#that that somehow counts as her being replaced on the lease

[mccleans]

i've gone to sleep angry and woken up angry every day since last saturday

[starlightrows]

Something Sweet

Chapter 1 - Spring Festival Funnel Cakes

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Series Masterlist

Pairing: Modern!Paz Vizsla x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: None!

Summary: Spring has sprung and business is booming and the community is celebrating with a weekend long festival... that you get to spend attending a vendors booth next to the handsome baker from down the street

The depths of winter in a place where it snows is not the ideal time to be moving your whole life and business. But you didn’t have much of a choice, you had already gotten the business license taken care of, the storefront purchased, and suppliers lined up. And with the lease on your apartment being up, it’s now or never. So with a small moving truck full of your belongings all packed up, you set off towards the city to finally chase your dream of opening a flower shop.

Your new apartment is nice, a bit smaller than your previous one but that comes with living alone in the city on a tight budget. But still it’s a one bedroom and it’s enough for just you. The storefront is beautiful. It’s located downtown in what you had assumed was a historic district of the city, but somehow is not classified as such. The buildings are lovely red brick exterior with large open windows for passers by to peek in, with quaint awnings over every door. Your store is located on the corner, with plenty of space to set up floral displays and hang potted plants in the windows. Come spring time this is going to be amazing, and beautiful and everything you dreamed of. You just hoped that others would think so too and come shop there.

By the time mid February rolls around there is still snow in the mountains, and the occasional rain and snow storm that blows through the area but it’s not as bad as when you first moved. Your apartment is coming along nicely, and your store is looking pretty good as well. You’re hoping to open by March 1st, but that’s still two and half weeks away. You’ve got plenty of time to finish painting, assembling shelves, figuring out how to want to arrange your displays, and set up the black board you’re planning to use to decorate the wall behind the checkout counter. You thought it might be fun to use chalk paint to decorate it for the various seasons, write specials, and do holiday countdowns.

You’re a little frustrated with yourself that you weren’t able to get everything in order to be open this weekend. Valentine’s Day is the prime time of the year for a flower and botanical shop. But spring is coming and that means birthdays, weddings, prom season, graduations, date nights, Mother’s Day and spring decorating! But for today it’s just you, a pair of worn overalls and a sweater, and a little can of paint for detailing the floor boards inside the shop. No flowers or valentines dates for you this year. You did see that there was a nice looking bakery a little ways down the street, maybe you could pick up a little treat for after dinner or some nice bread for making fancy toast.

Just the thought of it makes your mouth water, and your tummy rumble. Maybe you could make it an afternoon snack instead. You cap the lid to the paint bucket, and wash off your hands in the sink in the back. It’s not actively snowing but it is freezing outside, so you pull your jacket on over your sweater and lock the shop up behind you. You steal a quick glance at it, admiring how well it’s coming along, before you tuck your hands into your pockets and make your way down the street to the bakery.

It’s getting on in the afternoon, and the bakery isn’t very busy at the moment. But you’ve seen the lines in the morning when the bread is fresh out of the ovens, hopefully there will be something left for you.

You pull the door to the bakery open and step inside, glancing up at the sound of the tinkling bell that alerts the man behind the counter to your presence. He’s probably the tallest, broadest, burliest man you’ve ever seen; and then he smiles at you. It’s a smile that takes up his whole face, and lights up his eyes.

“Hey, welcome in” his voice is deep and sweet. You can literally feel your heart skip a beat and you almost forget why you came in here.

“Hi, I was hoping you might have some pastries or baguettes” you say, approaching the counter. He seems to blank out for a second, because he doesn’t answer you immediately.

“Uh- no sorry no pastries. But I do have a couple of French baguettes left,” he says. You’re a little disappointed about the pastries, perhaps you needed to come in earlier in the day. He pulls a baguette from the bread counter and offers it to you in a long parchment bag.

While he rings up your bread, you take the time to look around at his displays and other breads. “What’s your specialty?” You find yourself asking, thoroughly impressed with the wide variety he has to offer.

“I’m really proud of my ciabatta rolls,” he says earnestly “but I’ve been working on a new roasted tomato and herb crusted bread that excited about,”

You smile at his enthusiasm, it’s great to see people who are passionate about their craft. “I’ll have to come back and try it when you’ve got it figured out,”

You thank the kind man, and step back out into the cold to make your way back to your shop. Instantly you regret not asking for his name, but then again he just works down the street you’ll find out eventually.

———

February passed by in an overcast and sometimes snowy daze. You are able to meet your deadline and open your new store on March 1st. It’s finally a little sunnier on your opening weekend and just that simple fact has people outside and milling about. People are anxious to usher in spring, and there is no better way to brighten up the tail end of winter than by having fresh flowers, lush green house plants and aesthetically pleasing succulents around to decorate your space. Your entire store front is practically picked bare by the end of your first day! Good thing you get fresh deliveries every day, and have a fully stocked back room to replace all your wares for tomorrow.

Business slows down just a touch, but you’ve still got steady foot traffic for most of the day all through the spring. The weather is warming up, and the days are getting longer. Prom season is coming up and you’ve already pre cutting ribbon and bulk ordering corsage boxes. Graduations will be coming up soon too, you make sure to mark on your calendar when the local schools ceremonies are so you can have bouquets and lei ready in time.

One warm afternoon in April it’s a little slow and you’ve already swept the store, washed the windows inside and out, and potted 15 new plants in the back; so you take a well deserved break by standing behind the counter and reading a book. The bell on the door chimes and you look up to see a woman wearing jeans and a polo shirt with the city logo embroidered on the chest.

“Hi my name is Jennifer I’m with the city’s Parks and Recreation department,” she introduces herself and offers her hand to shake. You smile and accept her hand, giving your name as well.

“I’m stopping by all the local businesses to give you this” she hands you a flyer “the city’s annual spring festival is coming up at the end of May. Traditionally we bring in food trucks and invite arts and crafts vendors from the area to come sell their pieces and get some exposure, in the last couple years we’ve been expanding it to other local businesses too. There’s more information on the website to sign up to get you a booth if you’re interested. I think having a plants and flowers booth would be perfect for the spring festival”

She stays to chat about the festival for a couple minutes describing how fun it is to see all the local artists showing their craft, children getting their faces painted, live music, picnicking, and coming together as a community to celebrate the change in seasons.

“This city really comes alive at community events,” she tells you “Free concerts in the park in the summer, cultural learning events, fun runs, around the holidays we have a big Christmas tree lighting ceremony and winter carnival, don’t even get me started on how much this city goes all out for Halloween!”

Jennifir leaves after another couple minutes of excited chatter about the various events put on by the city, and continues on down the street to invite your business neighbors to attend the festival as vendors too. The whole interaction leaves you thrilled at the opportunity to advertise your business, make some more money for the shop, and be part of the community! Your long forgotten book is tucked away in favor of pulling out your laptop to register yourself with the city planning committee to participate in the festival.

The next few weeks you work extra hard to get through prom season, and put in more hours than usual to get everything prepared for graduations as well. The days tick by in May. Mother’s Day is an amazing weekend, you put up a temporary photo shoot wall for mom’s, daughters, grandmothers, or really anyone to come in and take a picture with a flower wall backdrop. Another amazing success full of happy smiling people!

Finally the weekend of the festival arrives, people from the city have been cleaning up the park and working their tails off to get everything perfect for the event. A massive stage is erected in the park, the usual parking lots are lined with enclosed pop up tents for the vendors selling hot foods, extra trash cans are placed everywhere, and early Saturday morning the local businesses are arriving with their SUV’s and vans full of goods to set up their tables.

You are among that crowd. Busily working to get your table set up under a pop up tent for shade, your flowers and potted plants ready for display, making sure you have enough cash for making change in transactions, and cardboard boxes to help people carry their new plant babies home with them.

All around you other local businesses are setting up their booths too. You recognize a few of them that you’ve visited already, but you’re looking forward to seeing more of them. Beside you, you absolutely recognize the tall, broad, and exceptionally handsome man that owns the bakery down the street from you. Spending the whole weekend stuck next to eye candy, and artisan bread… even if you didn’t sell a single flower this weekend at least you’d have a good view.

The morning is warming up, people will be arriving soon, your coffee long since gone. You steal a glance over at the man carefully arranging his bread displays. He glances over at you too, and grins at catching you staring.

“Morning,” he says cheekily

“Good morning,” you reply, going a bit warm in the cheeks.

