’ll have you know that this is a very legit establishment I’m talking about here. That thing with the Deuce was on like one night out. You guys fucking loved it. Give me a break,” Reyes retorted indignantly. “Anyway, you remember Kyle Wick from senior year?”

The Blake girl snorted. “If that scumbag is the fitter, you’ll have to drag me in there kicking and screaming.”

“Ditto. It’s his sister, Paige, that runs the business. She’s cool. Personally thanked me when I dumped her brother’s ass. Said I could call in a favor when I needed it.”

“So you know a girl?”

“I do.”

“Raven Reyes,” Clarke raised her glass. “You are a godsend.”

“Bow down, bitches, to the Reyes power,”

“I can do our make-up and hair and stuff, easy. Amei can help. She loves all that.”

“So we have outfits sorted. Venue and times set. Guests have been invited. Kane’s letting us use his Porsche to get there,” Clarke ticked off on her fingers.

“Monty’s handling the feasting. Jasper on the discs,” Raven said.

“Linc has the rings.” Octavia added.

“Got a priest?”

“Yeah. Please don’t ask where.”

“Should we be concerned?”

“Probably but we’ll leave it for now.”

“That leaves a nice, hot honeymoon for the lovers.” Raven and Octavia waggled their brows at each other suggestively. Clarke was too resigned to berate them, or even cringe.

“Bellamy’s adamant he’s handling the honeymoon.”

Bellamy and Clarke didn’t go abroad that often. They were in well-paying jobs with no children and a small apartment to upkeep; money was no object, really. It was the time aspect. Clarke worked ungodly hours around the clock at Ark Medical. Doctors were in short supply. Lawyers weren’t so much, but Bellamy the Harvard Graduate was fucking great at his job. Clarke would often wake up in the night to an empty bed, only to find Bellamy passed out at his desk with yet another case under him.

A holiday would be good for them.

Octavia grinned, examining her flawlessly manicured nails. “We’ve got this made, girls.”

“Well,” Raven yawned, stretching her arms. “The bride stays with her maids the night before the wedding, Clarke, You’re gonna have to turf your dearly beloved out to stay with one of his boys.”

“I’m sure he’ll go quietly.” Clarke said, pulling out her phone to deliver him the news.

Raven set her glass down on the coffee table with a loud chink before jumping to her feet, as though propelled by a spring.

“Ladies, let’s go and get our dresses for the long-awaited Bellarke wedding!”

Octavia was up in a second, too, cheering with Raven.

Clarke just sighed.

Fucking Bellarke.

[exhuastedpigeon]

FBI - (sexually) Frustrated Beyond Imagination Stiles/Jackson For @inell on the occasion of her birthday. I hope you like the bb :)

Stiles wants to take down the Lahey crime family for a lot of reasons, but the biggest reason is so he can finally make a move on the FBI's undercover agent Jackson Whittemore.

Also on ao3

It had been a long time since Stiles had sex, a lo-ong time. So long that he kind of forgot what sex felt like. Okay, so it had only been around six months, but that felt like a lifetime because he had been getting it on the regular when he was in college. It wasn’t as easy for him now that he was a rookie FBI agent who worked overnights and long shifts.

The closest he had come to any sort of sexual satisfaction from another human was when Stiles’ team was working with the NYPD. If the case had gone a few days longer, he probably would have ended up in the back of an empty FBI van with Officer Derek Hale, but no dice. They had caught the serial killer, and Stiles was shipped back to DC.

“I just want to touch another person, sexually,” Stiles said. He was sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair as he talked to his cubicle mate Erica Reyes.

She spun in her chair to face him, a predatory look on her face that would have made his skin crawl if he didn’t know her so well by now. “I told you, you’re always welcome to join Boyd and me.”

“And I told you, just because I’m bi doesn’t mean I’m down for a threesome. Plus, I’m pretty sure Boyd would kill me if I ever touched you,” Stiles said rolling his eyes. Boyd really might kill him; Stiles wasn’t sure that Boyd liked him much.

“Ugh, you’re such a spoilsport,” Erica said. “I’m going to get coffee, you want any?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, looking at his email and seeing he had a meeting with Rafe McCall later that day. “Shot of espresso in it, if you don’t mind.”

“Anything for you, cubical buddy.”

Stiles let out a long sigh as he turned back to the case. He had been working on trying to bring down the Lahey crime family since his first day with the Bureau, but he didn’t have any solid evidence. What his team really needed was an informant, someone on the inside who could help them.

