#Jack was given something that ups his protective streak | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moodymisty · 6 months ago

Text

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: Inspired by this post here. I only did one quick revise, so forgive any mistakes

Relationships: One sided Horus/Fem!Reader, Implied Lorgar/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Slightly yandere, Pregnancy kink, Tokophobia, Is this... is this kidnapping? Horus took you to punish Lorgar on Kor Phaeron's (and probably emps lol) advice, Male masturbation, Horus jacking it to you being his lover instead of Lorgar's because he is ~normal~, Very thinly veiled breeding kink, A very vague comment about reader being 'well fed'

So I beg of you, Warmaster Horus, help me right Lorgar before he goes further down this path. I truly believe you are one of the only men who can help him before he is truly lost. - Captain Kor Phaeron of the Word Bearers

A Luna Wolf captain stands having given Horus this letter- hand written. A odd act considering the ease of vox or other forms of Imperium communication, but perhaps the context of the letter gave the choice more sense.

“May I ask what the letter entails, Warmaster? The Word Bearer was quite insistent it be delivered with the upmost haste.”

Horus understands why. This is indeed something that needs fixing. Lorgar has gone down a path that is in opposition of their crusade. Things are corrupting his mind, and they need to be cut out like a malignancy before they take over him completely.

“...It is about Primarch Lorgar.”

The Luna wolf nods. He accepts that is all Horus will tell him, though if the Astartes says anything else, it is lost on Horus. He leaves moments after, hearing the sound of the door open and close. He doesn't look up to see, as his eyes focus on the material Kor Phaeron send with this handwritten letter.

The picts are small between his fingers, but the image is as clear as can be.

You are beautiful.

You are very pregnant.

As Lorgar’s beloved your dress is ornate and intricate, and does nothing to hide the swell of your massive belly. If anything it almost seems to compliment it- gold filigree dances around the edges of the fabric sewn to give way to your ever growing belly.

To see that they- the Primarchs - can have children is… It struck something in him that he can’t explain.

To have a child, an actual child; his own creation and not a spliced together genetic abomination related to him by science only. He can see why Lorgar has lost his way, and this needs to be corrected.

He’ll do this deed for Kor Phaeron; For The Emperor who is already concerned about Lorgar's lack of progress. But he's not doing it for them, not for the Word Bearers. It's because Horus wants to be selfish. He wants you.

On Terra it rains, droplets streaking down every bit of glass and metal. It pitter patters like music, covering the droll humming of machinery and shaking of pipes. You remain completely dry however, protected by the golden walls and ceilings of the Terran palace.

You've only just arrived, escorted to him from a Luna Wolf dropship. The trip was long are arduous, and he's thankful you survived it unharmed.

You look even more striking that you had in the picts Kor Phaeron and sent to him. The first sight he has of you, face to face, is enough to make him feel something in his chest.

Your skin is healthy and glowing, eyes bright. Lorgar has clearly been feeding you quite well, your hips are full and round.

Horus comes closer intent to greet you and watches the way you don't make eye contact with him, shaking and holding your hands together tightly. His guards he had requested to escort you have since left on his orders, leaving you both to have a moment of privacy.

“Do you need anything?” He says with a smile and a gentle tilt to his voice, warm and inviting.

And yet the look you give him when you glance up is absolutely fear stricken. He softly smiles, trying to blunt his edges.

"Perhaps I should've started with a proper introduction, instead of putting you on a pedestal so quickly. I am Horus Lupercal. Warmaster." His head tilts downward slightly, smile gentle. The pelt wrapped around his shoulders shifts.

"I believe you already know my brother, and quite well."

He takes a knee to stand at level with you, and he can see a marginal amount of fear leave you as he enters an area closer to your own headspace. He supposes it's understandable. You've only known Lorgar- he has made very sure the other primarchs were unaware of you - and in your current state, he can see why this would all be so overwhelming. Primarchs are not just anyone, they can overwhelm even the most stalwart of humans.

You aren't just a normal human however, as you've so easily demonstrated already.

“I apologize for, all of this. But Lorgar needs to calm down and be spoken to without distractions. I’m afraid your condition has blinded him to his own duties.” Horus smiles at you.

“You are a smart woman, I know you are. You know that Lorgar has things he needs to do for the sake of this Imperium you live in.”

You look away from him for a moment, left hand wrapping over your right wrist as they rest on your belly.

"I didn't know he was shirking his duties to you, if I did I would've..." You hesitate, conflicted.

Horus sighs.

Lorgar put so much on such a young, beautiful human, and now you has to deal with the consequences of his own mistakes. Even if you aren't the one who is being punished, reprimanded, warned, you- and your unborn child - are still affected by all of this.

Ever so gently he takes a risk, reaching a hand forward to cup your arm. You don’t wilt away and so he’s pleased, feeling the warmth of your skin.

“Please do not think you are a prisoner here. I merely wish to make sure you are the safest you can be while you are not with Lorgar."

You nod at him, giving him just the slightest smile as he pulls his hand away. But only partly, as it hovers in the air between the both of your bodies.

“May I?” That smile fades as you look at him confused, before realizing what he's asking.

“Oh, sure. I think they're asleep though, so you might not be able to feel anything.”

With your approval gained he puts his hand to your belly, and watches his palm cover so much of it. It takes a moment, before he can feel it. Even if your child is asleep, he can feel what a normal human cannot.

The soft movement against his palm, the shifting of your baby. The gentle thrum of it's heartbeat.

Something pulls at Horus from deep within himself, keeping his hand welded to your stomach until your eyes move from watching his hand on your belly, and he has to pull away to save face. He places the same hand on his thigh as he kneels, and gives you a wide, warm smile.

“Please, do not be afraid to tell me any of your needs. Myself, my Luna Wolves, and the serfs of the palace are here for you.” The declaration shocks you, a reaction he hadn’t entirely expected. He just gave you so much ability, and he barely knows you.

“Warmaster that is-“ “Horus, is fine.”

You purse your lips for a moment. You're so overwhelmed by this all he can tell. With time you'll settle though, he's sure of it. You're just tired and nervous from your long trip, and being so, so far away from Lorgar.

“I, I thank you for your support, I am forever in your debt.” Horus laughs.

Would you let him feel your belly again? Could he get away with asking to put his ear to it, to hear the heartbeat of a half primarch so closely?

“Nonsense, you are the beloved of one my dear brothers; I only wish to make your time here as comfortable as I am able.”

You let show an actual, real smile- your face glows. Horus sees what Lorgar has been distracted by; Horus would find himself having trouble as well.

Suddenly however you grimace, letting out a whimper and holding your belly. Horus becomes alight with worry, instinctively reaching a hand out to you that grasps your arm once again.

“Are you ok?!” He says, as you soon gather yourself and nod.

“Yes, sorry sometimes they just kick really hard.”

Horus recovers from the startle and laughs. He dares to lean closer, and returns a gentle hand to your belly. He does a few soothing, circling motions. You seem much less unnerved by him now, you smile a bit as he soothes your belly and speaks to it.

“You should be careful in there, little one. You are stronger than your mother, you might just hurt her.” Horus then soon tears himself away, and rises to his feet.

“I have other business to attend to; But please, don’t be afraid to ask the serfs for anything you need.”

Horus takes a brisk pace away, walking down the hall towards his own chambers. He doesn't make a single stop or even look in the direction of another soul, opening the massive door to his most private chambers. The door shuts behind him with a slam, and Horus lets out a breath now that he’s truly alone.

A part of him regrets agreeing to be the one to punish Lorgar; To take you from him and become the villain in this story. Another part of him is glad to, if not only to feel a part of his soul stir to life.

The buttons on the front of his trousers are easy to undo, and he can feel the outline of his own cock straining desperately against the fabric. It had irritated him the entire way here, no matter how hard he tried to ignore the way he ached against his thigh.

Once he manages to free himself, he takes a seat at the massive desk made custom for him and wraps a hand around his cock, feeling himself twitch against his palm at even the slightest touch. Precum leaks from the tip of his cock as he slides his hand against his shaft, groaning and using his other hand to grip the edge of the table.

You were so much more perfect than he imagined. Now he understands why Lorgar was so intent on keeping you hidden from them.

A selfish man, a shame he got to you first. Horus would make sure you got to see the world, meet all of his brothers and show them just how lucky he was. How beautiful and smart you were.

How you were so able to handle him, a primarch. Out of all of them, only Lorgar was the one to find love.

He can feel the the stickiness of his own precum leak on his fingers, slicking his cock. It's not enough though, and so he pulls his palm away to give an undignified, uncharacteristic spit into his palm before wrapping his hand back around his throbbing cock.

Lorgar! A selfish, whiny brat of a man who cares about paltry religions and gods rather than The Emperor's orders. How, out of all of them, was he the one to find someone that was able to handle being around a primarch?

His palm now slicker he groans at the way his hand much more smoothly rubs against his own shaft, toes curling his boots.

Horus isn’t jealous, he’s angry, he thinks. Angry that it turned out this way. If Lorgar hadn’t been a lying, secretive little snake, perhaps you would’ve had the chance to consider... better options. Horus would've been quick to charm you, to wow you with all the things he could give you and how he could make you feel.

He’s the Warmaster; he could give you anything you ever wanted, and you’d never be safer. On Colchis, he was able to pluck you from your beloved with one stern talking to.

Horus groans as his lower body tightens, cock leaking all over his hand. He's so close, he just needs a bit more.

Thankfully it was him to take you. Not someone like Russ, or Konrad.

Horus can keep you safe, until Lorgar does what needs to be done without all of these distractions. If you were his, it would be a wonder if he wasn’t always thinking about that perfect, round belly of yours.

He fists his cock faster with each second, grip tighter. He chases the high- his thighs tensed- so close. His breathing is heavier, deeper, harsh breathes through his nose.

He doubts Lorgar will ever fix his problems, however.

That would mean you would stay with him permanently; He would have no issues with that, he can make the preparations. For the short and the long term. You're surely due to have that child any day now, he'll make sure not a thing goes wrong.

Horus can hear the table top crack underneath his grip, the cords of his neck tight as he finally cums. He keeps pumping himself in his hand through it, milking himself until he's groaning and gritting his teeth. It's been so long, he's never felt the need for this until now. The feeling of satisfaction is unlike anything else, as he lets out a few breaths of air through his mouth.