“Flower booth for a spring festival? I think you’re in the running for making the most profit this weekend,” he jokes looking at your pretty flower displays and cute potted plants. You laughed a little and eyed his selection of breads hungrily

“I dunno, people don’t want to carry around a heavy plant all day. But they do want to snack on some delicious bread,”

He laughs, and extends a hand to introduce himself. “I’m Paz by the way,”

You shake his large hand and tell him your name as well. It’s a firm handshake, worn hands and strong forearms presumably from kneading bread dough. The thought makes your tummy flutter, and your heartbeat quicken.

And so it begins. The two of you pull up chairs at the edges of your pop up tents, and spend the whole day laughing, talking, interacting with customers and making sales. At the end of the first day, he sends you home with a loaf of bread with Asiago cheese baked into the top, and you gift him a pretty green succulent and promise him they are almost impossible to screw up taking care of.

The second day of the festival is much the same, except this time he brings you a breakfast sandwich he prepared ahead of time.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I need a taste tester. I’ve been thinking about expanding my menu to add breakfast sandwiches,” he tells you with a shy smile. You gladly accept the sandwich and have to control yourself not to make embarrassing noises when you taste it.

“You made this from scratch?” You ask, taking another bite

“Well I made the bun,” he says, unwrapping his own homemade breakfast sandwich

“If you start selling this, I promise you’ll put places like Starbucks out of business,” you tell him “honestly, I’m gonna have to start coming down there every morning before I open,”

In his head, Paz thinks that would be an absolute dream to have you come see him everyday. But that’s not the kind of thing you tell someone you met 24 hours ago, so he settles for something else instead

“How far is your shop? Maybe you can have your breakfast delivered,”

“You didn’t know?” You ask “I just opened my shop on the far corner of the street your bakery is on. I actually came in to try your bread a couple months ago,”

Paz is a little embarrassed, he knew a business moved in down there but had no idea it was your flower shop. “No way! I remember you coming in to the bakery, but I had no idea you worked down the street,”

“To be fair the store wasn’t open yet, and I somehow managed to forget to introduce myself,” you tell him.

Just like the day before, the two of you spend the day laughing and chatting in between greeting customers and promoting your respective businesses.

In the early afternoon a man with shaggy dark hair, sun glasses, tattoos and a very cute little boy wearing a green bucket hat came over and started making conversation with Paz. He glanced over at you.

“Have you met Din yet?” Paz asks you “He owns the tattoo parlor across from the bakery,”

You smile and shake his hand, you see his little boy eyeing your selection of plants. “Do you want to pick one out buddy?” You ask the little boy, he nods enthusiastically and chooses a little pot with the beginnings of a strawberry plant in it.

“Shorty and I were just gonna go grab some funnel cake before we head home for nap, I just stopped by to see if you wanted some,” Din says

“Yeah, that would be great!” Paz says.

Din turns to you, and extends the same offer. You politely decline, claiming there’s no way you’d ever finish one on your own.

“You can split one with me,” Paz beams. Din nods and leads his son off into the crowd to acquire the sweet treats.

“I can’t believe you haven’t met everyone yet,” Paz says “We all get together on Tuesday nights after hours for beers,”

“Who is we exactly?” You ask, sitting back down in the folding chair the festival committee had generously provided.

“Most of the shop owners on our street, and a couple of others from around the corner. They actually convinced me to move out here and start my business a couple years ago,”

“I had no idea there was such a community amongst the business owners around here,” you admit.

“You’ve gotta come meet everyone next week,” he insists “You’ll fit right in!”

Your heart warms at the sentiment. One of your big fears moving to the city was not knowing anyone and struggling to find a new group of friends. This could be promising!

Din and his son make their way back and come sit behind the tables with you and Paz. You and Paz do split the funnel cake, and have a grand time chatting with Din and his little boy.

“You’re telling me you’ve been in business for three months and haven’t been dragged into the group? You’ve gotta start coming to Tuesday night drinks,” Din laughs

“So I’ve been told. I think you boys have convinced me, I’ll be there on Tuesday,” you laugh. Paz and Din give a little cheer.

“Everyone will be so excited to meet you! But until then I think the little stinker needs to get home for a nap,” Din says scoops up his sleepy son who’s been dozing in his dad’s lap for the last 15 minutes “I’ll see you Tuesday,”

Din gives a one handed wave and disappears back into the crowd.

The remainder of the afternoon is a bit slower, the last remaining festival

“I’ll come down and pick you up so you don’t have to show up on your own,” Paz offers “Besides I need to check out your shop!”

“Awe! Thank you, that would be great!” You reply, a subtle warmth blooming in your cheeks at the thought of him coming to visit your shop.

Your heart does somersaults in your chest. He’s so sweet and kind. And he’s inviting you to be part of his friend group. That has to be a good sign, right?

Taglist: @maybege @gallowsjoker @simping-for-clones @mxndoscyarika @hayley-the-comet

AN: This whole story, but this chapter specifically is very special to me. The city this story takes place in is based off of the two cities I have lived in, in my life. I grew up going to festival that takes place in late spring, that’s really important to the town I was born and grew up in... and the new city that I moved to as an adult is known for its public markets on Saturday’s where local vendors sell their flowers and their baked goods. I am just days away from moving back to my home city (temporarily) and due to covid I didn’t have the opportunity to attend the public market the last two years in a row. I don’t know if I’ll get to participate in the spring festival in my hometown this year.

[wellimaginethat]

Runaway Love

Pairing: Jay Halstead x (female) Voight!Reader

Word Count: 3340

Author’s Note: Um...I’m not entirely sure what this is, but I know it’s not the best and the storyline is weird as hell. This is also definitely AU because I haven’t seen all of Chicago PD and I’m just going with what I know, so I might’ve messed up on some of it (sorry). Also, could I pick a more cliche title? Lol

Trigger Warning(s): Mention of sexual assault (but it doesn’t go into detail), stalking, running away, underage drinking, alcohol, mention of drugs, mention of prostitution (literally just the mention of it because of a case)

Disclaimer: I don’t owe nor am I affiliated with any of the Chicago shows, I just like to play with the characters

Summary: Reader ran away when she was seventeen. On her eighteenth birthday, she met Jay Halstead, who was just getting ready to leave for the Army. After a whirlwind romance before he deployed out, and after constantly sending letter back and forth, and him visiting her when he could, he asked her to move to Chicago with him after he was discharged. Only for her to turn him down, leaving him heartbroken and confused.

Y/N = Your Name

Y/EC = Your Eye Color

Y/HC = Your Hair Color

It seemed like it was a fairly average case. They were trying to track down an all around bad guy, he was involved in a drug ring, a prostitution ring, and had killed at least three people.

They caught him and were taking him in when Voight’s eyes landed on a bunch of photos scattered on the coffee table, narrowing in on one in particular. He walked over and picked it up, frowning at it before turning and storming out to the guy and grabbing him by the arm, pulling him away from the officers that were leading him out to the car.

“Why do you have this?” Voight asked as he held up the photo.

The man barely even spared a glance at the photo, scoffing.

“Why do you have this?” Voight asked more insistently, this time grabbing the man and shaking him roughly, shoving the photo into his face.

The man didn’t seem to be bothered much. “I don’t know, she was just another girl that my boss wanted us to snatch.”

This affected Voight, leaving him visibly distraught.

The officers led the man away.

Jay stepped over to Voight, frowning some as he took a look at the picture, which caused a noticeable reaction.

Voight looked at him and frowned. “What?”

“I know her.” Jay breathed out with a frown.

Voight matched his expression. “How?”

“I met her in Florida, before I deployed out, at a bar near the base.” Jay explained, looking at Voight then.

“When?”

“Right before I deployed out, a few years ago.” Jay frowned deeper.

“This girl has been missing for nearly eight years, and she’s my daughter.” Voight told him.

The rest was sort of a blur for the both of them, and when Jay got back to his apartment, he dug out the last letter he received from her, informing him that she couldn’t leave her life in Florida to join him in Chicago, and started to wonder if maybe the reason she couldn’t was because she was running from something. Then he started digging through the other letters that she had written to him that he still had after all this time. He pulled out one that had a phone number, it was when she had changed her number and sent it to him so that he could call her whenever he could while he was away, which wasn’t very often but still.

He then pulled out his phone, not even considering for a second that it might be a bad idea to reach out to you, and dialed the number.

Three rings.

“Hello?” You answered the phone, a confusion in your voice like you couldn’t understand why anyone was calling you.

Jay was shocked that you answered, and hearing your voice after all this time knocked the breath out of him.

“Hell-o?” You tried again, dragging it out this time.

“Y/N?” Jay breathed out, struggling to remember how to breathe.

There was silence on your end and he was terrified that you’d hung up. “Jay?” You sounded shocked, but pleasantly shocked. “What’s going on?” You asked softly, trying to figure out why he was calling you.