He so got caught up in his file that he didn’t notice Erica was back until she set his coffee down on top of the paper he was reading over. “Oh, thanks.”

“Agent Hottie McHot Pants is in the building,” Erica said, leaning against Stiles desk to read over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I have a meeting with Rafe, I know he’s here,” Stiles said, wishing he didn’t know how attractive Erica thought Rafe was. He was kind of like a second dad to Stiles these days; he didn’t need to think about him like that.

Erica smiled, “Well he has someone with him, and he also looked like a hottie.”

That got Stiles attention. He hadn’t mentioned anyone else sitting in on their meeting, but maybe he had a meeting before he met with Stiles, which wasn’t for another - he looked at his watch - shit, five minutes.

“Shit, I’m late,” Stiles said, jumping up, grabbing his coffee and notepad, and running toward the elevator. “Thanks for the coffee!”

He made it up to Rafe’s office just in time. He took a breath and knocked on the door, getting a “come in,” from the other side.

Stiles pushed the door open, expecting to only see Rafe, so he was surprised when there was an incredibly attractive man sitting across the desk from his boss. A man who was rocking a fitted black tee shirt and a leather jacket, whose hair was perfectly done, and whose eyes were the kind of blue Stiles wanted to swim in.

“Stiles, thanks for joining us. Have a seat,” Rafe said.  Stiles sat, intentionally not looking at the man next to him. “This is Special Agent Jackson Whittemore; he’s been deep undercover with the Lahey crew for two years now and it’s finally paid off. Jackson, this is Stiles Stilinski; he’s one of our most promising young agents.”

“I got Isaac Lahey to roll on his dad and the crew,” Jackson said, looking smug as he spoke. Stiles kind of wanted to punch him and he kind of wanted to fuck him; it was a weird combination.

“With Isaac in, we need someone here to run the op,” Rafe said, “since Jackson is going to keep his cover as long as he can.”

“So what do you need from me?” Stiles asked.

“You’re Isaac’s contact on the inside,” Rafe said and Stiles felt a swoop of excitement; this would be his first time running point like this.

“You’re still new enough to not have the stench of fed all over you,” Jackson said, and added: “Ditch the suit when you meet him; the last thing I need is for the kid to get found out by the rest of the family. That would be two years for nothing.”

“And there would be a dead witness,” Rafe said slowly. “We don’t want anyone else dying at the hands of the Lahey family.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jackson said. “I need to know I can trust you. I can’t put my life or my witness’s on the line unless I know you’re going to be there to back us up.”

“I will be,” Stiles said, “I’m on it.”

“I need to get back,” Jackson said. “It was good seeing you, Rafe. Don’t fuck this up, Stilinski.”

With that, Jackson left the room, and Stiles felt a mix of annoyance and arousal. “I’m trusting you on this, Stiles,” Rafe said, pulling Stiles back to the present. “You’ve got a meet-up with Isaac tomorrow. Don’t look like a Fed; Jackson was right when he said that much.”

------

The case moved faster than Stiles expected. Within a month, he had a team in the field ready to take down the head of the Lahey crime family, mostly due to Isaac’s testimony and Jackson’s insider information. They managed to arrest and charge 47 of the members of the crew. A few of them had gotten away, but Stiles had a feeling that the Boston field office would bring them in.

Stiles spent a good part of the month leading up to the raid meeting up with Jackson and Isaac in locations that Jackson selected. He communicated with Stiles via burner phones; it made Stiles feel like a spy instead of an FBI field agent, which was kind of cool.

He also learned a lot about Jackson during that month, like the fact Jackson was a total asshole, but he was also funny as hell. He was incredibly good at his job, and he really cared about doing well. He had been undercover for a long time, living in a shitty apartment, working for Neil Lahey, and had been pretty disconnected from the rest of the world, but the biggest thing Stiles learned about Jackson was that he was exactly Stiles’ type. It took everything in Stiles to stop himself from jumping Jackson’s bones after every meet-up.

Stiles had wondered how a guy like Jackson ended up working for the Bureau. He had gotten that answer at their third meet-up, this one without Isaac. They had taken to meeting at the counter of a diner just out of Lahey’s usual territory, with Stiles in plain clothes.

“You don’t seem the type to join up,” Stiles said, taking a sip of his shitty coffee. “How’d you end up with the FBI?”