He'll love his little niece or nephew like his own in the absence of Lorgar of course. They don't deserve to be punished for the sins of their father. But when you're fully healed, he would love nothing more than to on day fill that space with something of his own.

#horus lupercal x reader #lorgar aurelian x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

174 notes · View notes

pandapetals · 4 months ago

Text

Slim Pickins

logan howlett x fem!reader- angsty, reader lowkey hates logan, inspired by sabrina carpenter's song slim pickens

read on Ao3

Without a doubt, you knew you were going to end up alone. The thought crept in after every disappointing date, every one-night stand that left you cold, every late-night text that led nowhere. All the guys you met were the same—douchebags with oversized egos and nothing real to offer. It was a pattern you couldn't break, a cycle that seemed destined to repeat. Why was it so hard to find a decent guy?

You didn’t even need perfect. You weren’t looking for some fairy-tale romance or a knight in shining armor. You just wanted someone who didn’t make you feel like you were settling for less than you deserved.

Then there was Logan.

You’d sized him up the moment you met him—jacked, rough around the edges, with a perpetual scowl and a short temper to match. He walked like he owned the room, his shoulders tense, his eyes dark, and he had the kind of attitude that practically screamed “trouble.” You’d rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, dismissing him in an instant. He wasn’t your type. You knew his kind. And after a few clipped conversations, you were more than certain Logan was exactly the kind of guy you couldn’t stand.

“Douchebag,” you’d muttered after he’d walked off from another pointless exchange.

And you didn’t hold back either. You bitched and complained about him to anyone who’d listen—Charles, Scott, Storm, anyone within earshot of your growing frustration.

“He’s impossible,” you’d said one night over beers with Storm, your voice rising with indignation. “He’s not a team player, doesn’t listen to anyone, and doesn’t even get me started on his attitude. You know what he said to me earlier?”

Storm had given you a knowing look but let you rant anyway. Everyone had opinions about Logan, after all. He was easy to dislike, a ball of raw energy, constantly on the edge of something dark and dangerous.

“He’s just... ugh,” you groaned, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t get why anyone puts up with him.”

But deep down, beneath all the complaining, something gnawed at you. Something you didn’t want to admit.

You hadn’t seen it right away—not until one mission changed everything.

It had been chaotic, a nightmare situation where nothing went as planned. The team had been dispatched to rescue a group of mutant kids who had been captured by some underground militia. The operation had gone sideways almost immediately. You’d been cornered, pinned down by enemy fire, your heartbeat thrumming in your ears as panic crept in. And then—Logan.

You saw him, right in the thick of it, moving with a kind of brutal precision that took your breath away. He tore through the enemy lines like it was nothing, claws flashing, his eyes wild and fierce. But what caught you wasn’t the violence—it was the way he threw himself into the rescue without a second thought. No hesitation, no fear, just pure instinct as he fought his way to those kids.

The moment you saw him lift one of the terrified children into his arms, shielding them from harm with his own body, something inside you shifted. He wasn’t careful, wasn’t gentle, but there was a raw protectiveness in his actions that hit you like a punch to the gut.

You watched him take down another wave of attackers, blood streaking his face, his body moving like a machine—powerful, unrelenting. And then, as he brought the last of the kids to safety, something unexpected flared in your chest.

Respect.

He was more than your first impression.

You didn’t want to admit it, but Logan wasn’t just the hot-tempered, arrogant jerk you’d made him out to be. There was something deeper there, something you’d been too quick to write off. The way he fought, the way he protected those kids, the way he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders without ever asking for help—it unsettled you. Because it meant you’d been wrong about him.

Being wrong about Logan was a lot more dangerous than you wanted to acknowledge.

Days passed after that mission, but you couldn’t shake the image of him—the way he’d looked standing there, bloodied but unbroken, with a kid clinging to him like he was some kind of savior. The frustration you felt toward him softened, and changed. You found yourself noticing things about him you hadn’t before. The way his gruffness wasn’t just aggression, but a shield. The way he stayed on the fringes of the group, never quite fitting in, but always there when it mattered.

You didn’t complain about him as much after that. You didn’t have much to say when Scott made some offhand comment about Logan’s attitude or when Storm chuckled about his lone-wolf tendencies. Instead, you found yourself defending him in small, subtle ways, even if it was just a quiet “He gets the job done.”

It was a shift you didn’t want to admit, but one that was impossible to ignore. The more you tried to fight it, the more you felt the pull.

And Logan—he noticed.

You’d catch him watching you now, his dark eyes lingering longer than before, his smirk a little less cocky, a little more curious. He never said much, never one for words, but there was something in the way he looked at you that made your pulse quicken.

One night, after a particularly long and exhausting mission, you found yourself alone with him in the briefing room. Everyone else had already left, and you were sorting through some files when Logan approached, his boots heavy on the floor. You didn’t look up, but your body tensed, already attuned to his presence.

“You were good out there,” he said gruffly, voice low and gravelly.

You glanced up, surprised by the unexpected compliment. “Thanks,” you muttered, unsure how to respond. Compliments weren’t his style, and it threw you off balance.

Logan leaned against the table, arms crossed, watching you with that unreadable expression of his. “You’re not as annoying as I thought,” he added, the slightest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched with a reluctant smile. “High praise coming from you.”

He shrugged, his gaze never leaving yours. “Just callin’ it like I see it.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the air thick with something that felt different now. Less hostile, more... charged. You didn’t know what to do with it, and this new dynamic was between you. It wasn’t the same as before, but you weren’t sure what it was either.

Logan pushed off the table and started to walk away, but then paused, looking back at you over his shoulder. “See you around, kid.”

You scoffed, but there was no real heat behind it. “I’m not a kid, Logan.”

His smirk deepened, eyes gleaming with something almost playful. “Yeah. I know.”

Just like that, he was gone, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding harder than it should have been, your mind racing with thoughts you weren’t ready to unpack.

Logan wasn’t perfect. Hell, he was far from it. Maybe there was more to him than you’d given him credit for.

That scared you more than anything.

#wolverine #x men wolverine #james logan howlett #logan howlett #logan howlett x you #x men logan #logan xmen #logan x reader #fluff #cute #marvel #mcu #sabrina carpenter

103 notes · View notes

assbutt-in-the-garrison · 2 years ago

Text

I have this sorta odd destiel fanfiction in my head that I have actually had dreams about and it involves a bit of memory erasure, time travel, incarnations, and Amara/the Darkness...

Remember when Amara kissed Dean and they both saw some sort of "vision" about their future and how they will always be "bonded"? And in 11x1 Amara said "we will always help each other, no matter where I am, no matter WHO I am, we will always be bound."

What IF. Amara IS Cas? And she doesn't know this at first of course. Like. Idk, I just have this fic idea stuck in my mind where the reason why that particular version of Castiel in that universe, unlike every other version of Cas in other universes, is the "famous spanner in the works" who constantly rebels and has to have their memory erased, the reason why Cas is so bonded to Dean and would do anything for him, is because originally that Cas was the Darkness. When Jack and Amara became balanced, they became aware of the reality of the multiverse and Amara knew she needed to give up her power to Jack and become something else and go back in time to the beginning in order to "fix" the storyline so that Chuck inevitably loses and to make sure Jack is born and Dean and Sam can truly be free. So she gives up her darkness powers to Jack and Jack and her go back in time to the beginning, secretly planting her as Castiel, a being of light now, an angel with no memory of being God's sister. And so THAT Cas always has a rebellious streak in them, defying the "natural order". And throughout all of history, that Cas rebels against unjust orders. When that Cas meets Dean, he can't help but feel completely connected to him profoundly. And no matter how many times his memory is wiped and controlled by Naomi, the bond between them cannot be broken. Then when Cas is brought back from the Empty by Jack, he is given his memory back of being Amara/the Darkness. And this is why Dean and Cas are so profoundly bonded. No matter who Cas is, no matter what body/vessel they're in, they will always love Dean.

The empty won't give up on dragging Cas back though because after all, he made a deal, and as an angel, Cas will always end up in the Empty, and even as the darkness, technically the empty was there first before the Darkness so it's technically stronger. The empty just hates Cas. It will still be summoned every time he experiences true happiness. And will go after Cas and his loved ones at any cost. So in order to protect heaven and his loved ones, including Dean, Jack and Cas decide that Cas's best and only option is to convert his grace into a human soul and be reborn as a human in a different, magic-less universe, where the Empty cannot find him and even if it does find him, it's power would be inert in a seemingly magic-less world. (there's magic, it's just unseen and the laws of physics implemented there make it harder for monsters to exist there with any noticeable power.) But Cas saves a little bit of his grace, bottling it in a little vial pendant, and tells Jack to give it to Dean to remember him by. When Dean gets to heaven, Jack tells him the truth and gives Dean the vial of grace that Dean wears as a necklace. And Dean is free now, traveling the multiverse in his TARDIS car (which Amara secretly created at some point so Dean would always have his freedom). So Dean is completely free now, of any and all Gods destinies for him and his family. He can make his own choices whether that be peacefully chilling in heaven with his family, or traveling the multiverse, stopping sometimes to work a case in some world or universe, saving people, or enacting change in worlds still being wronged by evil Gods "destiny". Maybe he even meets the Doctor at some point lol. And He'll know when he's found a version of his Cas because the vial of Cas's grace will glow a vibrant purple when Cas is close by.

#spn #dean winchester #destiel #castiel #Amara #the darkness #destiel ficlet #destiel fan fiction #destiel fanfiction idea #my post

55 notes · View notes

bonesandthebees · 2 years ago

Note

This part is just going to be about theories as to what could happen and details that I think are neat.

1. Reason behind Tommy's attack: So Tommy's been more skittish and on edge since Wilbur almost murdered him, that is a big given though he's been fairly good at hiding it. He's been carrying a knife around with him so that was a Chekhov's gun, very well played Bee. My best guess is that something happened that caught Tommy off guard (he hasn't been out since the ball, people are constantly pointing that out so I'm assuming it's a mix of him being anxious about almost dying and him being out for the first time in a while), he accidentally slashed Jack who saw it as an attack, maybe he said something before that gives him reason to suspect that that's why he was attacked, I don't know but people are not very logical if they have just been stabbed or otherwise endured bodily harm via knife. We don't know what Jack's exact wounds are so that is my best guess under the assumption that it was a slash of some kind on maybe his leg or something since Niki was helping him up but I'm not dying on this hill. Jack is a smart guy and probably won't jump to 'attempted murder' over one jab and if it was on his leg, it probably wasn't very severe since he would need to run back to the temple.