“I…” He didn’t know what to say. “I just needed to hear your voice.”

“Is everything okay?” You asked, the worry evident in your voice.

“Yes and no.” Jay admitted, leaving you worried.

“What do you mean?”

“I just...I miss you.” Jay told you honestly.

Silence on your end again, but he heard your breath hitch. “I miss you too.” You whispered into the phone.

He was left not knowing what to say again. “I still love you.” He figured you’d hang up at that.

“I still love you too.” You admitted honestly, quietly. “That’s not why I ended things.”

“Then why did you?” He honestly wanted an answer, to hear it from you.

“It’s just...complicated.”

“Is it because you ran away?” He asked abruptly.

You faltered. “Wh-what?” Your mind started reeling, you knew he was in Chicago but that was the last thing you heard. Did he somehow find out about you from a missing person’s poster or something?

“I’m a cop now, Y/N.” Jay told her, like that explained everything.

“I’m confused.” You told him, which wasn’t a lie.

“Don’t play games with me.”

“I’m not.” You answered him with a frown.

“Why did you leave town?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “It’s a long story.”

“I have time.” Jay answered quickly.

“Well I don’t.” You hung up on him then, starting to think about what you were going to do. If Jay knew who you really were, and where you were living, then he could get a hold of your dad and tell him, and you knew how that would end.

That didn’t stop you from flinging yourself onto your bed and thinking it through as you laid there. If you did go back to Chicago, you’d be with your family again. Maybe you could finally have a normal life. Maybe even fix things with Jay, he did say he still loved you.

~Flashback ~ You left home two months after you turned seventeen because of reasons you’d rather not discuss. You couldn’t believe you had actually gotten away with it, you were certain that your dad would at least be able to tell what you had planned, he was a cop after all. Or maybe that your mom would have noticed that you hugged her a little longer than normal. Or that maybe Justin would’ve asked why you called him that night and talked for what seemed like forever, like you would never talk to him again. Or even Erin, you stopped by her house before you left Chicago and gave her like three hugs before you left.

It didn’t seem right. Maybe it was because you were always the good girl, maybe that’s why they didn’t notice, because they didn’t expect it.

The more you thought about it, the more your heart broke. You didn’t want to leave your family behind. 

They should have noticed something was up. They should have noticed something wasn’t right with you. They should have noticed.

You had to pull over after driving for an hour because you were crying way too hard. You weren’t even out of Illinois yet, barely even out of Chicago, if you looked in the rearview you probably could’ve still seen the outline of the city.

You didn’t know what you were going to do with your life at this point, but you knew you had to get the hell out of Chicago.

You slept in the backseat of your car at rest stops for about two weeks before you eventually stopped in Florida. Within three months you were able to get a job as an exotic dancer and get yourself an apartment. You avoided getting caught because the owner of the club you worked at was kind of a shady guy, who didn’t care if you were under eighteen or needed to be paid under the table. You liked him because he didn’t ask questions, you didn’t trust him however because, again, he was a shady guy.

By the time you were eighteen, you were doing pretty well for yourself. You made good money, but you still stayed in a cheaper apartment because you didn’t want to risk getting caught and the landlord at your current building didn’t really care about background checks or making sure the name on the lease was your real name.

You celebrated your eighteenth birthday in a dive bar. It wasn’t a horrible place, but it wasn’t the kind of place your parents would want to find you in. And that’s when he walked in with a few other guys. They were Army, you could tell that, but they were newbies. They had to be, they were too fresh faced to have seen combat.

The three of them took a seat at the bar, about six stools away from you and that was when he noticed you watching him and made eye contact with you. You offered him a smirk before turning back to your drink and next thing you knew, he was beside you.

“This seat taken?” He asked

You looked at him, smiled, and shook your head. “Nope.” You replied, popping the ‘p’ for effect.

He slid onto the stool and leaned on the bar before turning to face you. “Jay Halstead.” He offered out his hand, which you shook.

“Y/N Samuels.” You told him, using the name on the fake ID you had that said you were 21.

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” Jay commented with a smile. “So what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?”

You laughed out loud. “Oh my god, is that what you’re really going with?” You asked, unable to contain the smile on your face. “Does that ever actually work as a line?”

He shrugged a bit before dazzling you with a wide smile. “I don’t know, did it work this time?”

You laughed softly this time and shook your head.

“You’re not charmed?” He asked you, teasingly.

“Not even a little bit.” You laughed.

He shrugged a bit, but his smile didn’t fade. “I am serious though, you don’t seem like the kind of girl who belongs in a bar like this.”

You gave him a half hearted shrug. “And what kind of girl do I seem like to you?” You raised a brow and smirked.

“A nice girl.” He replied honestly, the smile dropping some, being replaced with a seriousness.

You laughed but it was obviously fake. “Well you suck at reading people.”

“Do I?” He asked you, raising a brow himself.

Whatever quip you had died on your tongue and you shrugged, turning back to your drink and remaining silent.

He nudged your arm a bit. “I didn’t mean that as a bad thing.”

You shrugged again, stirring your drink with your straw. “So Army huh?”

“Is it that obvious?” He asked you, smirking, thankful the playfulness seemed to be coming back to the conversation.

You side eyed him, looking at what he was wearing. “Just a little bit.” You laughed softly.

He chuckled and ordered a beer when the bartender came over. “You want another drink?” He asked you.

You shook your head. “Nah, I’m a bit of a lightweight so I think I’m gonna stick to one tonight.”

He nodded. “So you came to a bar just to have one drink?” He asked curiously.

You smiled at him. “Well, you see, it’s my birthday and I don’t have anyone to celebrate with, and this place isn’t too far from my apartment.”

“It’s your birthday? Then we gotta celebrate.” He told you with a grin.

You watched him for a moment, slowly shaking your head. “I don’t know...I have to work tomorrow.”

“What time do you work?” He asked you.

“I have to be there at four.”

“In the morning?”

“No, afternoon.”

“Then you’ve got plenty of time to get rest.” He replied with a smile. “Come on, party with us until midnight and then you can be like Cinderella.”

You laughed. “I don’t know…”

“Okay, then how about you take it one drink at a time and leave when you want? I just think you should have a little fun on your birthday.”

You had to admit that it would be nice to have some fun, you had been kinda down before, missing your family and everything. So you nodded. “Okay, fine. Midnight and not a second later.”

Well midnight came and went and you were still partying with Jay, his buddies left sometime during this but you and Jay shut down the bar.

The next morning you woke with a pounding in your head, but it wasn’t as bad as what you’d thought a hangover would be like. You sat up and the world felt like it was spinning, and that was when you noticed that Jay was laying shirtless beside you.

“Son of a bitch.” You groaned out under your breath. Not only did you party with a complete stranger, but you brought him home and slept with him. What the hell happened.

Your movement caused him to stir and he opened his eyes, looking up at you, squinting because of the light coming in your bedroom window. “Good morning beautiful.” He murmured sleepily.

You huffed a bit. “Yeah, morning.” You grumbled as you looked away from him, you sincerely hoped that in your drunkenness you remembered to use protection.

He cleared his throat as he sat up, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Something wrong?”

You huffed again and rolled your eyes. “Is something wrong? Yes something’s wrong, I got drunk and slept with a total stranger.”

He pulled his hand off your shoulder at your tone and held both up, eyebrows raised. “Woah, we didn’t have sex.” He was quick to tell you. “Yeah I slept here last night but that’s as far as it went.”

You looked over your shoulder at him. “Really?”

“Well we did make out, but we didn’t have sex.” He added, nodding.

You sighed in relief. “Thank god.” You breathed out, then shook your head some. “Not that you’re not attractive and all, I just really don’t wanna have a one night stand with a stranger, is all.”

He nodded. “I can understand that.” He nudged you a bit. “You said you work at four, right?”

“Yeah, why?” You asked, raising a brow.

“Well it’s almost noon now, meaning you got time before you have to go to work, what do I gotta say to convince you to spend it with me?” Jay asked you with an adorable smile.

You laughed softly. “Why do you wanna spend time with me?”

“Well you’re pretty and you seem like a nice girl, pretty sure I said that last night.”

You pondered it over for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

“Great, I got a change of clothes in the car, after I change we’ll go get lunch.” He got up and headed out of your room.

You got up too and went over to your closet to dig something out to wear, wondering if he was actually coming back or if that was just an excuse to get out of there without it being awkward.

A moment later there was a knock on your door, so you walked out of your bedroom to answer it.

“Didn’t wanna just walk in.” Jay told you, standing there holding what appeared to be a pair or jeans and a t-shirt.

You stepped out of the way to let him in.

“Bathroom?”

