Jul 28, 2019
Just Whitehorse and his kids.
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from Yemen
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Canada
seen from Germany
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Japan
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
Just Whitehorse and his kids.
So I went with the alternate prison intro/ Dep-Whitehorse Reunion and I just like it so much more because of how happy Whitehorse is to see the Deputy. Poor bastard totally thought he was the only one left alive ;_;
"purgatory is for the living! ...mostly!"
instagram au
everyone
The Fast and the Furious
The Fast and the Furious (FC5 Wholesome Shorts #8)
In which the Deputy gets high and needs Whitehorse’s help.
700 words.
----------------------------------- Her eyes were bloodshot and there were deep, purplish-gray grooves beneath them as though she hadn’t slept in weeks. Her hands were shaking violently, making the scope on her rifle less than useless where it hung haphazardly in her loose grip as she stood before him, looking wild and high on something.
“Jesus, Rook, what happened?” Whitehorse asked softly as he set his fishing pole down. He hadn’t expected to run into her here in the middle of nowhere, a mile or so from the abandoned town of Prosperity.
“I…I didn’t know who else to go to. Tracey told me you were here,” Rook admitted, stumbling in place.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m sorry,” was her response. “I’m so sorry, Sheriff. It was stupid.”
“Come here, sit down,” he ordered, a hand on her arm, holding her steady. She was trembling all over and felt hot to the touch. Sweat was beading across her face and down her arms and he detected an odd nutty smell from her breath as she panted. Concerned, he touched two fingers to her neck where her pulse was and felt it rushing, thready and fast beneath his touch. “Rook,” he started, voice lowering in concern and anger as his brows drew together. “What did you take?” She glanced away from him, her face looking as though she was going to cry. He took her chin gently in one hand and pulled her face inexorably back toward his own so he could meet her eyes, which, yes, were swimming with tears. She looked down and the tears escaped, dripping down her cheek, one of them landing lightly on his hand.
“I…I’m sorry.” Earl sighed.
“What did you take, Rook?”
“It was Tweak…”
“Oh Christ,” he muttered, knowing the local “chemist” well.
“He made me a – a well, he called them ‘performance enhancers,’ gave me the recipes, but,” she looked back into Earl’s eyes, her green ones full of terror. “But I botched the recipes, tried to combine two of them, and it won’t stop. It won’t stop. I can’t make it stop. My heart is pounding and everything I touch I break, and it won’t go away, the effects won’t stop and I…I knew you wouldn’t judge me. And I’m sorry,” she finished again miserably. “If you fire me, I completely understand, sir.” Earl couldn’t fight back the bark of laughter that bubbled out of his chest.
“Rook,” he chuckled, putting a hand comfortingly on her shoulder, “if I was going to fire you I’d have done it at least twenty assault-with-a-deadly-weapon charges ago. This is a new world. I’m not going to fire you. Hell, I’m not even sure if I can pay you anymore, the Seeds have got things so mixed up.” He jostled her shoulder when he saw her lip cringe in the beginnings of a sob. “Hey. It’s alright. We’ll get you some help.” She looked deep into his eyes and the way she looked at him made his heart stand still – like she was his daughter, ashamed to have disappointed her dad. His chest got warm and he chuckled again. “Rook…you idiot,” he muttered affectionately. “Come on. No, you’re not walking. Let me carry you to my truck. So much for my fishing trip.”
Earl, with only a small grunt of effort and only one painful knee pop, thank you very much, lifted his deputy in his arms, her head lolling back onto his shoulder tiredly. She wrapped her arms around his neck to help him carry her and murmured something through a little sob.
“What was that, Rook?”
“I love you, Sheriff,” she told him, snuffling into his shoulder like a child. His throat got tight and his cheeks went a little red, but he smiled.
“I love you too, Rook.” He laid her gently into the backseat of his old battered blue pickup and pulled a spare blanket he kept there over her. “Get some sleep, kid. It’ll be alright.”
Yes and No
Alright, so I legitimately started writing this short with the intention of telling the story of them pissing John off and trying to recruit him, but I got...sidetracked. I wasn’t planning on having any serious romances, but this just happened.
I may delve into exactly what happened with Jess later (spoiler alert, she realizes she’s asexual, but not aromantic).
Anyway, these are still heading toward an actual goal, so hang in there if you’re waiting for an actual plot, it’s getting there.
I’ve never been a huge Deputy/Jacob fan, but Hel wants what she wants, so I wrote it.