Basically, I don't fucking know but that is my best guess. My theory is about as solid as swiss cheese.

2. Ponk not giving the bottle of pills out of fear that Wilbur would overdose? Yeah that checks out. Even Niki is afraid of that. I do think that while Wilbur is not actively a suicide threat, he is very unstable and all it takes is one night or moment when he's alone and a sharp downward spiral for him to decide to restart the Pythia cycle. It's a smart move by Ponk but very very sad. But now that Tommy has joined the attempted murderer club, currently populated only by the dude who tried to kill him, I wonder if he's actually going to get those pills. I would hope so but I'm not sure who would get them for him other than like Phil and Techno but they'd be very occupied and I'm unsure if Wilbur would ever think about opening a door for anything when Tommy is in emotional distress and not the Deathlings favourite little guy right now.

Even if Wilbur knows that they wouldn't hurt Tommy, I don't doubt that his protective streak will kick into high gear, maybe to a point that he wouldn't trust anyone around him, especially if Tommy doesn't want to see anyone & in general his reaction to possibly seeing other people once he is out of crowd and back in his room with Wil.

But idk, we will see

3. Shrike symbolism!! I love that Wilbur is like "man, the little birdie in my chest could be a shrike but like, I'm not cool enough for that. I'm just a songbird" but Niki is kind of gently nudging him towards "don't underestimate yourself" while also just making a general statement, at least that's how I see it. But also maybe foreshadowing. Wilbur finally snapping and going sicko mode?? I'm waiting for it. I will not be caught off guard again.

4. Niki and Jack's backstory :((

We get another look at how dogshit and corrupt this country is and we get it from the perspective of someone outside the palace. Someone who first hand experienced the brunt of the corruption and just wahhh. She's being so open and vulnerable as to what happened, it's fucking awful with what's to come. I cannot put into words how distraught this makes me, especially when I was so happy with like 'oh Niki and Techno crumbs!!'. How dare u.

I think I'm done for now though. You'll know if I have anything else to say lmao

Great chapter, I am so nervous about the next chapter and what's going to happen in it.

2/2

- 🦈

oooo interesting theory as to what happened, you'll have to wait and see :)

yeahhhh the bottle of pills thing is probably okay for wilbur right now given he's a lot better than he was doing just a week before, but ponk and niki weren't sure of that. also not gonna say anything else regarding tommy getting painkillers. you'll have to wait and see for the next chapter.

the shrike symbolism was so fun to include i've had that written down for AGES now. niki was definitely trying to nudge him into thinking better of himself, so we'll ahve to wait and see how that progresses

(also just a note bc I don't really know where else I could talk about this, but shrikes are known for impaling their prey sometimes with their beaks. chapter 11, which is when wilbur has his panic attack after slipping up about schlatt, is called 'a beak jammed into a bone' referring to the bird in his chest and how it felt like it 'impaled' his ribcage when that happened :))

niki's backstory gave me a lot of opportunity to flesh out how fucked up the society they live in is. just the corruption that sits at the heart of it all. and yes techno and niki crumbs i love their dynamic <3

tysm for this shark anon!! i've missed seeing you in my inbox i hope you're doing well!!

#ask #shark anon #through a glass divine

10 notes · View notes

lindsayrps · 1 year ago

Text

jack elliott, 40, actor, luke kirby

jack gregory elliott was born three years before the great war, second youngest of four with two brothers, one older and one younger, and an older sister to a slightly below middle class family in missouri. jack's father died six months after the start of the war. his mother refused to remarry, moving jack and his siblings, as well as herself, out to california to live with an aunt. his childhood is average.

jack's first brush with acting came at the hand's of his aunt, tasked with minding jack and his siblings while his mom worked, who brought them along to her local theatre group every other week. while he was too young, he sat on the sidelines but eventually joined in sporadically in his teens. he joined low budget movies on open casting calls not long after, getting his feet wet in the business to see how it worked despite not really being committed to acting as a career.

his big break came in the form of a pre-code drama movie in 1932 opposite loretta young. quickly, and in spite of being appreciative of being given the chance, he decides that drama was not what he wanted to do and makes a beeline for something with considerably more substance: thrillers and horror.

it's in thrillers and horror that jack really makes his name, becomes known for his work. jack rarely, if ever, plays the "good" guy, always preferring villains and those who are morally questionable, some who get what's coming to them and some who get away with it. any character he plays who's on the metaphorical right side of things is often doing questionable things to stay there or to get the result being sought after.

jack has been married thrice since 1936; first marriage lasted four years ('36-'40), second lasted three ('40-'43) and his third, and current ('44-present), is a lavender marriage to conceal the fact that his wife, an actress, is a lesbian in order to protect her from her studio's morality clause. it's an open secret amongst those closest to jack, though he does well to keep his affairs on the quieter side of things all the same. there are no children to speak of.

backing it up a bit: by the time the united states joined the war effort in '41, jack had already been conscripted into the air force during peacetime a year prior. he didn't know a lick about planes or combat practices and was 100% a conscientious objector due to his pacifistic nature. unfortunately jack was among the more than half of the 70k conscientious objectors who had their requests denied by the draft board. by the time his initial training was done, he knew more about planes, a little about combat practices and was still a conscientious objector. jack served two tours in the european theatre, saw v-e day, promptly came back to america and said Never Again.

his career picks up even more after '45, after all, who wouldn't want a "war hero" in their movies? it's around '46 that he meets caroline devon, who becomes a frequent collaborator with him during the next five years. caroline is, thusfar, the only co-star he's ever had who challenges him; they work well together and have fantastic chemistry with each other (on and off screen).

jack's got a dry sense of humour, a mischievous streak a mile long, smokes like a chimney (who doesn't?) and has perfected the early iterations of the kubrick stare before it becomes the kubrick stare.

despite a filmography that might contradict it, jack isn't all doom and gloom. he likes art and he's big on entertaining others and very opposite of the characters he portrays.

#ch: jack elliott #type: development

1 note · View note

oogaboogasphincter · 3 years ago

Text

The 50/10 Method (Agent Whiskey x f!reader)

Summary: Jack makes the most of your 10 minute study break.

Word Count: 2.7k+

Rating: E (explicit) 18+ ONLY! bc this is just cringey smut lmfao

Warnings: smut (oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (obvi use protection irl), very easily and conveniently reached orgasms (this is a fantasy i can do what i want skjfkd), dirty talk, one (1) allusion to thigh riding and one (1) instance of 💙spitting💙, fingering, positions i hope i've given enough detail so y’all can imagine what i was picturing💀), pet names (sweetheart, honey, cowboy *affectionately*, good girl, baby), there’s a sentence about reader having long-ish hair, reader and jack have a dog, swearing, reader is afab and is called things like good girl and the like, just overall trash grammar and structure 😇

Author’s Note: so this is very poorly written and extremely self-indulgent, as i myself use the 50/10 method 🙃. but i had a lot of fun with it, and i think that’s what writing is supposed to be all about! :) also i was heavily inspired to write this after reading “Take a Break” by @mellowswriting and “Study Buddy” by @pascalpanic. please go check those out because they’re absolutely fantastic!!!!! +while you’re at it, i would highly advise you to read anything on their masterlists bc they’re just 💜exquisite💜

gif by @thernandalorian

The lines of text on your computer screen are starting to blend into each other, creating a single run-on sentence that one of your previous English teachers would ridicule the author for. The sharp curves and angles that distinguish each letter from the next are becoming soft and dull, blurring into each other until your brain can only recognize it as a smeared streak of black on white.

It’s 11:00am on a Saturday, a big exam set for the upcoming Monday’s morning. You don’t feel rushed for time, or overloaded with unknown material, and the early hours of the day have been quite productive. Following a shared breakfast of homemade waffles in bed with Jack, your boyfriend, you didn’t complain when setting up your study station on the living room’s large oak table. If anything, you had been excited to begin studying early in the hopes of finishing your review by the end of the day. That way, tomorrow would be free for you and Jack to do whatever you pleased.

However, as the hours went by, your motivation was slowly but surely diminishing. The serene study atmosphere that you usually thrive in is now driving you mad. You yearn for a noise, any noise; a bird to sing a song in the tree outside your window, the smack of your dog’s loose wrinkles against each other as he attempts to shake the sleep out of him, a pencil unable to stop itself from rolling and dropping onto the floor with a tink.

You’re momentarily gifted with the crisp sound of a page turning. You flit your eyes over to gaze upon the source of your granted wish and your heart flutters in reaction to the sight: Jack’s resting on the couch, cowboy hat balanced on the back of it, deeply absorbed in the next installment of his favorite murder-mystery series. You find it curious that his desire for an adrenaline-filled challenge doesn’t stop when he comes home from mission after mission that nearly cost him his life. You’ll ask him about his insatiability one day, but for now you categorize it as fictional research for his Statesman assignments.

Your short glance quickly turns into an entranced stare. Jack looks... divine. Fetching. Luscious. As he’s lying on his back, neck propped up against the arm of the couch, his book balanced on his chest, relaxation radiates off of him in waves and utterly seduces you. You’re surprised that he hasn’t been a greater distraction to you throughout the morning. How have you managed to ignore the denim-wearin’, plaid-shirted, pornstache-sportin’ cowboy of your dreams that is only a few steps away?

Involuntarily, the thigh muscles of your crossed legs contract in an effort to bring some semblance of friction to your now weeping core. Similar to your imaginings of your dog earlier, you shake your head to force these heavy, unwanted feelings to dissipate and turn back to the work in front of you. Of course, Jack does the opposite of what you’d like him to do and takes an interest in your fidgeting. He peeks over the top of his book, “You cold, sweetheart?”

His question is reasonable: you’re purposely wearing a skirt that’s so short it rides up quite high when you sit. You don’t dare to meet his eyes and answer while pulling a textbook close and opening it up, “No, I’m okay.”