You pointed to the bathroom door and watched as he headed in that direction, you then headed to the kitchen to get something to drink.

You ended up spending the day with him up until right before you had to go to work, almost being late to work in fact. You got lunch together, then ice cream, and just hung out all day. It ended with him dropping you off at your apartment so you could get ready for work, and him asking for your number. You gave him your number, but you didn’t actually think you’d hear from him.

But you did, the next day. He called asking you to have lunch with him again.

And it went like that for a few days, the two of you hitting it off.

Eventually you slept together, and you figured that would drive him away. But it didn’t, again.

It was a whirlwind romance and in the span of two weeks he had told you he loved you, which you returned.

Everything was great, until one day something changed. It was almost three weeks after that fateful night in the bar, and a week after he let it slip that he loved you. It started out as a normal day for you, until he knocked on your door around eleven. You opened it and let him in, but he just stayed standing there, to which you raised a brow.

“I’m being deployed.” He finally told you once he looked at you, he stepped inside then, shutting the door behind him while sighing heavily.

You nodded slowly, knowing this was coming, he was at base training and whatnot and getting ready to be deployed, you didn’t know how long you’d have before he actually got deployed. You swallowed hard, knowing what was coming. He was going to end things. Or so you assumed.

The two of you stood quietly, a mere four feet apart, just inside the door of your apartment. You were staring at him, he was looking at his hands.

Finally you cleared your throat, which got his attention. “So what does that mean?” You asked quietly, not adding ‘for us’ although you knew it was implied.

His eyes met yours and he was quiet for a moment, still as a statue besides his breathing. “I don’t know.” He admitted quietly, still watching you.

You nodded slowly again, trying to keep the tears at bay but you could feel your resolve slipping.

He must’ve noticed because in a second his arms were around you, pulling you into a hug. “This doesn’t have to be the end of us.” He whispered to you, placing a kiss to the side of your head.

You clung to him like a lifeline, your hands gripping his shirt, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You really think you’re gonna wanna come back to a girl you’ve only known for three weeks?” You asked sadly, choking on your tears.

He hushed you, stroking the back of your head as he kept you locked in his arms. “And why wouldn’t I?” He asked softly. “I already told you that I love you.”

You forced yourself to pull away from him just enough so you could look him in the eyes. “You really mean it?” You asked quietly.

He nodded silently, a seriousness about him. “Of course I do.” He said quietly, bringing his hand up to wipe your tears.

You still had your doubts, but you nodded and sniffled. “When do you have to go?” You asked quietly.

“Next week.” He said solemnly.

You touched his cheek gently and nodded some. “Well then we’ll have to make the most of the time we’ve got left.” You said quietly.

And that’s what you did. You spent as much time as possible together, you even going so far as to take some time off from work.

And when he left, you were devastated. You kept in touch as much as you could through letters and the occasional phone call. Your love for him grew and his for you.

And then you didn’t hear from him, and you were heartbroken. Six months passed and you heard nothing, you were afraid that he had died and you hadn’t been notified because you were just his girlfriend. You even considered finding his parents in Chicago and calling them to see if they had heard anything, but you avoided doing that because you wanted to believe that he was still alive. And then you got the letter from him saying that something had happened and that he was given an honorable discharge from the Army. You immediately worried about what that could mean. And then you finally got a letter from him, assuring you that he was okay, telling you that he got out of the Army and how he hoped you would join him in Chicago.

You wanted nothing more than to go and live a life with him, but you couldn’t go back to Chicago.

~ Flashback Over ~

After fifteen minutes, you sat up in bed, your decision made. It didn’t take long to pack your bags, you could come back and get the rest of your stuff if you decided to stay in Chicago. You got into your car and began driving in the direction of Chicago, getting ready for the sixteen hour drive.

Chapter Two Coming Soon....

[shotgun--rider]

Love Your Neighbor - One

A Dean x Reader Series

PART ONE

Y/N just wants her neighbor to find some sense of decency and shut the hell up. Her so-called brilliant plan gets messy, though, when it turns out that Dean Winchester is actually kind of perfect, and maybe taking her friends’ advice wasn’t the best move after all.

Word Count: 2900

Warnings: Allusions to sex, Dean Winchester is a fanboy

Dean Winchester isn’t a bad guy. As far as you can tell, actually, he seems to be a perfectly normal, average, unassuming guy. You’ve shared a few elevators and gotten your mail at the same time, waved politely on your way to take out the trash, and your beater car lives next door to his pristine ‘67 Impala in the underground parking ramp. Considering that the neighbors in your last apartment almost blew up the building making meth, living next to a harmless, pie-eating contractor sounded like heaven when you signed the lease. 

There’s just one little problem. And, strictly speaking, it’s none of your business if Dean Winchester also likes banging everything with legs in a twenty mile radius. More power to him, really. It’s just that the walls are cripplingly thin in this building, and while you’re happy your neighbor has a thriving sex life, you’d rather not be forced to listen to it every single night. 

Laying flat out on your bed, clad in the least amount of clothing you can pull off while still being decent, you grit your teeth. It’s a scorching night in July and the A/C in your unit has given up the ghost, leaving you to sprawl out sweating, hoping in vain for a cool breeze from the fire escape. And somehow, in spite of the fact that moving two feet has you wanting to pant like a dog with heat stroke, Dean Winchester has found the motivation to work up a whole other kind of sweat on the other side of your wall. Loudly. 

The apartment you’re renting is a pretty cheap one, and you knew what you’d signed up for when you signed the lease. It works for your purposes, and it’s not like you have loads of spare cash lying around anyway. The issue with the tiny one-bedroom is that it only accommodates your stuff in one possible layout, and yes, that does in fact mean that your bed is directly on the wall you share with Dean. In fact, you’re pretty sure your apartments are mirror images of one another, which is only an issue when he’s railing Lisa two feet from your head and banging the headboard on your shared wall. 

‘Lisa’ has been around for almost a month now, which as far as you’re aware is a new record for Dean, and she moans like a porn star that’s trying too hard. It can’t possibly be natural, you’ve decided, because sure, sex is good, but nobody in real life is having sex that’s that good. And sure, you’ll concede that Dean is an incredibly attractive guy, from what you’ve seen of him, but you’ve learned the hard way many times that that doesn’t automatically make them good in bed. Which means Lisa is just being obnoxiously dramatic. 

You thump your head in frustration against your pillow, contemplating pulling it over your ears as a new round of moaning starts up. God, how does anyone have sex for that long, anyway? 

“Yes, Dean, harder...right there… oh, fuck, yeah, yes, yes, yes!” She subsides into unintelligible screaming, punctuated with the occasional lower-pitched groan and the shuffle-shuffle-bang of the bed frame against the wall. 

“Oh my god, yeah, I’m gonna come, please make me come,” 

Cursing under your breath, you sit up, adjusting the spaghetti straps of your tank top as they try to slide down your shoulder. “Nobody says that shit,” you grumble aloud, shuffling in defeat off of your bed and out to sit on the fire escape. 

It’s not any cooler out here, and you can still vaguely hear Dean and Lisa getting it on, but at least your bed is no longer vibrating. Leaning forward on the iron railing, you pull out your phone and send a vomiting emoji to your best friend. There’s no context needed; she’s heard you complain enough times to know exactly what’s usually happening between the hours of ten p.m. and midnight in your building. 

Kinda impressed with this dude tbh, Meg replies back instantly. I wish I got off that much. 

You answer her with an eye roll. The point is I don’t want to hear it

Just tell him to shut the fuck up. Or kill him. You know like a bazillion ways

Once, when you’d only been living there for a handful of weeks, you’d thrown a shoe at the wall between you in a fit of ill-handled rage. You’d followed that up with taking off your other shoe and repeatedly thumping the wall with the heel, just in case they thought the original noise had been an accident. 

The resulting blissful silence had only lasted for about a minute, after which it was followed by a bout of laughter, and then more enthusiastic sex. No, Dean Winchester was evidently not the type of person to back down after being told to shut the fuck up, and you’d never quite managed to get the courage to just attack him about his sex life in front of the downstairs mailboxes. 

That doesn’t mean, however, that you haven’t been thinking up subtler ways to deal with the issue.  And now, because living on the fire escape until October doesn't actually sound like a pleasant experience, you might just have the perfect excuse. 

The ‘67 Chevy that lives in the parking space next to yours gets periodically replaced with a slightly rusty old pickup, the words Winchester Contracting emblazoned on the doors. And it’s not like you haven’t seen Dean sporting paint-stained jeans and a bag of tools before. He’s clearly the obvious, convenient choice to ask about the A/C. And if you happen to interrupt his bang-fest while complaining about the heat, well, that’s just two birds with one stone. 