Yay for shitty Photoshop jobs done in two minutes :D
Yes and No (FC5 Wholesome short #11)
“ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS! I WILL KILL YOU, DEPUTY! WITH MY BARE HANDS!” The shrieking voice poured out of Rook’s radio and she made eye contact with Hurk, who giggled, his rocket launcher still perched on his broad shoulder. Sharkey was cackling as well, hands on his knees. “I WILL END YOU. I WILL BURY YOU BENEATH THAT SIGN AND THEN I WILL PISS ON YOUR GRAVE, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!” Rook waited for a long enough gap in John Seed’s screaming tirade that she could interrupt. Earl had taken his hat off and blew out a breath at the angry outburst. He didn’t like confrontation where it could be avoided.
“You seem a bit upset, John,” Rook broadcasted, “maybe we should meet. How about at your Lodge?”
“WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU I WILL– ” Rook switched the radio off and turned to Jacob, looking doubtful as well after a glance to the sheriff.
“I’m pretty sure you’re trying to get me murdered,” Rook muttered to the eldest Seed. He crossed his arms over his chest blandly.
“You didn’t tell him what time to meet you, pup,” Jacob pointed out, looking a little smug. Rook rolled her eyes. She switched the radio back on.
“ – AND AFTER I’M DONE WITH THAT I WILL PULL EACH ONE OF YOUR TEETH OUT! AND DON’T GET ME STARTED WITH WHAT I’M GOING TO TATTOO ON YOU! SEVEN SINS DON’T EVEN BEGIN TO COVER WHAT YOU’VE DONE, YOU BITCH!”
“Are you done?” Rook asked prettily, stepping over him on the radio. There was cold, simmering silence.
“Where and when would you like me to kill you, dep-yoo-tee?” John ground out softly, sounding more dangerous at a whisper than a shout. Rook met Jacob’s eyes and he shrugged, seeming unconcerned.
“Your lodge, tonight, say seven ‘o clock?”
“I can hardly wait,” John assured her.
The four of them turned to survey their work. John’s massive “YES” sign now read a resolute and equally large “NO.” It had taken them the better part of the morning, but it had certainly gotten John’s attention.
“John ain’t gonna like this,” Earl intoned, looking a little worried.
“No, sir,” Jacob agreed.
--
They made their way back down the long hill, driving back to the county jail where Earl sent Rook to get some food with a quick pat on the back before turning a nasty look on Jacob. He still didn’t trust him. Jacob, to his credit, said nothing, but just stepped inside, staying quiet and keeping to himself as much as possible. Pratt was avoiding him like the plague, but that was to be expected. He casually made his way outside to where Rook was leaning against the wall drinking a Gatorade, feeling an odd tug in his chest. He pulled an apple out of his pocket and began peeling it with his knife, taking little bites directly from the blade. Curious, he surveyed the deputy where she stood, wiping sweat from her brow.
“Alright, pup?” Rook sneered.
“I’d be better if you’d stop calling me that.”
“Ah, yes, that’s right, you prefer Boshaw’s nickname, what was it, ‘Dep’?” Rook chuckled.
“Are you jealous of Sharky?” Jacob surveyed her for a moment, took a long breath, decided honesty was, in this situation, the best policy.
“I’m more jealous of your archer,” he admitted, glancing up at the jail’s wall where Jess was standing guard. Rook’s face fell.
“She’s not mine. Not anymore. Don’t think she ever was, really. It wouldn’t have worked out, regardless of…well, regardless.” Jacob found he couldn’t even pretend to be sorry for that.
“Hmm,” he rumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. It had been a long while since he’d been interested in anyone in the slightest. His work for his brother had occupied most of his time, was still occupying most of his time and his thoughts. If he was caught here, consorting with the enemy, he was a dead man. Joseph would not kill him. His followers, though? Well, Jacob had trained them, hadn’t he?
With a little nervous curl of his lip, Jacob stalked off abruptly, tossing the core of the apple over his shoulder. He found himself needing to urinate, so made his way to the large bathroom that was available for the guards when the jail was still operational. He sniffed in disdain when he encountered the crotchety old sheriff there taking a leak as well. It was clear that Earl didn’t like Jacob spending time with Rook one bit, was clear that he considered himself a stand-in father for her. It amused Jacob more than anything else, was more of a challenge than a threat. He stepped up to the long trough that served as a urinal and unzipped, standing right next to Earl who gave him a nasty look out of the corner of his eye.
“You have an aversion to giving a man some personal space, son?” Earl snarked as he pissed. Jacob shrugged.