Fortunately he returns to his reading. Your attention is able to retain itself for about a paragraph, but then your mind takes a sharp detour back to those pesky, steamy desires. You mentally huff at your inability to remain concentrated on your studies and rifle through the options of what you can do to satiate yourself for the time being.

You could switch texts and force your brain to recognize the change and therefore become distracted. You could pick out some colored writing utensils and bring some fun to active reading. You could say fuck it, go straddle Jack and beg him to use you in whichever way he would like.

Jack interrupts your brainstorming, “Are you sure you don’t need a blanket or sumthin’? I can go get my jacket for ya.”

The attentiveness of your southern lover melts your heart. You turn to him, “No, really, I’m okay, thanks.”

“I wouldn’t count a bathroom break as taking away from your 50 minutes, honey, if that’s what’s makin’ you twitch.”

You had been implementing and strictly adhering to the 50/10 method all morning: study for 50 minutes, take a break for ten. Its effectiveness was never doubted, as it has proven to work for you for years. Only ten minutes into this 50 minute period, the devil of restlessness pokes at you and makes you think could time go by any slower? A hand comes up to cover the blush creeping across your cheek as you dismiss Jack’s suggestion, “No, that’s not it.”

Behind your embarrassed hand, Jack cocks an eyebrow at you. Your simple choice of words has given the Agent a hint, that there is something that’s bothering you, he just hasn’t figured it out yet and you don’t want to admit what it is for some reason. He returns to his book, however lost in thought about what your problem could be, while you task every cell in your body to pay attention to your studies.

35 minutes remain on the clock, and Jack guesses, “Did you have too much coffee?”

You can’t help but grin at his sleuthing, “No, I just had my regular.”

He conjures up another possible solution five minutes later, “Are you itchin’ to get out of the house? We haven’t left in two days.”

He’s getting warmer. Both of you know exactly why you haven’t left the house in two days: you’d been occupied with activities of the sinful variety. You can’t gauge yet whether or not he knows he’s dancing around the answer, “Baby, you’re distracting me. And nope, it’s not that.”

He smiles apologetically, “Sorry,” and uses his book as a partition, blocking your ability to procrastinate and just visually drool all over him.

Silence fills the next 20 minutes. Even though Jack is out of your sight, details from your observations exaggerate themselves in your mind to the point that they’re all encompassing, intoxicating. The way his jeans wrap around his legs ever so perfectly, the worn denim hugging those muscular thighs that he loves for you to grind yourself against when you’re feeling especially desperate (like now). How his plaid flannel slopes over the swell of his belly, stretching tight against his skin as his diaphragm contracts and deflating when he exhales. Even his large feet, strewn about lazily on the couch, his toes pointing in different directions, amuse you.

Ten minutes remain in your study session. Feeling guilty about spending the majority of the last hour envisioning the seductive intricacies of your boyfriend, you actually start to study.

“How many times do you think I can make you cum in ten minutes?”

Your eyes are ripped from your material and land on the menace lazing on the couch. He’s put his book down, one arm behind his head while the other is crooked, allowing himself to palm his cock through his pants. Jack’s wearing a shit-eating grin, bewitching your crossed legs to switch which one is on top; an excuse to apply more pressure to the yearning area between them. You fidget in the chair, shamefully trying to get the seam of your underwear to rub against you in just the right way. You shrug, “I-I’m not sure.”

He gets up and comes over to you, standing behind you and leaning forward to rest his chin on your shoulder. He murmurs in your ear, “I think we should find out during your next break.”

You turn to face him, “I think so too.”

He gives you a quick kiss, “Well, you better be a good girl and study for these last few minutes. Earn that break.” He places his large hands on either side of your head and turns it toward your materials, making you both laugh.

Somehow, you’re able to pay attention. Jack’s impending promise of ravaging you for ten minutes straight quells your jittering nerves and gives you something specific to look forward to. Before you know it, your alarm is beeping, alerting you that your break has commenced. Jack cages you by reaching forward and grabs the clock, programs it to ten minutes and keeps it in his hand. He grips the sides of your swivel chair, pulls it back from the table and spins you around to face him, the speed of the turn making your hair swoosh across your shoulders. Through mutual giggles, Jack lifts you up, winding your legs around his waist, your arms doing the same around his neck. “I want you to count for me how many times you cum.”

Breathlessly, you simply obey, “Okay.”

He practically runs to the bedroom. He sets the clock on the nightstand and turns the face towards the mattress so you don’t lose out on studying time. Tossing you onto the bed, your giggling continues as you bounce from the force. Jack hooks his fingers in your underwear and yanks them down, pulling them out from under your skirt and over your shoes. The way he wastes no time ridding you of any other garment makes blood and heat flood your center and air rush out of your lungs. He pushes your lost air back into your mouth with a kiss and then immediately retreats back to in between your legs.

He flicks the fabric of your skirt up onto your belly, letting himself have complete, unobstructed access to his early lunch. His fingers fondle your folds while his lips place sloppy kisses along the inside of your thighs. After he’s had his fill of that step, he sits back and stares at you: spread out for him, more than willing to take anything he wants to give to you. He blows out a whistle, eyeing your core, and you say, “Hey, you’re on the clock, cowboy. No time for dramatics.”

He nods, a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth, “You’re right, sweetheart.”

He spits onto your cunt, forgoing his usual gentle licks to adequately wet your pussy. A quiet fuck escapes your mouth as he plunges his tongue into you. Your fingers wind themselves in his chocolatey locks and pull, extracting an excited moan from your lover. His fingers knead the soft flesh on the backs of your thighs as he eats and when his mustache starts to tickle your clit, you’re done for. Your grip on his hair becomes vice-like and your whole body seizes up, constricted by enrapturing pleasure. You strangle out, “One.”

Jack unlatches his mouth only once he’s certain your first orgasm is complete. He stands, admires your wrecked expression, takes his cock out, spits into his hand and pumps his dick a few times. Hands slithering around your waist, he flips you onto your stomach and pulls your ass up, positioning you on your hands and knees. You’re a little bit dizzied by his manhandling in combination with his expert tongue, but this type of vertigo is the most enjoyable you’ve ever experienced.

When he pushes into you, it’s a bit of a stretch because he hadn’t warmed you up with his fingers. He relaxes you by leaning forward, pressing his chest against your back and peppering soft kisses to your shoulder blades. The clink of his belt comically punctuates his thrusts, but your laughs are swallowed by intoxicated groans. You don’t know, and you don’t really care to figure out, how he already has you teetering on the edge of cumming again. Heightened senses tell you that you’re close; the fabric of his shirt feels unearthly soft as it brushes against patches of exposed skin, his fingertips are delightful lead in their clamp on you, his grunts and pants angelically reverberate in your skull. And then, suddenly and all at once, “Two.”

Jack’s pride shows itself in a smirk while he flips you onto your back. He makes a show of hooking your calves over his shoulders, eliciting laughter from the both of you. Resting almost all of his weight on top of you, your knees find your chest and his hands find your hair. The intimacy of it all is almost too much; his thumbs stroke your temples, palms cradle your head, those goddamned puppy-dog eyes bore into you. You turn your head in his grasp to check your timing: five minutes left.

Jack’s tongue darts out to lick the pads of his fingers before he snakes it down in between the two of you to rub your clit. Your moans come out uncontrollably, your eyelids stutter and he eggs you on, “That’s it, sweetheart. Give me another one.”

Hearty moans are reduced to desperate gasps and you’re unable to verbally acknowledge the third orgasm that rips through you. Nonetheless, Jack can tell from the way your eyes roll into the back of your head and his name tumbles ferociously out of your mouth that you’re cumming. “’Atta girl.”

Jack takes his cock out of you and the whine that escapes your lips embarrasses you. He can’t help but laugh at your whimpering before he scoots down the bed and starts to eat you out again, framing his head with your quaking thighs. You find the strength to check the time, “Jack, there’s only a minute and a half left.”

He moans deeply into you, unaffected by your comment, and eases three fingers into your fluttering center. Like earlier, your hands fly to his hair like a magnet and find purchase so tight it makes your knuckles go pale. In a matter of seconds, circling your clit with his sopping tongue and tapping your g-spot with his deft fingers, Jack has you cumming yet again. This time you yell out the count, “Four!”

The sounds his ministrations make are lewd and exhilarating, pushing himself to his own precipice. You look down your body to find Jack’s other hand jerking his cock and his seed spilling out of him moments later. He groans into your pussy while you pet his hair, praising him for his efforts.

Simultaneously, you both remember that you’re being timed. Your eyes meet the clock at the same time: 30 seconds. Jack springs from the bed and pulls you up with him, grabbing your discarded panties. He squats and taps your ankles so you lift your legs up, sliding each leg hole over your body and pulling your underwear up underneath your skirt.

You fumble with his mussed clothes, stuffing his still-hard cock into his boxers, hiking his jeans up over his ass and zip and button them closed. You snake his belt around his waist and let his fingers do the work of buckling it before he picks you up bridal style and ushers you out of the bedroom, grabbing the clock off of the nightstand on your way out.

Unhinged cackles follow you two down the hallway as you return to the living room. He plops you down in your chair, straightens you out, gives you a kiss on the cheek and then your alarm goes off. You raise your eyebrows at him, “Jeez, you didn’t waste a second.”

He hums, then mumbles, “You get back to work now, babygirl,” and leaves you with a yearning kiss on the part of your hair.

Both of you return to your respective readings, hopelessly trying to downgrade your panting gasps to normal breaths. The absence of Jack’s warmth is already painful. But you rationalize that the indulgence of the last ten minutes is more than enough to get you through this next hour of studying, if not for longer.

Little do you know that Jack feels the same pain. His ache for your touch, sexual or not, will overtake him later and he’ll be unable to resist the temptation of coming over and distracting you again. Determined to finish your studying, you’ll propose a compromise: you can sit in his lap while he is lulled to sleep by the ambience of the afternoon rain and the enveloping comfort of you. The two of you can try to beat the record of four orgasms next semester.