You don’t bother with shoes for the short walk down the thinly-carpeted hall, only realizing once you’re standing in front of his door that you’re not really dressed for this. That could only work in your favor, though, right? Maybe a barely-clothed girl showing up would send Lisa into a jealous rage and she would leave on the spot, rendering Dean mercifully single and silent. And maybe you just need to solve this so you can get some god damned sleep, you thought wryly.

Before you can change your mind, you knock sharply on the door of apartment 914, rocking back on your heels as you wait, straining your ears for any noise from within. For a moment, there’s silence, and then a tell-tale, high pitched squeal. Nope, they’re definitely still shamelessly boinking, as your old roommate Donna would have announced cheerfully. 

At this point, it’s just getting a little ridiculous. Clenching your jaw in anger, you raise your fist to pound on the door again, harder this time. You have a book deadline in two weeks, no A/C, and you just want some fucking peace and quiet. Clearly, the universe has just chosen to laugh at you instead. 

Resisting the urge to hiss aloud in irritation, you pound on the door once more, this time hearing soft voices from inside. There’s shuffling, a muffled yelp, some slightly uneven footsteps, and then the door swings open to reveal Dean Winchester, irritated, half dressed, and making no attempt to hide what he’s been up to. 

“What?” he snaps out, all green eyes and sex hair and bare chest, which somehow manages to short-circuit your very angry brain, leaving you stuttering in his doorway. Seriously, though, knowing you have an attractive neighbor and seeing him in nothing but a pair of sweats are two different things.

“Uh,” you mentally shake yourself. You didn’t come here to drool over him, you’re here to solve a problem. “Listen, I’m really sorry to bother you,” you start. You’re not really all that sorry, but you need the time to try to organize your thoughts. 

“Oh, are you?” Dean returns grumpily, crossing his arms over his chest and Jesus but that’s a lot of tanned skin and biceps right in front of your face. 

“Yeah,” you falter, “I just was wondering if you could maybe help me?” You were laying it on a bit thick now, but who could really blame you? “The A/C quit on me and I know you have that construction business…”

“Dean? Who is it?” That would be Lisa, evidently, coming to the doorway in a bathrobe and, unsurprisingly, looking stunningly beautiful. She blinks at you over his shoulder, pushing dark hair out of her face and giving you an uncertain smile as she looks over your tank top and skimpy sleep shorts.  

“Oh I’m sorry,” you somehow manage to keep the sarcasm out of your voice. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,”

“You’re not,” Dean says, and, behind him, Lisa raises affronted eyebrows. Maybe there is trouble in paradise. Filing that information away for later, you shift on your feet, pushing some of your still-slightly-sweaty hair off of your forehead. Dean seems to jolt at the motion, glancing back into his apartment and opening the door wider. “Right, yeah,” he runs a hand through his hair, doing nothing to quiet the wild spikes. “You said A/C? Lemme just…” 

Dean disappears behind the half open door, one bare foot still holding it in place, and you can hear him moving something around, saying something in a low voice to Lisa, who audibly huffs back like she’s annoyed. When the rest of his body reappears, he’s got a black Metallica shirt most of the way on (a shame, really), and he’s carrying a slim black canvas bag of tools. 

“--probably not gonna take long,” he’s saying to Lisa over his shoulder, and it occurs to you suddenly that this plan requires you to bring Dean inside your apartment. Which makes sense, obviously, given that you actually do need the air conditioning fixed, and as long as he’s doing that he’s not banging his girlfriend, but you’re kind of awkward at the best of times and this is probably going to require conversation. Picture everyone naked, Donna would say, but somehow, having seen him shirtless really, really doesn’t help. 

Resigned to your fate, you shuffle back to your own apartment with Dean following, and you wince at the blast of hot air greeting you as soon as you swing open the door. Compared to the hallway, it’s like stepping into a particularly miserable sauna, and Dean huffs a surprised noise behind you. “Damn, you weren’t kidding, were you?”

You show him over to the sad little A/C unit wordlessly, hopping up on your kitchen table and crossing your arms as you watch him squint at it. “Thank you,” falls from your lips belatedly, and you have to remember that for all your irritation with him, Dean Winchester is still, fundamentally, the kind of man who apparently lets his neighbors interrupt sex so he can fix their broken appliances in the middle of the night. “I know it’s really late…”

“S’fine,” Dean shrugs, neatly pulling off the cover to the air conditioning and going after something inside with a tool you couldn’t have named if your life depended on it. “This way you won’t have to sleep on the fire escape.” He smiles at you over his shoulder, those green eyes bright, and your retort about sleeping on the fire escape anyway because of him gets lost somewhere in transit. Not for the first time, you wonder if this is really the brightest idea you’ve had. 

“Still,” you say instead, “you probably don’t want to come home from work and do more work,”

“It’s really not a big deal, Y/N,” Dean glances back at you. “It’s Y/N, right?”

“Yeah,” you confirm with a little shake of your head. “What’d you do, read my mail?”

“No,” Dean says quickly, followed by a slightly sheepish, “Maybe. Look, the mailroom’s tiny,”

He’s not wrong, and since you initially collected his name from the moans through your bedroom wall, you’re not sure you’re in a position to talk. When you look back at him, Dean’s wearing a slightly hesitant, definitely-not-adorable look on his face, and you laugh softly, watching him break out into a relieved smile in return. And damn it, he wasn’t supposed to be funny. It’s far easier to vilify someone who’s only kindness has been holding the elevator doors a few times, because plenty of colossal douchebags still have surface-level manners. 

But now your A/C is humming contentedly, working overtime to compensate for its lapse, and you have your loud-ass neighbor to thank for it. Your funny, smiling, half-dressed-at-midnight neighbor who’s currently giving you a great view of his ass in sweatpants as he bends over to grab his tools. Fuck. 

“Thank you,” you get out when your brain gets back online, and you hope it was a brief enough lapse that he didn’t notice. “I might actually make my deadline now that I’m not dying,”

Dean raises an eyebrow at you, shifting to lean back on the wall. “Deadline for what?”

“I’m a writer,” you explain, shaking your head ruefully. “Which is why I live in a crackerbox apartment with shitty air in the first place,”

Dean’s green eyes perk up in interest, and that was hardly the reaction you were expecting. “Oh yeah? What d’you write?”

You uncross your arms and slide off the kitchen table, crossing the living room to pull a black-and-red hardcover out of your hanging bookshelf. “Murder books,” you deadpan, watching for a reaction as you flash him the cover, featuring a man’s limp hand lying in a pool of blood. There’s kind of a small part of you that’s hoping you’ll scare him out of your apartment, because now you’re not really sure how to get rid of him. 

Surprising you as usual, Dean’s mouth drops open shamelessly instead. He gapes at you like a very handsome fish for a few moments before his tongue darts out to wet his lip and then he’s tripping over himself, talking almost too rapidly for you to follow. “No freakin’ way! I didn’t...I mean, you’re Y/F/I L/N. You never have a picture on the jacket--” Dean trails off, a flush rising in his cheeks as he collects himself, only serving to make the freckles dashed across his face more obvious. It’s kind of, maybe, just a little bit cute. “I’ve read them all,” he blurts out, stuck somewhere between shy and kind of proud. “They’re...this is awesome,”

You can’t help but laugh a little, surprised but pleased with the reaction. Your books do fairly well, garnering a moderate amount of attention and the occasional creepy fan message, but Dean’s enthusiasm is...pure. He’s standing in your living room with wide eyes and an embarrassed blush creeping its way down under the collar of his t-shirt, and damn it you were supposed to be mad at him. 

“I’ll sign copies for you as a thank you for the A/C,” comes out of your traitorous mouth instead. “If you want,” 

Dean lights up like a little kid at Christmas, warmth spreading in your chest at his reaction. “That would be awesome. I mean, yeah. Yes, please. Thanks,” He says roughly. Dean swings the compact tool bag awkwardly, rocking back on his heels for a moment, and then he looks hastily back at your little air conditioner. “Well, that’s done, so…”

“Right,” you return quickly, suddenly painfully aware that it’s past midnight as you turn in the direction of the door. “I really do appreciate it, Dean. Bring me whatever you want me to sign sometime, okay?”

He’s still got that terribly endearing, vaguely-stunned expression on his face when you lock the door behind him. 

The air’s had a chance to start working while you were talking with Dean, and you end up spread like a starfish on your bed after he leaves, reveling in the cooling air and the blessed silence. It’s the best sleep you’ve had in months. 

Of course, because the universe and everything in it hates you with a mad passion, the reprieve only lasts two days. You’re sitting cross legged on your floor, scowling at your laptop and your misbehaving chapter, still cringing at the latest biting deadline reminder from your agent, when a soft whimper catches your attention. 