“Well, I figured you and I have done enough waving our dicks around, we might as well measure them, get it over with,” he suggested, staring blankly at the wall in front of him as he urinated. He heard a disgusted scoff from the sheriff. “What’s the matter, old man?” he asked softly, the corner of his lip rising in a mocking smirk. “Afraid you won’t…measure up?”
The sheriff did not react, said nothing, just finished peeing and shook himself, but he turned his hips before zipping up his fly just enough to give Jacob an eyeful as he glanced down. Jacob’s eyes widened involuntarily and he just barely managed to keep his jaw from dropping. Christ. No wonder the man was so laid back.
Jacob washed his hands and stepped back out into the jail proper, slamming hard into a smaller figure who gave a little whumph of air and stumbled. It was Rook…again.
“Following me, pup?” he growled. She rolled her eyes.
“Dream on.”
“I might,” he challenged, swallowing. She studied him for a moment, crossing her arms defensively over her chest and looking around them for observers.
“Come here,” she demanded, dragging him into a side room. “What is your deal? You brainwash people, you torture people, but then you do this banter shit with me like you’re a normal fucking human being instead of a walking bag of severe psychological issues. What do you want from me?” He gazed at her for a moment, considered the question, considered the feelings she had given him with her sarcastic, snarky responses to his radio broadcasts, considered the way she looked at him, like he was Goliath and she was David, but not even a little bit concerned she couldn’t take him down with a single blow. Christ, she was so sure of herself, so strong. Unbidden, hot anger burned in his chest and he clamped his teeth together so hard they squeaked with the strain.
“I don’t want a goddamn thing from you, pup,” he assured her in a hiss, turning away. She put a gentle hand on his arm and tugged him to look at her, frowning.
“I think maybe you need some help. All of you,” she told him quietly, reserved, searching his scarred face. Very gently, she reached a hand up toward his jaw or his shoulder, he wasn’t sure which, but he snatched it in midair, snarling.
“What are you doing?” Jacob demanded, on edge. Rook’s hand went limp in his grasp.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, looking at his lips. He could take a hint when one was staring him in the face. He released her hand and stepped back.
“Didn’t think you be interested in a…me.” She laughed.
“Never said I was.” He chuckled dryly.
“I’ve spent years learning how to read people,” he lectured, voice low. “We’re all just dumb animals, we use all the same cues, all the same desperate little ticks. You’re no different.” Rook tilted her chin up defiantly. “The way you tilt your chin up trying to convince me you aren’t scared of me, and that I’m wrong,” he purred. “The way you glance at my lips because you want to kiss me. The way you flush when I point it out. It’s all just responses to stimuli, pup. We’ve all got ‘em. Like the way I’m stepping toward you. The way I’m putting a hand on your waist…”
“Stop it,” she objected, tugging away from him.
“Am I wrong?” Jacob probed softly. “Faith told me what you are. That you’ve slept with women and men. I know you want me, pup.” Rook turned back to him, face red.
“Stop it,” she said again, but her tone didn’t convey seriousness, instead was dripping with want. Stepping forward, Jacob knew that embracing her, that kissing her would be his death sentence. He’d fallen for her hard, had agreed to help her, but up until now he could have backed out, could still betray her, could take her prisoner…but if he kissed her now he was a dead man. He could never turn away from her if he let his lips press softly against hers, if he felt those tiny hands rest gently on his side and on his shoulder. His breath hitched as he looked at her desperately, like a dying man looking at the antidote to his poison.
Leaning over her with his massive bulk, Jacob again ran a hand down her side, pulled her closer, met her gaze steadily. She put a hand on his chest, but it wasn’t pushing him away, it was just resting there.
Jacob leaned down further, until their lips were mere millimeters apart. Rook stepped on tiptoes, completing the touch. With a little moan, Rook sank her fingers into his red hair, tugging him down. He shuddered, pulling her tight against him, deepening the kiss, running a hand into her more mahogany-toned red hair.
“Rook!” came a loud voice from the doorway and they leapt apart. Earl was standing, red-faced, at the door, looking furious. He spluttered for a moment, hands on his hips. “You’ve…you’ve got work to do. Preparation for the meeting tonight. Now, hop to it,” he demanded, jutting a thumb over his shoulder.
“Yes, sir,” Rook muttered breathlessly, face crimson.
Jacob met Earl’s eyes with annoyance as Rook darted past her boss and then into the hallway away from both of them. Earl stepped up to him, jaw ticking.