💘taglist: @pascalpanic, @mellowswriting

#agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x fem!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #kingsman: the golden circle #study smut #studying smut

117 notes · View notes

aggressive-positivity-network · 4 years ago

Note

Okay, so you said I could send an ask for headcanons about the childhoods of some specific merc(s)... I think I would really like to read your headcanons about Soldier’s and Engineer’s childhood :)

Thanks in advance and I hope your well.

Ooooh…I’ve been waiting for this! And thank you for being specific and not just saying “the rest of them.” Sometimes I get overwhelmed with nine specific mercs to write for. Your specifics are much appreciated.

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

Soldier:

Soldier doesn’t talk very much about his childhood - whether it’s because something happened or he just doesn’t remember it, no one can tell. It’s nowhere in his file, either…he refused to do anything except tell fantastic tales of a fictional youth.

However, in a rare streak of almost lucidity, he spouted off the entirety of his younger years, much to the team’s surprise. Usually, if anyone asked directly, he changed the subject.

But now he described everything in vivid detail. And, with a bit of research from Miss Pauling, everything fell into place.

Apparently he had been born in a small military town in Georgia. His father was overseas, leaving he and his mother alone in their small yellow house.

In order to make ends meet, his mother worked at a nearby factory, mostly leaving Soldier to fend for himself and the house.

“Can you be a big, strong soldier like daddy for me?”

Soldier would always agree, finding his own food, his own entertainment, and his own friends. No matter what happened, he never bothered his mom. If anything, his job was to protect her.

That’s why, when his stomach started hurting and his arms and legs ached, he said nothing about it.

When he forgot the chores he was supposed to do and even the names of his friends, he didn’t bring it up.

When he felt tired all the time and some days could barely get out of bed, he just chalked it up to laziness like his mother did.

It turns out the factory they were next to was polluting the water next to the house with dangerous amounts of lead, which soon overcame Soldier’s immune system of steel.

He could barely remember anything anymore, and he became more and more distraught every day. Sometimes he would forget where he was and run outside, then get lost in the woods, only coming back once he remembered where he was supposed to be.

Soldier began to wear one of his father’s old helmets after his mom commented on his red eyes and the dark circles around them. He didn’t want to worry her. Besides, it helped bring back a few memories if he ever got lost again.

Finally, it got to the point where he didn’t even remember his mother, or his promise to her. He began to wander farther and farther away from home.

One day, he didn’t come back at all.

Out in the world with not a single memory to his name, Soldier wandered far and wide. He usually slept in barns and old, abandoned houses, cut off from most people.

Occasionally, he would find a family that wanted to “raise him as their own,” only to turn him away after finding him too difficult to care for.

He had frequent nightmares, ate little due to his unresolved stomach issues, and could barely walk ten feet without forgetting where he was going.

If he accidentally wandered into the same house twice, he would be chased out with either a broom or a gun - usually the latter.

He became “the demon child” in some counties, and “g*psy kid” in others, due to his long, unkempt hair, hidden eyes, and odd habits.

It even got to the point where Soldier couldn’t sleep on anyone’s property because he would be actively fought off like a wolf or a bear.

His only pleasure was an old movie theater that, as he recovered from his lead poisoning, remembered the location of and frequently snuck into.

The only thing that played were romance movies - which, like many children, Soldier hated - and war movies, which he watched over and over again with starving eyes.

Because of these movies, a single memory from his mother’s house came to him. A woman, tall and muscular from hard labor, giving him a shiny badge to hold, asking him to be a strong soldier like his father.

And thus began his life-long dream of becoming a military officer.

He trained according to what he knew from the films…which was mostly running, doing jumping jacks, and occasionally rolling around in the mud.

This only served to distance him further from his fellow human beings, but he didn’t care. Soldier had a mission, and he was going to do it well.

But the biggest change was his hair.

He had started cutting it off with sharpened rocks, but he was always saving up coins he found for a “proper army cut.”

Finally, he had quite the collection in a dirty mason jar, and marched into the barber shop in his town to ask for a haircut.

The manager was appalled, and at first refused, but Soldier stood his ground.

“Civilian, I’ll have you know that by denying a soldier with a haircut, you are denying America one of its best fighters! I can’t curdle the enemy’s blood looking like a hippie!”

After a short yelling match that, of course, Soldier won, the manager decided it would be in his best interest to comply.

He walked out of that shop with no hair on his head, but a huge grin on his face. Next stop, the ranks.

Soldier went from draft office to draft office, applying for and being denied entrance to the army for his obvious lack of mental stability.

This is when the personal retelling ended, since Soldier became very upset by the memory of his recruitment failures, but Miss Pauling concluded that he just bounced from state to state until Mann Co. found him, quote, “sitting in an alleyway, eating army draft paperwork while sobbing uncontrollably.”

Engineer:

Engineer also never really talks about his childhood, but both Medic and Spy (Spy knows everything about everyone on the team) know that’s for a good reason.

He grew up in a trailer community near an almost ghost town in Texas.

His father was an abusive car mechanic with a mean streak a mile wide and a shop full of failed inventions. His mother wasn’t any better - she was bitter and reclusive, only really coming out of her room to pick a fight with her husband.

However, what Engie lacked in family, he more than made up for in friends.

He had a rag-tag, Rugrats-esque team of pals from all walks of life: Rhapsody, the daughter of a struggling porn star; Tom, the son of two farmers wiped out by blight; Cici, an adopted girl that could barely walk into her trailer without a black eye and a string of slurs; Quinn, the nervous child of a single mother that serves as guidance to the other kids; And Fred, who didn’t seem to have any family, but had become a greaser big brother to all of them.

Together, they explored the desert near the trailer park, pooled their resources to feed and support each other, and used their individual strengths to get through each day.

Engineer, whom everyone affectionately called “Big Dell,” snuck parts from his dad’s workshop for his own creations.

By the time he was twelve, he could make a small, running engine for the soapbox cars his friends frequently raced.

No toy, piece of clothing, glasses, or tool was out of his line of expertise.

One day, though, upon finding that some of his parts were missing, Engineer’s dad gave him a terrible beating that broke a few of his fingers and left a huge gash near his eye.

Since then, he refused to fix, make, or even touch a tool.

He wouldn’t tell anyone what happened, but they could make a pretty good guess, since they knew where the scraps and parts had come from.

The whole group was furious with Engineer’s dad - their Big Dell was funny, smart, and was more loving than every family member they had combined. Even Quinn was red in the face.

They wanted to break into his dad’s workshop and destroy all of his inventions, just to teach him a lesson, but they knew Engineer would take the fall for it.

Instead, they rummaged through trash cans, searched their toy chests, and looked under their trailers to find things Engineer could use.

They waited until his birthday to unveil the massive pile of supplies they had stowed away.

Engineer immediately dropped to his knees and began to cry, and everyone else dogpiled him for a huge hug.

As the creme de la creme, they gave him a pair of welding goggles - the same welding goggles he wears to this day, having modified them so they still fit his growing body.

With his healed fingers and renewed spirit, he made each of them a gift: a toy car for Rhapsody, a skull ring for Fred, a full set of candle wax crayons for Cici, a chewable necklace for Quinn so they wouldn’t chew on their collar, and a mini-planter for Tom.

But Engineer was given the greatest gift - confidence in his own abilities and that he can be and was appreciated for more than his services.

This gave him the drive to build bigger and better things, which his friends happily assisted in creating.

Engie’s best memories are with that motley crew of scrawny, beaten-up kids.

But, as he became a teenager, the abuse grew worse by the day.

He was often kept in his dad’s garage to fix cars in sweltering heat and with nothing to show for his work except threats of what would happen if a customer complained.

His mother finally grew bitter enough to pick on him, wondering aloud and pointedly if she had made a mistake by having him, then immediately contradict herself by wailing in his arms about how she’s the most awful mother in the world, and how she would be gone soon, and then nobody would have to deal with her anymore.

Engie grew more and more distant from his friends as they either moved out, ran away, or, in Rhapsody’s case, died.

He thought of just shutting the garage door and turning on a car a couple times, but he would always return to his memories of the hidden cave of goodies his friends had collected or the many inventions they had helped him build.

It just wasn’t worth it.

On a night when his depression and self-doubt was especially bad, he decided to build a personal invention for the first time in years - a small, robotic chicken made out of bent gears and empty oil cans.

He worked on it for a few weeks, but made the mistake of leaving it on a work table once it was finished.

Engie came to work the next morning with his dad ready to chew him out. But, before any finger could be lifted against his son, he was interrupted by a sweet older couple that was having their tires replaced.

“Now, Ethan, ain’t that just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your life?”

“Hm?”

“That there chicken statue over there! It looks like it could very well get up and start peckin’ for worms, don’tcha think?”

Engie looked at the couple, then at his dad, then at his chicken. He slowly lifted it from the table and turned the key.

It started to slowly lean forward, then took a few steps on it’s long, spring-loaded legs. The neck went down, and the chicken’s rusty beak began to scrape at the pavement.

Now he had the husband’s attention.

“Didja build that yourself, son, or did your daddy help ya?”

Engineer looked at his dad for a split second before answering.

“My own sweat ‘n blood, sir. My daddy says I should stop wastin’ time on ugly thing-a-ma-jigs an’ put my hands to somethin’ worth doin’.”

The man smiled. “Well, this ‘ugly thing-a-ma-jig’ shows real skill. We could use somebody like you, once we train you up a bit.”

“Now hold on a damn - !” his father interjected, but was silenced with a cold stare.

“We’ll put ya through a state-of-the-art school, then put ya straight inta the work force. You can build whatever you like…and you’ll have a lot better materials than rusty tin. Whaddaya say, son?”

Engineer just nodded, and the man grabbed his hand and shook it.

“We’ll keep in touch.”

Engineer left that trailer park at age seventeen, leaving his fuming father and drunken mother behind.

He only stopped to visit Rhapsody’s grave before embarking on his new life.