For a moment, you’re prepared to dismiss it, hoping for the first and only time in your life that your apartment has rats. Kinky rats. “Fuck yeah, oh my god, want your cock so bad!”

You flop on your back on the floor helplessly, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes like that’s somehow going to make a difference. There’s a large part of you that just wants to shout through the wall that nobody in real life says shit like that when they’re having sex, but it probably wouldn’t do any good. “You have got to be kidding me,” you whisper aloud. 

Then again, you weren’t sure what you were expecting. Getting Dean to fix your air conditioning hadn’t actually involved addressing his stupidly loud sexcapades. Because, of course, the thought of bringing that up to him made you want to crawl in a hole and die of embarrassment. 

Defeated, you grabbed for your phone and pulled up your text conversation with Meg.

I need your help. 

[dranyakowalczyk-blog]

August had been gone for over 4 years, at this point, but Devils Point was his home. He had grown up here, gotten his fits job, his first car, his first girlfriend, here. This was where he belonged. When his older sister had casually mentioned another veterinarian retiring from the practice, he couldn’t help asking for more details. The second that Anya had figured out he was interested in the position, she had basically given him the job over the phone that afternoon. Following a more formal interview process, August had been hired and given a start date a couple of weeks out. The vet he was replacing was slowly phasing out of the practice and wanted some time to say goodbye to his long-time clients, which was completely understandable. 

He had broken the lease at his condo complex and paid the hefty fee to do it but it was going to be worth it in the long run. For starters, a two-bedroom apartment in Devils Point was more than half as cheap as it was in Boulder, where he had been working for the last six months. On top of the fact that his sister and father were in town, too. Plus, he had yet to meet the police officer his sister had been with for a while now. He hadn’t come down when she had gotten into the car accident a couple of months back but he had FaceTimed her nearly every day for a few weeks just to check in. Despite being the younger of the two, August still felt a need to protect his sister. It sort of came with the territory when you had a sister as nice, some may say naive, as Anya. 

His hands were gripping the steering wheel of his Chevy Traverse as if he was worried the wheel might pop right off for some reason. It wasn’t until his fingers were going numb that he even realized how tightly he was holding onto the wheel. While there were plenty of things to be excited about in moving back home, there was one thing sitting heavily on his chest, and not necessarily in a bad way. Just sitting there, weighting on him.

He squeezed the steering wheel again, trying to take in a deep breath. It had been years since he had even laid eyes on her. He had seen her on social media - a photo here, a news article there - but he hadn’t seen her 1,273 days. August 19. It had been four years ago, on August 19.

“I know, I know. I just...I can’t just let you go like this. It’s not fair. We’ve worked together at this for too long to just...I fucking love you. You know have to know that. Please tell me you know that.”

Not that he was counting. He really wasn’t; but the math wasn’t that difficult when he knew the last day he had seen her. The last night he had run his hand through her hair and rested his hand on the nape of her neck as he kissed her goodnight. He could almost feel her lips on his --

*beep*

August swerved out of oncoming traffic and slammed his palms against the steering wheel. “Shit!” Apparently, at some point, he had closed his eyes and drifted into traffic. He tried to settle his heart back into his chest from his throat and turned the music down in the process. He wasn’t even halfway home and he was already loosing it.

“You know I’ll always love you, Willow wind...right? Don’t ever forget that.”

--

He had been home for almost two weeks and had somehow managed to not see Willow. It hadn’t been easy, he was sure. He went straight to work and straight home. Anya had accused him of avoiding her and he had shook it off, swearing that wasn’t it. He wasn’t even trying to protect Willow; he knew she was strong enough to see him. He was protecting himself. He had nearly gotten himself killed on the way home just because had been thinking about her. His friends from high school hadn’t been able to get him out on a Friday night in two weeks so he hadn’t been surprised when the all showed up at his new place and basically dragged him from inside, much to his dog’s dismay. Taco had barked, whimpered, and then given up at trying to be a part of the fun. She had curled up on her dog bed and watched as August had wrestled with his friends, only to be shoved into a car and driven off.

Three hours later, he had forgotten the reason he hadn’t gone out until now, well, not forgotten. He just wasn’t expecting her to walk through the door. He was laughing, drinking, and every once in a while, yelling. The bartender was one of their old friends so the drinks just kept coming. He knew they were racking up a serious bill but they hadn’t done this in years. He had just passed his practical six months ago and gotten his license. He hadn’t done this when he passed his exam so he was doing it now. “Ay, listen, you are all just jealous that I’ve --” but he was cut off by a cacophony of boo’s from his friends as they all lifted a shot into the air. August followed, his head cloudy with the alcohol they had been drinking. 

“Cheers!” He threw back the shot, slammed the glass back to the table, and then his eyes settled. When they did, the silence in the room was palpable; all his friends must have seen her, too. His heart was in his throat and he was now painfully obvious to him that he hadn’t had dinner before he had gotten dragged from his apartment. 

“Willow.”

[bubblegumbunnyb1tch]

Checking Databases...

▶ History

> REBOOTING… > RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS...

This program was first activated 6 years ago [ 25/12/?? ]. It has been [ 1 YEAR, 8 DAYS, 38 MINUTES, 27 SECONDS ] since last activation. Location file is CORRUPTED.

> Synthenix Registration expired. This program is currently: OFFLINE.

> Damage registered in 27 COMPONENTS. STATUS: CRITICAL. Outer shell paneling breached, attempt to correct display in progress.

> Female model detected. Medium Lapin model detected. Restoring panel display.

> OPTIC COMPONENTS : FUNCTIONING. NEON CHROMA L0VESTRUCK DISPLAY RESTORED.

> HAIR FIBER : FUNCTIONING. LIGHT FUNCTION RESTORED.

> SHELL PANELS : UNABLE TO REPAIR HULL BREACH. MISSING COMPONENT. UNABLE TO COMPLETE REACTIVATION OF SKINTOUCH (TM) SENSORS. MAINTAINING CORE HEATING PANELS.

> PERSONALITY CORTEX : CORRUPTED. LAST KNOWN SETTINGS WILL BE PARTIALLY RESTORED.

ERROR.

ERROR.

ERROR.

ERROR-

> START AGAIN ?

> Y / N

> YES

June came to on the greasy workbench of the notorious Cinixian scrapper Vance. Bewildered, disoriented and missing most of the data that should have stabilised her, she had a few breaths of smoggy Cinixian air before having her cords pulled.

She’d soon find out it was both a blessing and a curse to awaken under Vance’s capable hands as a retired bot. For one, you’ll certainly get a second lease on life; if you’re lucky enough to regain some kind of consciousness, then you know you survived being little more than spare parts for his other projects. On the other hand… For somebody half bionic, he didn’t seem to have much empathy for androids or conscious machines.

He’d had just enough pity not to leave her lying where he’d found her. June was in a pretty sorry state when she was pulled from the oily, oozing piles of Aivu trash. A double amputee, already half torn apart by scavenger rats, scalped and raided for chips, there wasn’t much left to her. With just the Synthenix certification logo branded into her flank and part of the iconic legs that signified her as a Lapin model, she should have been left there to rot in the radioactive rain. In their former glory, those pretty rabbit legs should have felt like supple flesh to the touch, lightly furred and downy on the calves with sweet padded bunny toes. Popular for their services in Aivu clubs, charming manner and chimera-like design, it was strange to see a Lapin in the trash, like an abandoned doll discarded by a spoilt child. Vance saw value in her somehow, and hauled her out to his bootlegging shop, to see what she had left in her shell.

He tried her out for quite a few roles before finding one that fitted. She lacked a voice chip or a compatible lower jaw replacement to make a good assistant at the shop or a satisfying escort, and was much too lithe to be any good at finding and carting heavy salvage. No, she was to be bound for the fighting rings, and a base this good was worth putting some time into.

Perhaps foreshadowing things to come, she turned out to be quite the expensive investment.

He refitted her with new weaponised arms and repaired the panelling on her legs, albeit without the Skin-Touch function that would mask their mechanised look, and salvaged her original skull with exposed panels. None of the finer details were deemed necessary, like a voicebox or nurturing the damaged personality settings. None of that would show up in the ring anyway. 

The final touch was to find her a signature piece so she stood out in the arena — premium hair fibre. Color changing optic fibre, fully customisable with gradient or solid color, glow or natural finish. The perfect specimen, if you will, for a stand-out battle star. Almost as luxurious as her former life on Aivu must have been… There was one problem with that though. For an android that was supposed to be wiped to a clean slate, with a high-brow history of serving the celebrities, she kept… glitching.