“I got sent to military school when I was 15; I had some anger issues,” Jackson said, surprisingly honest. “I graduated at 17 and did ROTC in college. I did two tours with the Marines over in Iraq and was recruited into the FBI right after. Within two months, they had me undercover with the Lahey’s. It worked well since I had a couple arrests from before military school.”

“Huh,” Stiles said, “Much more interesting than my journey.”

“Clearly,” Jackson said with a smirk. “Let me guess, cop dad, you spent too much time trying to solve mysteries in high school, and you did a pre-law enforcement track at some hot-shot school in D.C.”

“You saw my file, then,” Stiles said with a laugh.

“Like I’d let just anyone be my point of contact for this,” Jackson admitted, accidentally complimenting Stiles, making him smile.

“So you think I’m a good agent,” Stiles teased, leaning into Jackson’s space. He wished they were facing each other, but the counter made it less obvious if anyone from the Lahey crew came in.

“Fuck off,” Jackson muttered, but his cheeks were pink.

“I’ll fuck something,” Stiles said with a laugh, watching Jackson’s cheek burn even redder. “Same time on Friday? I need to get back to the office, make sure Danny’s got what he needs for the tap on the phones.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jackson said, eyes on his menu. “See you Friday.”

The flirty banter became a staple in their meet-ups and Stiles was starting to get antsy for the raid so that he could see Jackson outside of the shitty diner without breaking his cover. He had a feeling that Jackson wanted him just as badly, but he wouldn’t know for sure until they were done with the case.

The end of the raid left Stiles and Jackson alone in the back of one of the surveillance vans. They were both dripping wet from jumping into the Potomac after one of the higher-up crew members. They had caught the guy in the end; it had taken both of them together to restrain the guy and Stiles was reminded again why he had joined the FBI.

Stiles found a couple FBI t-shirts and tossed one to Jackson before looking for some sweats. As he turned back around, he saw Jackson pull his shirt over his head and Stiles’ mouth went dry at the sight of exposed skin.

“Like what you see?” Jackson asked with a cocky grin on his face, reaching up to catch the sweats that Stiles tossed him. He kept eye contact with Stiles as he unzipped his jeans and peeled them off. Stiles swallowed and openly stared at Jackson’s bulge.

“I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m really horny, and you’re really hot. Can we fuck? Like, now?” Stiles blurted out, the adrenaline still pumping through him from the raid and from seeing a hot dude dripping wet only a few feet away from him.

“We can’t fuck in the Bureau’s van, Stilinski,” Jackson said with a smirk and Stiles’ face fell. “But we can go back to your apartment and do it there.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah right fucking now,” Jackson said, pulling on the shirt and pants over his wet boxer briefs, “Hurry up and get dressed before I change my mind.”

“You’re not gonna change your mind, you want me,” Stiles said, peeling his shirt off and his jeans. He could feel Jackson’s eyes on him as he did, so he looked up and winked, “You’ve wanted me since that first day in Rafe’s office.”

Jackson didn’t speak, instead he took two steps forward and grabbed Stiles by the ass, pulling him flush against his chest, “Shut up.”

“Make me,” Stiles challenged, waiting for Jackson to kiss him.

He did, his lips cold and damp against Stiles’, but neither of them cared. Stiles’ hands found Jackson’s shoulders. He ran them down to his ass as they kissed. It was all tongues and teeth, soft moans and searching for friction. “Fuck,” Jackson muttered as Stiles’ hands slipped down his sweatpants. “Stiles, we need to get out of here.”

“I would advise that,” Rafe said from the open door of the van.They jumped apart quickly. Stiles ran a hand over the back of his head and Jackson avoided eye contact. “At least you waited until after we got the arrests.”

“We’re nothing if not professional,” Stiles said with an awkward smile.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Rafe said, but Stiles could tell he was biting back a smile. “I’ll see you both on Monday.”

“Let’s go,” Jackson said, grabbing Stiles hand and tugging him out of the van. “Is your apartment close?”

“A few Metro stops and a couple blocks,” Stiles said, wondering if they’d make it all the way there before they started touching again.

“Well, come on,” Jackson whispered into his ear, sending a jolt down Stiles’ spine.

They didn’t make it to the apartment before they started touching again. They ended up making out in an alley, and on the nearly empty metro, and in another alley near Stiles apartment. They eventually made it to Stiles place and didn’t come out again for almost 48 hours.

What? They both had some pent up sexual frustration to work out; that takes time.