There is still a stone plate with a message carved into it next to the headstone. If you brush off the leaves and dig out the moss, you can see Engie’s parting words:

“A friendship with you and the rest of the gang is the greatest thing I ever built. -Big Dell”

#tf2 #tf2 fandom #tf2 ask blog #tf2 headcanon #tf2 headcanons #tf2 engineer #engineer tf2 #tf2 solly #send asks #ask blog #headcanon requests #lovely anon #thanks anon #thanks for the ask

87 notes · View notes

monsterfloofs · 2 years ago

Note

Jack O Lantern, Queensland Blue, and Fairy Tale can have me ANY day 😩👀

Whenever you have time/inspiration could you maybe write a romantic and/or thirst fic/head cannon for all three of them please? 😳🥺

I am sorry this sat for a while in my inbox I. . . geniunely didn’t know how to properly answer this? x////Dc

You thirsty anon you!

This is gonna sound silly, but I actually had to look up what a thrist fic was. I kinda knew what that was? But not exactly? And afterwards googling it, I-- ahhhh still don’t have a good grasp on the best way how to write that pspspspsp orz (I am sorry please for give my demi brain, sometimes I understandy- other times I stare at it with the most logic brain ever and it goes right over my head haha)

Since all three of them caught your eye. I can talk a little bit about them, if that would suffice? ://D

Mostly the pumpkin heads were a character design challenge and I didn’t think too, too hard on their personalities, though I do have some generalized thoughts that I can share from while I was drawing them!

The Jack-O-Lantern Pumpkin: Heckle

He has the most grounded personality of the three since someone was also interested in him! And I wrote that short! Design wise was absolutely inspired by the halloween trickster kind of character archetype.

Giggly, giddy, and goofy! A mischevious imp.

Most noticablly enjoys dressing up and giving mortals a good fright or playing pranks on them when the veil between worlds is thin. They enjoy sneaking around in corn mazes especially, mascerading as a scarecrow to spook unsuspected passersby. Those who get lost in mazes that seem to go on forever is part of his doing. And why wouldn't he be a pal and come along to get you back safe and sound? Though while he enjoys scaring folks he isn't exactly malicious. And if he realizes he has taken a joke too far will drop his act. Will stop his shenanigans to soothe / aid scared children too. A lost child can be found with a grinning pumpkin as a token apology gift and has been given lots of candy (much to their agreived parents.)

Like that sign that says, “Unattended children with be give espresso and a free puppy” ? Have you ever seen that one? Because that’s really along the lines of what Heckle does do.

Heckle in recent years of bounding around in the human world has realized as advancements in technology has grown so exponentially, that his own image can pass easier amoungst the many other sea of costumes that are out and about on Halloween. And he LOVES that! If there isn’t any reservations at your Halloween Party, he’ll probably be there. Heck, he will probably we there even if it was an exclusive party. He is tricky like that.

In a relationship, I see Heckle as being a PEST.

Playfully bantering with you, telling jokes, doing silly things. (Might be a little bit of a cheeky pervert under the right conditions)

But all in all, if your scowl breaks into a smile, or even-- gasp-- laughter?? He has done his job well and will continue with gusto.

Queensland Blue: Unnamed

Her design is most influenced by the Headless Horseman I think. And I see her personality balanced between Heckle and the Fairytale pumpkin. Has a streak of mischief to her, but will stand up for what she thinks is right. Will bend or break some rules along the way to make sure good people get what they deserve. And will also see to it, that wicked folks get there come'uppins. Is a hellion to those who think they can belittle others.

And what better way to knock pompous primadonnas down a few pegs, than a real good scare?

She has a protective streak, and also possibly a jealous one too? Strong willed and typically level headed until something clashes with her morals. Then the sword is drawn. (Figuratively and literally)

As a lover I feel like she would need someone that she could feel safe to let her guard down around. Even if it's for a just a short period of time? Perhaps a secret romantic? She will never admit it.

Fairytale: Unnamed

Fairytale has the most moral compass out of the other two. Heart of gold. Nay, you shan’t scare the kind people! Have at thee evil do’er! What you would expect from a gallant prince that has come to sweep you off your feet! Tender hearted and a little naive to the evil that is around them. They choose to be kind first and foremost. Sometimes that gets them into trouble, they are also reckless when it comes to matters of the heart. If something strikes them as immoral, it's definately act first, think later. :'3c

Also is the most romantically inclined, has big dreams of finding their one true love whom they will serenade with love songs, and take them on a romantic carriage ride through the night. 💫

#exophilia #sfw #pumpkin head #head canon #monster x reader #monster x human #floofyrambles #floofyocs

6 notes · View notes

jeonggukieandcream · 4 years ago

Text

Imagine Dracula finding out you’re afraid of the dark (x reader).

A/N Shameless self-insert 😂😂😂 I’m terrified of the dark and I’ve had a rough few nights with it, so I wrote down the things I thought about to help me sleep. I hope it comforts someone else. Never written for our sassy classy vamp so this might be totally shit. Written with romance in mind.

Warnings for: fear of the dark, crying (reader), general state of anxiety/anxiety attack.

Also, gender neutral reader and modern era Dracula.

Word count: 2, 417.

(He’s so ethereal I can’t - 🥺💙 every time I see him smile I drop all my uwus asdfghjk 🥺🥺🥺)

Your bedtime routine was that there was no routine. You slept when you were tired and you followed your body’s natural rhythm, which meant that you were often up during the hours which others considered to be unsociable. This meant that you got to spend more time with Dracula during his waking hours and sometimes, not that you would ever tell him, you even stayed up past being tired simply to spend some more time with him.

Dracula knew about this, of course he did, he could smell your truth in your blood, and he had taken it upon himself to be the person to tell you to go to bed when it was no longer funny to him just how much you were putting your body through. You had never treated yourself well and it always made the vampire’s chest ache somewhere deep within him as he sought to protect you against yourself. Your self-destructive streak was evident and so it was when you yawned for the umpteenth time that Dracula unfolded himself gracefully from his chair and stood up.

He walked towards you, his eyebrows raised and a hand outstretched. “I think...” He paused to look at you with an amused gleam in those dark pools of something foreboding and yet wholly safe, “that it’s bed time for the human, don’t you?”

You stifled another yawn as you debated fighting Dracula on it. He picked up on your thoughts, so well did he know you, and he cocked his head to the side in a silent challenge, a smirk growing on his aristocratic face. You conceded his point silently - you really were tired - but then something else you had forgotten slammed into you like a truck and you stopped. You just... stopped.

You held your breath as panic made your head grow hot from the inside and you could have sworn that your heart skipped a beat before its rate picked up slightly. You had completely forgotten to buy new batteries for the string of fairy lights which were suspended to the side of your bed. You had your laptop, which you could put Netflix on while you fell asleep, but what if you woke up in the complete darkness? Your breath hitched and your world lurched off its axis as you slid your palm over Dracula’s, his long fingers folding over your wrist. You stood up and took a deep breath.

Dracula could feel your pulse racing beneath his calloused fingertips and he watched you curiously. What was scaring you? He could feel you wrestling for control over yourself and he admired your bravery; clearly whatever was upsetting you was something you couldn’t avoid or overcome and there you were, facing it anyway. The two of you stood there and looked for one another for a few tense seconds and then you seemed almost to shake yourself off as you kept your hand in Dracula’s hold. You trusted him and you walked to your bedroom, getting your body ready for bed.

Your mind, however, was racing and it was getting increasingly difficult to keep your breathing under control as every horror film you had ever seen, every horror book you had ever consumed and every creepypasta you had ever indulged in filled your tried and tired mind all at once. Even with your wrist tightly in Dracula’s grip (though you could pull away if you wanted to, you would have to make a real effort to do so), you still felt like you were lost in a stormy sea of your own feelings as fear, panic and a reluctance to go to sleep swept in like the tide and threatened to take you with it.

Dracula, who needed not to sleep at night, nocturnal was he, stood in the doorway and watched you as you sat down on your bed and took a deep breath. He chuckled as parts of the puzzle you had presented to him began to click into place with the surrounding jagged pieces. Oh, how fascinating you were. He wanted to dive into the very depths of your mind and explore every nook and cranny which was available to him. And, oh, your blood practically sung to him. You were intoxicating and your fear only made that scent so much more sweeter. “I could be wrong, Y/N, but I think you’re afraid of a few shadows.” Dracula stepped further forward into the room now that you were ready for bed and he shut the door behind him with a quiet but firm click. All that remained of the world now was the two of you; there was no room for anything or anyone else other than what the two of you had nurtured between you.

Dracula was fond of you, confused though he was as to the origins of this, and you were as equally fond of him. You had had an unconventional friendship and from this garden had some oddly shaped flowers bloomed. They were perfect. If you had to put a label on it, then you would say that you were romantically involved with one another, but Dracula had no interest in labels. He cared only for the truths contained inside your blood, and the ones he knew to rest within his own self, too. Those three words, spoken too much and yet not enough, had yet to be spoken by either of you, but the sentiment was still known and felt; echoed was it by the both of you so that neither of you could doubt the sincerity of the connection you shared.

You were beyond the point of where you could successfully lie (not that Dracula would allow you that luxury; he could smell a lie even before it occurred to you to tell one), so you nodded. “I’ve always been scared of the dark and I... don’t have any batteries for my lights.” Dracula’s gaze followed your own as you pointedly looked up at your fairy lights. “I might be all right with the laptop but... I just have to hope that I don’t wake up in the night. The thought of doing that terrifies me, I - “ You hadn’t even known that your eyes were watering and as the knowledge that you were truly scared began to sunk in, so too did you begin to cry; for emotions express themselves in the vessel which houses them. Tears, hot and heavy, poured down your cheeks and you met Dracula’s gaze with shame as you said, “I really don’t want to turn the light off, Drac. What if - what if I wake up in the dark and you’re not there and I’m all alone in my fear, I - “ You choked on your next breath and your eyes widened. Panic gripped your heart and being forced to face your most debilitating fear without warning shocked you; this only fed into the fear and on did the cycle continue.