“If you hurt her, I will end you,” Earl informed Jacob calmly. There was no growl in his voice, no shake. He said it as casually as one might say ‘it’s a nice day outside’ or ‘the sky is blue.’ Jacob nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
To be continued, obviously.
Monsters and Men (Why Can’t We Be Friends Chapter 17)
No smut this time, sorry, but there is a bit of possibly triggering verbage regarding John and Sharky's relationship, so proceed at your own risk.
Canon-typical violence and a major character injury occur in this chapter.
2600 words.
--------------------------
There’s a big fuckin’ difference in being interested in the idea of something, and actually being interested in the thing itself. Take this douchebag John, for instance. In theory, the idea of being friends with benefits, or shit, even boyfriends was really enticing. In practice, though, the guy was terrifying. He’d tortured people, hurt people, and still didn’t see the problem with that. Sharky had initially been super into the idea of fucking or getting fucked by John, but when the moment had actually come he had found himself terrified that he was going to be assaulted, or worse. He had put on a brave face for Rook, but when that door had closed behind him it had sounded like a death sentence.
But then John had been tender. Kind. They’d talked, gotten to know one another, and for just a moment John wasn’t a monster anymore, he was just a flawed dude with severe narcissism. Sharky had just started to think that maybe John had the capacity to be a caring person until he approached Sharky a few days later, after he had joined the Resistance, propositioning him with a lurid expression on his face. Sharky had been fine with John’s proposal to fuck, had consented to it, but the abrupt feeling of the cold brick wall against his cheek as John yanked his jeans down and had rough sex with him outside in the open didn’t feel quite right, had made him feel a little nauseated when it was over.
“All good?” John had asked with a little satisfied smile as he zipped himself up.
“All good, homie,” Sharky had lied. He told himself he wasn’t a “lovey dovey” kind of guy, that it wasn’t the lack of affection that bothered him. It was, he concluded after about five beers, the lack of anything other than lust radiating off John when he looked at him with those predatory blue eyes.
The next time John had interacted with him had been during a meeting while they were planning the Resistance’s next move. He had leaned in close to Sharky and murmured in his ear,
“I’d love to see your lips wrapped around my dick, Boshaw. Meet me at the south guard tower after.” Sharky had resolutely avoided the tower, had taken a patrol shift instead. The next time he’d seen John, it was in the alley down one side of the jail. John had grabbed him by his upper arm. “What the fuck, Boshaw? I thought I told you I wanted you in the guard tower.”
“You don’t own me, doucherocket,” Sharky had snapped, trying to yank his arm free but John had his fingers tangled in the sleeve of his hoodie. “Let go of me,” Sharky had protested, squirming in John’s grip, which was starting to hurt.
“Hey! What’s going on over here?” the sheriff had asked, approaching with his hands on his hips, his right hand lower, close to his gun holster. John’s lip had curled and he had released Sharky with a little huff.
“Nothing, Sheriff,” John bit out. He had stormed off and Sharky leaned back against the jail wall, taking a deep breath and putting his hands on his knees. “You alright, son?” The sheriff asked in a gentle tone, putting a steadying hand on Sharky’s arm. Sharky did not have a good track record with Earl Whitehorse. He’d pissed in the back of his patrol car, been arrested by him numerous times, thrown up on him on one occasion and nearly lit him on fire on another. Sheriff Earl Whitehorse had every reason to hate Sharky, but yet here he was, making sure he was alright. Sharky looked up at him, grateful.
“I’m fine, sir. Thanks.”
“He gives you any trouble of the variety you aren’t interested in, you let me know and I’ll take care of it,” Whitehorse told him, face earnest. The sheriff started to walk away, but stopped himself, turned back. “Boshaw, I know it ain’t any of my business, but I’ve seen enough in my line of work to know that you’d be better off telling him he’s bothering you. You can have Rook or I with you if you need it.”
“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” Sharky had mumbled, red-faced.
So now, as John approached, Sharky was prepared to tell him exactly what he felt, especially with Whitehorse sitting casually nearby, sipping coffee and pretending to read a Western novel. Sharky met the sheriff’s gaze over the top of his book briefly and nodded very slightly, appreciative.
“Boshaw,” John greeted tersely. He glanced over at Whitehorse and rolled his eyes. “I assume your bodyguard isn’t going anywhere.” John could be frighteningly astute. Sharky squirmed and shook his head, gathered his courage and then launched into a speech he’d practiced in the toothpaste-splattered mirror in his trailer last night.