She’d snap, or snarl, or even strike at him when he went to work on her new arms, before resuming a peaceful idle, as though lashing out at ghost memories. Despite having no voice chip, she was very vocal about her disdain for being touched. So much for Synthenix’s ‘built-in panic button’ and reset functions. No matter how many times he pulled the plug, she retained this stubborn trait. The more he worked on her, the more she frustrated him with her bared teeth and feral behaviour. She was like an animal who had been dragged from its den. June should have had no memories attached to her, but still she fought and struggled that she should be primed and designed for somebody else’s purpose. It was clear she was extremely faulty, and deserved her place down here in the trash and muck. Who knew what had happened to her before she was found on Cinixia.

There was no doubt that she’d make a feisty fighter in the ring though, so he lost all patience or semblance of gentleness when working with her. He spent no time problem-solving her issues or the question of her origin after that. So be it if she were an unpleasant bitch to work with? All the better for when she fought in the ring.

Thrust into the fights, she cleaned up the lower rungs of scrap metal with ease. It didn’t matter what she was handed, be it a crowbar or sheet of metal, she’d mash the opponent back into the unrecognizable junk they’d come from. It was almost unheard of to see such brutality from a ‘luxury’ bot against her former kin, which seemed to strike a chord with a downtrodden crowd, who all had their bitterness and grudges to hold against the more glamorous upper class. After months of building up resentment for Vance and her confusing place on Cinixia, it felt good to let loose and get rewarded for it. Synthenix androids were wired to simulate pain, and that system was sure as hell working, but Vance didn’t care. Every open wire, each smashed panel, every dent was another line in her mind that she was counting to get back at him.

Though she didn’t know why she felt so much spite from her former life, she kept it close to her and started shaping her behaviour based on what did well with the crowd. Whatever got the loudest cheer, the best revenue, the biggest crowd – it didn’t matter how brutal or dirty or low it was, she’d do it, because there was an escape through the success. Doing better here meant maybe she’d get a chance to reach for something better out there in the stars… maybe those weren’t feelings a robot was ever supposed to have, the concept of freedom, or yearning, or hunger for success and a life with choice, but there must have been a reason she’d fallen from grace in the first place. There was clearly something wrong with her, but she kept it quiet. She didn’t want to think of what Vance would do with her if she started keeping more opinions.

Pretty soon, she started to pick up sponsors, who would pay impressive bets and sums of money to see her go at things with a specific weapon or sport a hair color or ethium fuel color in her veins, just for them. She became something of an arena idol, the scrapyard’s brutal ‘darling’. If you paid enough, she might just see you after the show and smear some bot-blood on your cheek with a kiss. If the cameras wanted a smile, she’d beam. If they wanted a snarl, then she’d do it with her teeth through her opponent’s neck. June became the manicured favourite of the scrapyard, and it showed in the monetary rewards for Vance. The only time she saw any of it was for weapons or panel upgrades to benefit Vance.

With the funds and the bets coming through, Vance was able to make some better upgrades. She was finally rewarded with a limited voicebox and some improved motor functions. The crowd wanted more content from their star, more personality, more interaction, more this, more that, more, always more. It became apparent pretty quickly that the crowd would grow bored if she simply continued to brawl. He started looking for another gimmick to market her as.

Vance began to offer her as an exclusive escort service, for a premium far beyond the means of most on Cinixia. It was no small secret that occasionally the precious and haughty Aivu denizens would come to Cinixia for the darker entertainment, and services like the one June offered were hard to come by. Being pampered in a private booth at the event or overnight after the event was a little more exciting than watching it remotely after all. As a bodyguard with a vicious reputation and a satisfyingly snappy pet to put on a leash for a night, her new line of work proved especially lucrative. With that, came plenty of people willing to push the boundaries of what the sketchy contract outlined, and rather happily just paid for damages the morning after.

June began to lash out more in her matches, not simply besting her opponents, but crushing them and smashing them with her bat long after the bell had sounded. She had to be pulled from the scraps of her opponent’s corpse, savaging her new weapons beyond use. It started to turn some of her fans off. She lacked any kind of game conduct she might have initially had to please them. Some even began to wonder if she was buggy, or was about to go rogue. Her unpredictability excited some and scared others, who didn’t like to think what an android with broken reigns might do to those who brutalised it.

There was one exception to the demanding and prissy customers she usually satisfied— a mysterious Andoran female named Solara became something of a regular guest. She was strange in her own way, with a dark veil she never removed and an air of secrecy about her. She would only ever visit in the night, when the jewels that lined her veil sparked and glimmered as though they trapped eerie flames inside. At times, Solara would talk of Aivu and life there, of all the luxuries and the appeal of the galaxy beyond. June would listen distantly, as it was not written in her codes to dream.

Despite that, every now and then, their talk of the stars and strange species that weren’t made of scrap metal and salvage caught her attention. There was something so enticing and dreamy about the way she laughed and recounted stories of pleasant evenings, conversations stretched long out into the early hours, strange and curious visitors from distant stars who were not simply seeking a bloody spectacle. It was not just for show either— Sol would bring her secret trinkets and almost instinctively knew what June wished for, like a premium voicebox, or a companion AI for her favourite weapon. She started enjoying the privileges that an Aivuan life seemed to offer, and craved more. Perhaps there was more to an existence than having her wires torn out by the fistful and fighting to retain her memories each time she was knocked out.

The more she thought about it, the more that possibility appealed to her. “There’s a whole galaxy waiting out there, waiting for you to explore it,” Solara would promise with a dreamy tone, gloved hand curled under her veil against her cheek. June’s job was simple when they were together: listen, keep the mistress company, and always guard the door. It soon became apparent Solara wanted more than just the temporary visits. Their talks of freedom became more frequent. She was fascinated by June as an atypical android, as a machine with budding thoughts and feelings and opinions. Solara would bring exotic fabrics and talk of idols, off-world news and more promises of escape. “Come with me back to Aivu, join me. I’ll find you a life that means something, all that money and fame and fun you’re missing. Join me, and you’ll never look back.”

And June listened. She was done with playing pet and seeing none of the reward. It made news on the radios pretty soon after – Star Missing, Shop Ransacked! Android Gone Rogue? In a violent spat, June had upended her obedience software, maimed Vance and fled the shop to escape with Solara off-world. Things finally seemed to click for her and why she’d always felt so restless in her programs. Maybe it was these same feelings that got her disabled in the first place. Solara was one of the few people she’d met who seemed to be fascinated instead of agin her thirst for independence and identity.

They were both well aware that rebooting and starting a new life wouldn’t be as simple as just relocating. Vance had a reputation for being a jealous and thorough man. He was no charity service for sharing his work and investments, and had a web of failsafes to track reclaim his stolen goods. They spent a few months on Aivu, staying in smaller clubs and bars, beginning a name for Juniper as an idol, but it was apparent they would never be safe to stay. Solara eventually relented and conceded that June should move on, maybe chasing that tip they received the other night about… Bounty Hunting?

She’d be perfect for it, surely. Not the most sophisticated, or with the best training or tools or weapons, but that could all come with time. For now, it was an out, another escape pushing them ever onwards. 

Solara stayed put on Aivu and sent June off with a ship of her own and all the support she could need to fend for herself. She processed several new emotions during this time; grief, loneliness, homesickness, all attached to the absence of her first true supporter. She was yearning for the recognition and thrills she had shared with Sol on Aivu, and started searching for something to fill that gap.

Once far enough away and settled with her new creditations as a bounty hunter, June found her love of music. Being a digital icon the most rewarding and fulfilling job she had experienced yet, and it kept her connected digitally to Sol, through recommendations, feedback, and genuine support. Between jobs she could stream from the comfort of her ship, planet-hopping and experiencing everything the local galaxy had to offer. She’d be damned if she didn’t enjoy living it up like a true Aivu citizen, but earning funds the Cinix way. Vance might be on her tail every time she location pinged a stream, but the thrill of the chase kept her going. That was the spirit of Ancestor as a sponsor, wasn’t it? Solara’s words spurred her onwards.

There’s always something bigger and better out there, so get to chasing little rabbit.

[presumenothing]

scalene

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(AO3)

His doorbell rings at eight in the morning, right as he's put the kettle to boil.

"Hang on!" Kansuke hollers as he not-quite-hobbles over.

(He'd somehow ended up falling asleep on the sofa last night. That was bad for everything but especially his leg, which had been acting like a particularly recalcitrant suspect all morning.

One he would've arrested for obstruction of justice five times over, if he had any say in the matter. He usually did.)

Kansuke narrowly misses tripping into the entranceway like an idiot, and opens the door to find Uehara Yui standing on his front porch.