“Y/N.” Your name, spoken in Drac’s clipped tone, broke through the haze in your mind and you dashed your hand across your face, wiping your tears away without care. “I want you to listen to me.” You nodded, taking several deep breaths as you wiped away tears which fell. All you had to do was slip underneath the duvet, lay down and close your eyes. So simple was it in theory, you did it every night with little thought beyond making sure the lights were bright enough for you, and yet it was, in practice, the most daunting task you could think of in this moment. “I want you to remain calm.” Your eyes flew up to meet Dracula’s. Couldn’t he see that you were the very opposite of calm? The vampire met your eyes and he smiled gently, a feigned look of patience in his eyes, familiar though he was with fears of his own which had plagued him for centuries. “You’re doing very well. Now - “ Dracula’s hand reached out for the light switch and you made a pitiful noise. He inclined his head as a reminder to listen to him. Something in his dark gaze enabled you to see this gesture for what it truly was. Dracula knew that you lacked the courage in this moment to turn the light out, that you couldn’t make yourself face your own fear even though it was your only option if you wanted to sleep tonight. So, he was taking that choice away from you - he was going to be the one to expose you to your fear, and he was also going to protect you from that very thing. Dracula had been isolated for over five hundred years and in that time his social skills had become... less than ideal, but he tried for you. Slowly were you teaching him the ways of modern society and through you was he quickly becoming acclimatised to such a muddled and chaotic world.

The room was plunged into total darkness with a sharp click and you gasped sharply, Dracula’s name leaving you in a rush. You were not shushed, you were not comforted with words. Instead, a piece of the darkness which was blacker than the rest of the room quickly made its way towards you and you made another small noise of fear, your throat thickened with unshed tears. A hand came out of the dark like it was made of it and curved to the shape of your cheek. A thumb brushed soothingly across your damp skin and you relaxed under the simple yet affectionate touch. Oh, how easily could Dracula snap your neck in this moment. He could rip out your throat, carve your heart out with his bare hand and let your warm blood pool in his palm... he was a predator and the scariest thing in any room... to everyone but you.

You, who had once stood in the middle of a brightly lit room and held a hand out as you waited patiently for Dracula to understand that his fears had been unfounded for so long. You, who had coaxed him out into the sunlight with patience and tenderness he had never seen and shown him who he truly was with his hands tightly held in yours the entire time. You, who snuck into The Harker Foundation using the key Jack had given you a long time ago so that you could steal blood bags so that Dracula didn’t have to kill during the times in which it was too dangerous for him to do so. You, in all of your mortality, had won the heart of the world’s most dangerous creature... and yet, he was the safest danger to you. Not even Death could reach you when your warlord was around. You were completely untouchable with Dracula and he made sure that you always knew that.

You.

The two of you were whole individuals all on your own and you could certainly survive without each other, but you chose not to. You woke up every day and you chose to love Dracula, some days was that sentiment expressed harder than it usually was, and Dracula did the very same with you. In that choice lay the power of the love you shared with one another and nothing and no one could ever or would ever tear you asunder.

“Let’s get you familiar with the dark, shall we? Come here.” Dracula swept you up into his arms like you weighed nothing and holding you cradled in one arm, your arms redundantly locked around his neck (he would never drop you; you were precious cargo whenever he held you), he pulled back the duvet and eased himself into the bed. You settled atop his body, your forehead brushing against his neck. “This isn’t so scary, is it?” Just as he spoke did the floorboards in your home begin to settle and you gasped and tried to move off of Dracula, but he held fast. “Y/N.” A warning. It was one you decided to heed.

With Dracula holding you to his chest, it was impossible for you to look anywhere around the room despite every nerve in your body screaming for you to do so. Dracula needed you to be forced to focus on him and only on him; your heart was pounding on your chest and he idly wondered if it was going to break free of your ribcage and fly free of the constraints of your body’s own making. As his large hand stroked up and down your back in fluid motions and the other hand remained resting on the back of your head, you found yourself slowly, slowly starting to relax. But one thing was missing. You wanted not only to feel Drac, but also to hear him. In your blood were you heard, for everything is in blood if one knows how to listen, and Drac began to sing quietly. You couldn’t make out the words and you knew not the language he sang in, but it sounded like a purring when you burrowed down further so that your ear was over his chest, and in the arms of the world’s most feared being did you find nothing but solace, peace and love.

You eventually slept, your body the most welcomed and wanted dead weight, and Dracula stayed with you throughout the night to make sure that he was there if you awoke once more. You were so full of fear, through no fault of your own, and he had sworn to protect you, even if it was only to himself. It was a promise he would honour through his actions; more reliable were they than words. You had reached out for him and he had answered your call and now forevermore were your fates entangled. Dracula knew now that he loved you, in his own ways, and he wanted to remain by your side forever. A creature of the night he may have been, but there was hope for you to join him yet and for that, for you, Dracula would wait. Forever, if he had to. He could be patient when he needed to be, having once slept for one hundred and twenty three years. A human’s lifespan was a mere blink compared to his own existence but when finally would you step into an eternal sleep, he would be there to rouse you and to make you his finest and final bride.

REQUESTS FOR DRACULA 2020 ARE OPEN! PLEASE SEND ME AN ASK! Headcanons, a fic or a matchup! 🥰🥰🥰

#bbc dracula #bbc dracula x reader #bbc dracula imagine #dracula #dracula 2020 #dracula 2020 x reader #dracula 2020 imagine #claes bang

209 notes · View notes

whump-town · 4 years ago

Text

A Wonderful Life

Why. Does. This. Fic. Just. Keep. Going.

I swear, the next chapter is the LAST chapter. I mean it.

Warning: talk of a miscarriage

Part one. Part two. Part three.

Haley and Hotch were not the kind of couple that managed to get pregnant on accident. They tried for years, long before law school graduations, years with the district attorney, the academy, Seattle… Hotch was worming his way into a nice cozy profiling job when Haley got their first positive test. Dave was still around back then and he’d been overjoyed-- tripping over his own excitement at just the opportunity to see so much emotion out of his prodigy.

Two months later Dave was sleeping on the couch, the future ex-Mrs. Rossi in their bed, when he got the call. He’ll never forget how quickly Aaron worked to compartmentalize everything happening. Dave could hear him softly sniffling, rubbing at his face as he took back slip-ups. Brushing away any comfort Dave might try to provide. Considering the loss he just suffered as nothing-- not a baby, not even cells. Just a stupid, silly idea.

Haley stopped trying to getting him to grieve with her.

They stopped trying after that.

It’s entirely an accident. A slap to the face to the years they spent with their lives measured out on calendars, going to doctors, and throwing money at her uterus and his sperm to magically make them physically compatible. They had both grown desperate but in opposing ways.

He could not rest. Spent the nights tossing and turning.

Haley needed a child, wanted one with all her might. To love it and teach it all the best parts of the world. She wanted to see how something good and kind could come from the two of them. She held him close and imagined a child with his annoying curiosity and her stubborn streak. Of coming to greet him at the door and squint her eyes and inform him of the mischief his child has been into. So that he might spend hours telling that baby silly stories, catching them up way past bedtime having fallen asleep to his nth retelling of how they fell in love.

The announcement could not have come at a better time.

Haley had been at home when Jason Gideon made the call in Boston that would nearly kill her husband. She hadn’t felt it, no cosmic hand wrapping tightly around her heart to tell her that the other half of her soul, the only person she’s ever loved was in mortal peril. It had been Derek Morgan, standing numbly in an isolated hospital wing, watching her husband’s body be shocked back to life, having air forced into his lungs that had been her telling moment.

And there she was with the child she thought she might never have and a dying husband.

She put an expiration date on both their heads and waited. Prepared to bury her husband and lose the only part of him she has the ability to protect. But the days crawled by and she found herself listening to that little baby’s heartbeat, the same slow pace as Aaron’s. Neither died.

But Jack’s birth could only hold off Aaron’s inability to self-preserve minimally. He’d live to see his son’s birth and Haley was certain he’d get himself killed before Jack’s fifth birthday.

Jack’s developmental delays were a point of much dispute, having a lot to do with Hotch’s denial. Hotch had been the smallest in his class, in his age bracket until ninth grade-- spent years as skinny as a rail and not meeting healthy markers for children his age. Haley had, mercifully, bitten her tongue and hadn’t reminded him that why Jack is small and missing delays have nothing to do with why Hotch had. Jack isn’t being abused at home… he’s just autistic.

Their marriage, no matter how strongly they still loved each other, was going down the drain. The news of all this had been a cross of startling and... about as hard to miss as the broad side of a barn.

“Two is-- Two is a good age to get diagnosed.” Reid, like Emily and Morgan, mistook Hotch’s primary concern. Saw his disappointment, his unease and pinned it on Jack’s diagnosis. The autism. And Hotch had smiled, calmly allowing Reid a moment’s tangent to get out what he needs to say. To try and convince Hotch that autism isn’t the end of the world-- because Reid can’t handle it. If Hotch leaves, if Hotch disowns his own son-- the way Reid’s own father had not long after his own “off the books” diagnosis had been given-- he’s not sure he can handle that.

“Reid,” Hotch had softly, placed his hand on Reid’s arm. The faintest touch. “I love Jack. I’m-- I’m not the best father but…” He won’t leave. The autism he can handle, Jack’s always been Jack and that changes nothing but finally provides some answers. Some guidance where’d they had been left blind.

It felt like Hotch was never going to be given a second chance to prove himself wrong. They seemed to turn around and there George Foyet was. Knife in one hand leaving behind a zombified Hotch and Jack. They watched, unable to do anything to help. Jack wanted Hotch and only Hotch but it was like just seeing the boy physically hurt Hotch.

“He’s late.”

They all look forward to Wednesdays. The two hours that they have to just sit and relax-- to let Jack entertain them with his many interest and love for random things he finds on their desks to play with. So they don’t take too kindly to Hotch coming in late and stealing their Jack time.

Emily glances at the clock at the bottom of her computer screen and shakes her head. Her stomach sinks as she realizes that they’re not just late, they’re nearly forty-five minutes late. Hotch abides by a strict, self-imposed schedule one made of utmost importance by Jack’s own intermingled schedule. She rolls her eyes, though, at Morgan rather than admit that it scares her just a little.

“It’s been raining,” JJ reminds them confidently. “I’m sure they’re out catching frogs in the parking lot or looking for washed-up rocks.”

Frogs. Right, Jack loves frogs. He hates to hold them but thoroughly enjoys chasing them and watching his father squirm and fight to hold them. It is pretty funny though, Aaron Hotchner scrambling to keep a tiny frog in one of his hands. Ending up slightly mud-stained, disheveled all to wrangle a frog.

It’s… humanizing (cute but she wouldn’t be caught dead calling the likes of dumbass Aaron Hotchner “cute”).