“I’m…I’m tired of you treating me like a piece of meat, Seed. Now, that first night wasn’t so bad, but you’ve been a real fuckin’ asshole since then. I’m not your property and I’m not your slave. If you put your hands on me again, I will fuckin’ kill you, I will burn your house down, I will…” Sharky felt his temper rising, but he heard a pointed clearing of the sheriff’s throat and reigned in his anger, realizing belatedly that he shouldn’t be admitting to wanting to commit felonies in front of a law enforcement officer. He took a deep, calming breath and glared at John stubbornly, frustrated that he had forgotten most of his practiced speech in the light of John’s stupid, handsome face.
John’s eyebrows rose at the sudden tirade.
“I…I didn’t realize I had made you feel that way,” he admitted, and it sounded surprisingly genuine. “I…I’m sorry. I have to go,” he blurted, and he was gone. Sharky turned to the sheriff.
“You know I wasn’t actually gonna kill him or burn his house down, right?”
“We’ll add it to the wanted poster,” Earl told him dryly, taking a sip of coffee and turning the page. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” Sharky said, frowning. “Do you think he was lying?”
“I’ve been lied to by that man enough times to recognize it when it’s happening, but…this time I’m not sure,” Earl admitted with a regretful look. “Just be careful, Boshaw.”
“You got it, hoss,” Sharky told him with a little grin, feeling better as he stood and stretched.
--
The plan was to meet with some of John’s people, especially those who were more inclined to be more loyal to him than his brother Joseph. The Resistance members stood warily at the meeting place, all armed, all nervous. The cultists stepped out, looking angry at seeing their leader with his hands cuffed in front of him. John acted the part well, snarling at Rook when she gently pushed him forward. Jacob was standing awkwardly nearby, also in cuffs and trying very hard to look like they had not been consensually locked onto his large wrists by Rook, who had made a crude joke about using them again later in the bedroom. Sharky was standing just in front and to the side of Jacob, holding his shotgun and making aggressive eye contact with the cult members.
“We need to speak with Joseph,” Rook told the cultists. They glanced at one another, lips curling.
“You will do no such thing, sinner,” one of them, an apparent leader, said.
“I have two of the heralds and I’m willing to trade them for one meeting with Joseph,” Rook said, reasonably but firmly. One of them chuckled, adjusting his weapon, putting everyone on edge.
“From what I hear,” another said in a soft, dangerous tone, “One of the heralds sold us out. One of the heralds has turned his back on the Father.” Sharky felt his stomach drop at that, prepared for a fight.
It was over in a moment. One of the cultists raised and fired his weapon at Jacob. There was a grunt and a cry of pain, and then a cacophony of gunfire and then silence. Cultists laid on the ground, dead or dying. Two Resistance members had minor wounds, one on his arm, and another through the thigh. Those left alive turned, shocked. John Seed held his belly with his cuffed hands, face going pale.
“H-help me,” he said as he collapsed backwards, blood seeping through his blue shirt and black vest.
“He stepped right in front of me,” Jacob whispered, eyes wide, face shocked. “The little bastard stepped right in front of me. Why did he do that?” Sharky didn’t answer, just bent down and held his hands urgently to John’s belly. He felt the taut muscles there spasming, felt John struggling to breathe.
“I’m sorry,” John told him, “I’m sorry, Boshaw.” His handsome face was earnest, his brows pulled up in the middle in agony as he took a stuttered breath, tears watering in his eyes from the pain of his wound.
“You’ll be alright,” Sharky told John, hoping it was true. “You’ll be fine. Goddammit, Dep, get these fuckin’ cuffs off him.” Rook leaned down and released John’s wrists.
“Why wasn’t the wearing the vest I gave him?” Rook snapped.
“He said something about how it didn’t match his aesthetic,” Tracey Lader muttered, rolling her eyes.
“Jesus Christ,” the junior deputy griped. “Get him in the truck. Hurry. And someone radio Dr. Lindsey to get ready for a gunshot wound to the abdomen.”
--
For all that Dr. Lindsey would gripe that he was “just a vet,” he was an extremely talented doctor who could treat more than one species. He had been top of his veterinary class at UC Davis and was well on his way to becoming a world-renowned research vet when he was outed and slandered by a jealous postdoc who he wouldn’t share his research with. Rumors were spread about him throughout his academic circles and the next thing he knew, no university would touch him for fear of him being a liability. So, he had moved to Hope County, Montana for a new start.