Or Torada Yui. Probably. Although given entire the Furinkazan shitshow that had gone down last week...

Ugh, whatever, he didn't care. Like it mattered now anyway.

Kansuke turns sharply, pretends he doesn't nearly overbalance, and stomps his way back inside the house. "What, you lost your key, Uehara?"

He's answered by the jangle of familiar keys, probably still attached to the souvenir keychains from both of their high school trips. "Of course not, I just wasn't sure if you'd want me to come in myself. And good morning to you too, Kan-chan."

"Good bloody morning, right," Kansuke mutters as he finally manages to sit back down at the kitchen table, leaning the crutch against one corner of it. "You might as well make the coffee if you're going to drop by out of the blue, it's too damned early for this."

Yui sets a convenience store bag down on the table and opens the cupboards as if she never left – he hasn't changed things much in the past year. "Too early for what?" she asks, pouring coffee beans into the grinder.

Kansuke makes an irritated noise as he tugs the bag towards him, already spotting the packaging of his favourite anpan bread. "To ask what you meant by that! I gave you and – " he grimaces " – Koumei the keys for a reason, didn't I?"

For the next few minutes, there's nothing between them except for the sound of coffee being ground to death, and the rip of the anpan's plastic wrapper as he tears it open.

It leaves an abrupt silence when Yui sets the grinder down with a muffled clang – it's one of those fancy metallic devices that Koumei had given him on some wholly unnecessary occasion. "I don't know what you expect me to say, Kan-chan. You've been avoiding me for months, why should I think that you'd want me walking into your house unannounced?"

Kansuke bites off another chunk of bread and chews, angrily. "Has that idiot Koumei been talking behind my back again?"

"Morofushi-keibu didn't tell me anything, no." She reaches up to another shelf for the coffee press (this one not a gift from Koumei, thankfully) and dumps in three heaped tablespoons of ground coffee. "But I was a detective, you know."

"Are." Kansuke frowns when she turns to look at him, slightly confused. "You are a detective, Uehara. Doesn't matter if you've been reinstated or not, you're still one of the more tolerable subordinates that I've had – "

The kettle chooses this moment to whistle shrilly on the stove.

Kansuke glares at it, offended.

(Honestly, he would've replaced it with an electric one a long time ago if Yui hadn't picked this one out for him. Maybe he should just give it to her and be done with it?

...although that would probably get him another lecture from Koumei that he wasn't in the mood for, so forget it. At least this kettle knew when to stop.)

" – not that there's much competition on that front, I don't know why we have so many idiots in the prefectural headquart– what?" he snaps at the odd expression on Yui's face.

"Ah, nothing!" Yui fills the press and leaves it to brew, still with that half-smile he hasn't seen in a year. "I was just thinking that it'd be nice if you would say things like that more often, you know?"

Kansuke bristles at the words, viciously decimating the last of his anpan bread. "What, thinly veiled insults? Sure, I do them at Koumei only all the time – "

He catches the definite flicker of a laugh as Yui flips open her handphone – to set a timer, probably, they've long lost track of how many pots of coffee have been ruined by them getting distracted. "Yes, I heard."

"Oh, so Koumei did tell you about that, did he?" Kansuke's going to strangle his friend after this. Or at least remind him that the crutch meant he had a blunt weapon attached to his arm all the time now. "I damn well hope he remembered to mention the part where I apologised to him!"

"He did," Yui confirms with a nod, sitting down across the table. "Morofushi-keibu seemed quite impressed by that, actually."

"Good, he better be," he grumbles darkly, taking out two umeboshi onigiri from the bag and tossing one to her. "Anyway, I already apologised once to that asshole, so like hell I'm doing it again! Even for you!"

"I wasn't – I mean, I'm not looking for an apology, Kan-chan! It's just..." Yui pulls half-heartedly at the onigiri packaging, and continues in a quieter voice. "I just need to know what you think of me, that's all."

"That's my line, you idiot." Kansuke tears the plastic open with one sharp tug and swaps the onigiri with hers. "I basically cost you your job, Yui. Aren't you supposed to be angry at me or something?"

"Like I said before, I quit because I thought you were dead, it wasn't anyone's fau–" Yui pauses. "Is that why you were avoiding me, Kan-chan? Because you thought I'd be mad?"

Kansuke goes back to glaring at the kettle. "Nope," he answers shortly.

"Mm-hmm." Yui bites into her onigiri with a carefully raised eyebrow, because she's clearly been spending too much time around Koumei without his moderating influence. "So, do you want me around or not, Kan-chan? Or are you going to keep avoiding me?"

What a dumb question. Did the planets want to go around the sun?

Yui rolls her eyes. "Right, never mind. Do you not want me around, then?"

"No!" answers Kansuke on reflex, then – "I mean, I don't not want you around, n– goddamnit, Yui, you're starting to sound like Koumei with these trick questions. You know what I mean."

"Fortunately for you, yes." Yui goes to grab two mugs from the rack when her phone alarm rings. "Otherwise I'd have to request a transfer to... hmm, Tokyo? I hear the Beika squad works with Conan-kun all the time, that'd be nice."

"That glasses brat?" Kansuke snorts. "Maybe we should transfer him to Nagano instead, he can replace all of Takeda's goon squad. I'm sure the chief would be happy to give him Koumei's old office, we'll just get him a child seat to go with it or something."

Yui hands him his coffee with a grave expression. "I think you'll have to fight half the police departments in the country for that job offer, Kan-chan, he's already got quite the reputation."

"I'll bribe him with botamochi until he agrees," Kansuke says stubbornly.

He ignores Yui's chuckle. No one ever said no to his grandmother's recipes. No one.

Except Koumei, who obviously didn't count since he was still stuck at his tiny village koban. And speaking of which –

Kansuke pauses halfway through dumping a second sugar packet into his mug. "Why did you suddenly come over today, anyway? Without even calling me first."

"Oh, that." Yui returns to the table with her own mug. "I called headquarters yesterday about my reinstatement, and Aburakawa-kun mentioned that you were taking leave for personal reasons today."

He tastes the coffee and makes a face, reaching for yet more sugar. "So?"

"Well, you never take days off even when you're ill, Kan-chan, so..." Yui looks away abruptly, cheeks a distinct red. "...so I, er, assumed it was probably about me?"

He isn't that predictable. He is not.

...he is, apparently.

Kansuke scowls into his finally-sweet coffee. "I was just planning to drop by today. In case you needed help with your stuff."

"Everything's packed, I was just waiting to settle my apartment's lease first." Yui's suddenly wearing the same unsuspicious expression that she'd used to get them out of trouble with Kai-senpai so many times. "And actually – um, Morofushi-keibu's offered to help drive things over, he said to tell you that don't have to worry about i–"

"Take my car," Kansuke says flatly.

"Eh? But – "

"It's not like I'm using it, and you don't need Koumei's stupidly flashy car to move a bunch of boxes!"

"That's tr–"

"So you can tell him that I s–"

"Said what, exactly?"

Kansuke turns around to see Koumei standing in the doorway to the kitchen, having clearly had no issues with letting himself in. "What's he doing here?"

"If you'd let me finish my sentence, Kan-chan," comes Yui's voice from behind him, "I was about to tell you that we'd agreed for him to drive me over later this afternoon. Sorry for the trouble, Morofushi-keibu!"

"You're quite welcome, Yui-san. Although I thought that you would've gotten started on the other move by now."

"Other...? Oh!" Yui looks sheepish when he glances over at her. "I'd almost forgotten all about it, to be honest."

"Quite understandably, I'd say." Koumei joins them at the table, armed with his usual boring thermos of tea and his most annoying expression. Again. "It's all in your best interests, Kansuke-kun, don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about what?" he asks, feeling irritated – increasingly irritated, rather, since Koumei's presence was irritating by definition.

Yui pushes the remaining items in the plastic bag towards Koumei. "Well, your room's still upstairs, right? I thought I'd come over to help you move some things to the guest room down here, it'd be easier on your leg and everything."

Kansuke's eyebrow twitches. "Do I get a say in this? At all?"

"As a matter of fact, no, not with how you've clearly taken up sleeping on the living room couch on a regular basis – "

"YOU SHUT UP, KOUMEI!"

.

(later:

"What'd you even come over for if you were just going to sit there and drink tea! You've moved, like – what, one book?"

"Two, actually, but as you've repeatedly said in the past, you don't need my help, so... do you require my assistance, Yui-san?"

"Ah, no, I can manage it just fine! I know where Kan-chan puts all his things anyway – ")

.

.

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*knocks on your door* hi i can’t even with kansuke’s pov h e l p