It was fortunate for John Seed that this was the case. Few human doctors had as much experience removing shotgun pellets from animals as a country vet did…even if the animal in question was a human being this time. Lindsey knocked Seed out with isoflurane, stitched all the little nicks in his intestines and sewed the many holes in his abdomen closed with practiced ease, though he bitched the entire time about how he was “just a vet” and muttered that Seed would probably die anyway without an actual doctor caring for him, as though Lindsey wasn’t one hell of a doctor himself, even if he was occasionally scatterbrained due to his anxiety. He prescribed John a broad spectrum antibiotic actually marketed for horses, which meant that each pill was the size of the end of John’s thumb, but he accepted the medication and took them weakly, griping about the damage to his custom tattoos on his belly.
There was a soft knock on the door of the room they had moved John to after he had joined the Resistance.
“What?” he snapped, wincing as he adjusted himself on the bed. Sharky peeked his head in.
“Hey, Swiss cheese,” Sharky greeted. John chuckled, regretted it.
“Come in,” he muttered weakly. Sharky obeyed, squatting down next to John’s cot.
“You comfortable?”
“What do you think?” John asked dryly. Sharky shrugged, but he grabbed another pillow and helped lift John up gently, sliding the pillow behind John’s back.
“Better?”
“Hmm,” was all John said in response. The two existed in silence for a few long moments before Sharky finally said,
“You saved your brother, you know. Probably saved his life. I saw what you did. You grabbed that cultist’s shotgun, yanked it down. Too bad you forgot you were standing in front of it, dipshit.” John rolled his eyes, swallowed. “I bet Jacob sure as shit appreciates it.”
“I didn’t do it for him,” John murmured. Sharky frowned, but John refused to meet his eyes.
“Well, then why the fuck did you take a shotgun blast to the guts?” Sharky saw John clench his jaw under a dark brown beard gone a little scruffy from lack of care.
“I did it for you,” John admitted finally, looking up at him with cold blue eyes. “Mostly because you were too stupid to step out of the way when they were aiming at my brother, dumbass.”
“Oh,” Sharky blurted, eyebrows raising. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” John said, sounding irritated. “I’m just lucky the fucking idiot was out of buckshot and had loaded his shotgun with birdshot, or I’d be dead.”
“Oh,” Sharky said again.
“Shut up,” John snapped.
“Why are you so goddamn mean to me?” Sharky griped, feeling those roiling emotions coming up again like a pesky fly. “Everybody’s mean to me, it’s like I don’t have feelings, but I do. I got lots of feelings,” he declared. John chuckled again, groaning and holding a hand to his belly.
“Try being me. Everyone just thinks I’m a monster, and maybe I am. But…I’m trying not to be. I just don’t know how.” Sharky sighed.
“Well, for starters you don’t treat people you care about like objects. But you’ve got a pretty good start putting yourself in front of a bullet for somebody. I just wanna point out again that you could have pushed his shotgun up and nobody would’ve gotten shot,” Sharky said, tone smug.
“You’re lucky I’m in this bed, or I’d punish you for that,” John purred. Sharky crossed his arms over his chest.
“See, that’s the kind of thing I’m talking about, you don’t fuckin’ threaten people who care about you.”
“You care about me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You did.”
“Fine. Fine, so I care about you. But you’re a real fuckin’ asshole, Seed.”
“Well, and you’re a dumbass, Boshaw.” They stared angrily at one another for a moment, but then John softened, calmed. He sighed.
“I could blame the system. I could blame my parents. Hell, I could even blame my brothers for how I am, but the truth is I don’t know how to be a good person. I don’t know how to be…nice,” John finally said, though his face and his tone made it seem like the word tasted disgusting as it rolled off his tongue.
“You don’t have to be nice,” Sharky told him, taking his hand carefully, feeling awkward as he did so. “Just stop being such a dick.” Bright blue eyes flickered up to meet Sharky’s.
“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in trying again?”
“I don’t think you can fuck for a few weeks, John,” Sharky pointed out. John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his free hand.
“I meant…I meant the relationship part of it. If that’s something you’re interested in.” Sharky pulled his hand out of John’s abruptly and John’s face fell.
“So you, like, like me?”
John growled, face irritated.
“I couldn’t tell you why, Boshaw, but yes, I ‘like, like’ you.” Sharky nodded, biting his bottom lip thoughtfully.
“I’ll think about it,” he promised. There was a knock and then a ginger head poked into the room. It was Jacob. “I’ll talk to you later,” Sharky told John as he stepped toward the door.
“I look forward to it.”
𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕤: ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 4 – 𝔸𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕃𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕚𝕖𝕤 🍼