Morgan yawns, stretching out his arms high above his head. “I’m sure we have nothing to worry about,” he shrugs, tampering off the end of his yawn with the back of his hand. It’s far more likely that they’re getting breakfast-- the two of them love muffins. It wouldn’t be the first time that Hotch has stopped to get breakfast. If that goes in their favor, he’ll probably bring them some too. That’s not to say they’re not walking down the hall right now, Hotch trying to be as patient as possible as Jack hops down the hall.

Besides, if there was anything to worry about Dave would have gotten a call. If not for the simplicity of one of Hotch’s stories-- some long-winded, exasperated thing about Jack weighing down his pockets with rocks, Jack having a bad morning and he’s not going to be in for a few more minutes because he had to clean oatmeal off of himself and kitchen floor. Then, at the very least, something.

Yet, they have only radio silence.

Which is good.

Probably.

“Any word from Monsieur Crabbyass this fine morning?”

David Rossi has always been fascinated with the relationship between Emily and everyone else on the team-- though his typical interest is in the utter insubordination that occurs so effortlessly and flawlessly between Hotch and Emily. Naturally, it’s on his mind. He can’t consider the week complete until they’ve both stormed into his office to whine about the other. It makes him reconsider why came back.

It’s for that fact that he knows this is going to crush her the most.

Morgan and Hotch go about like a match to a candle wick. Burning one another to the ground. Things between them don’t go unsaid. If there’s an issue they get to it and neither can walk away until their hands are clear.

JJ and Hotch make the perfect parental tag team. So much of what they do is hidden but the thoughtless, mechanical way the two work together is never taken for granted. If shit hits the fan, those two are who you want.

Garcia and Hotch may not get a lot of time but they know she’s his soft spot.

Reid and Hotch are the strangest carbon copy of one another venturing to having a little too much in common to nothing at all.

Emily and Hotch have far too much left unsaid. Tension and, what he believes, to be penance for the courses of action they have both taken. In her inability to trust the team, running from them and forcing Hotch to kill her to protect her. His distance from them, which she has always read as distrust and tinged with his ego. Neither are as simple as they prefer to pretend to perceive themselves to be.

Not as mysterious either.

Leaving him, standing on the catwalk watching her little joke hit the others with fond laughter. Monsieur Crabbyass. That’s a good one and Aaron is probably never going to hear it. Never clench his jaw and glare to the side, forcing himself not to react and admit that it’s actually kind of funny.

Dave watches over them for another moment, taking in their innocence. Emily still snickering at her own joke, Garcia and JJ both shaking their heads at her. Morgan shakes his head but there’s no hiding his own amused smirk.

“He’s not coming in.” Dave clears his throat, “there was an accident on the way here this morning.” He can’t even get out what he needs to say, they’re already trying to talk over him. “Jack alright,” he’s standing there, trying to get his piece out. “Jessica’s already made her way to the hospital, sitting with Jack. He’s hardly got a scratch.”

There’s general ease that settles them with the relief that Jack is fine.

“And Hotch?”

On life support.

Laying in the intensive care unit with defibrillator sticky pads on his chest, waiting for the next episode of tachycardia to have the nurses and doctors of the unit holding their breath. Wondering just how many more times his body can take them beating the shit out of it or if he’ll come back this time. How many more times can he toe that line before he can’t come back?

“I--” Derek is standing numbly at his desk. Arms limp at his side. “What are-- Is Jack-- Jack is alright? How? Can we-- Will they let us back-- back to see him? They have to let us back to see him, right?”

To see what?

That his body is laid out on a stretcher bare of blankets and pillows. Neck held still by a brace. Jaw titled back and pale, cracked lips stretched around an incubation tube. The hiss of which fills the small empty room. To see that he’s covered in crisp white bandages, wrapped delicately around the purple bruises up and down his ribs. His unstable, flail chest.

To see the x-rays?

To have a doctor stand and explain the damage, the history of Aaron Hotchner’s bones. Old cracks and improperly healed aches. By forty, it’s easy to assume that the ghosts of childhood have long since lost their grasp, but today they nearly cost him his life. A decade worth of cheap shots to his sides, his father’s angry tyrannical downpours wore down the bones.

When he hit the steering wheel, those old bones never stood a chance. They gave out on him.

And what of Jack?

It’s one thing to have those words written out “In the event of my death…” but those are just words to be said. Never meant to be used. Jessica doesn’t understand all of Jack’s charts. She won’t ask him what color his socks are and let him weigh his pants down with rocks and carry him when he gets tired. She won’t get muddy and slimy to chase down frogs. But Jack and everything he owns (aside from some silly knick-knacks and stupid things he thought better to go to Morgan or maybe Garcia) go to Jessica Brooks.

In the event of my death…

“If he’s still alive by the time that we get there… it’s unlikely that they let anyone aside from family back.”

They stand in the silence of that. Of the implication. Does a single one of them know how to do any of this without him? Morgan doesn’t want to be fucking Unit Chief. He got his taste, he’s done. And, the most surprising part is that the somber, truth omission of what they are all thinking comes from Emily Prentiss. Righting her shoulders like she’s standing in front of the nurses and defending them right now.

“But we are his family.”

#tw miscarriage #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction

54 notes · View notes

the-awkward-outlaw · 4 years ago

Text

Arthur as a protective Dad

Alrighty friends, I know I haven’t really touched my writing requests in sometime. I have been having to deal with some pretty complicated family issues and other things in my life, and I just haven’t had much time or energy to write. But it really is all your support that keeps me going!

This request is from a user on AO3: arthur dealing with micah after he sees him being a creep and harassing his teenage daughter. I know that sounds dumb but i just love protective and angry arthur (that kind of angry from him feeds my soul)

Masterlist

Read on AO3

Everyone knows that Arthur is the ultimate definition of protective. He’ll put himself between a bullet and any of the girls in camp. With you, he’d do even more. However, none of that comes close to what he’ll do for his daughter. Whatever she asks of him, he’ll do his best to find a way to make it happen.

When it comes to keeping her safe, no one dares to mess with Arthur’s daughter. Not in camp, not in the town camp is closest to. A man had once tried just flirting with her in town once. She’d politely asked him to stop but he hadn’t taken the hint. Arthur had walked in and seen not long after. The man ended up with a broken nose and shattered cheekbone. No one harrasses Arthur’s daughter.

Which is potentially what drove Micah to try.

Micah is well known for ruffling everyone’s feathers. Even Dutch’s on occasion, but only when Micah is feeling rather confident. But Arthur is his favorite person to upset. Micah has tried to get to him by antagonizing him, but Arthur usually would just tell him to stuff it and move on.

Micah has tried bothering you to irritate Arthur, but you were too good at handling yourself. Arthur would usually watch just in case he needed to step in, but he personally found it incredibly sexy how you’d whip around to Micah and verbally attack him. It didn’t take long for Micah to realize that to make you mad would end up in getting his ass whipped. The honest truth is that Micah is scared of what you’re capable of if he really pissed you off.

So that left one last resource to bother Arthur. His teenage daughter. You and Arthur have been together for longer than she’s been alive. If it had been modern day, you’d be described as high school sweethearts. You’d gotten pregnant when you were 19. While it was difficult for both you and Arthur to be parents at such a young age, you couldn’t ask for a better father.

Arthur says that your daughter is a miniature version of you, except she has his eyes, but you see so much of him in her to believe that. She’s strong, she’s had to be with this life. You and Arthur had debated at first of breaking out of the gang when she was little as the life really wasn’t good for a child, but the problem was that both you and Arthur were too loyal to leave. However she toughed it out and turned out to be a relatively average girl. You couldn’t be more proud.

It’s been especially tough for her these past few months, but it has been for everyone. Blackwater changed everything. You have to give Abigail credit, if your daughter was as young as Jack is, you would’ve tried convincing Arthur to leave. Then again maybe not. After all, you have just as big of a bounty on your head as he does. But it doesn’t change the fact that right now, things are tougher than ever. Especially now that Sean’s dead.

You’ve lived in a lot of unlikable places, mostly out west. Shady Belle is probably one of the worst you’ve been in. It’s hot and muggy all the time. You prefer the dry heat of the desert. At least your clothes dry out there. Not only that, but out in the west, you don’t have to be afraid of the water for the most part. Here, monsters dwell beneath the surface.

Micah has been getting more and more cocky these last few weeks. You haven’t liked it as it seems like he’s getting more under Dutch’s skin, but you’re sure Dutch will wise up. After all, he has Hosea to help him and Hosea surely doesn’t like Micah.

Arthur has been getting slightly suspicious of Micah lately too, but he’s been so busy running around to really do much. Your poor husband. You’ve done everything you can to help him, but there’s no denying that most of the camp rests on his shoulders.

It’s a few days after Jack has been returned. You’ve insisted to Arthur that he stay in camp for a while as he’s been running around like crazy since Jack went missing. It’s clear he’s exhausted. It’s a good thing too because Micah has been keeping his eye on your daughter, and not in a good way.

Micah really is growing too confident out here. He’s never dared bothering your daughter before because you and Arthur are the people he’s frightened of getting truly angry. However, it’s almost like he’s trying to absolve that.

The first few days, Micah has tried to tease her but subtly so that you wouldn’t stab him. He knows that unlike Arthur, you won’t care about keeping the peace within the gang if someone really makes you mad. You’re easier to control when Arthur is around as he seems to be the only person who can calm you down.

Now that Arthur is here and taking a break, Micah has been much more confident. There was one day when your daughter had been reading in the gazebo. Micah had gone over to her and tried to flirt with her. It was clear she was creeped out, but being a teenager she didn’t really know how to push him away. Arthur had seen her face though and he’d marched over.

“You leave my daughter alone, you creepy bastard,” he’d growled inches from Micah’s face.

“Relax, big man, I’m just having a friendly word with her.”

“I catch you near her again, I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

Micah wasn’t foolish enough to stick around then, though it did make him chuckle (mostly he did it to try and continue bothering Arthur). However, he’s been continuing to do things like this. You certainly haven’t liked the way he looks at your daughter. Of course he tries to do it when he thinks you can’t see, but certainly when Arthur can.

You’re standing next to Pearson, listening to Hosea talk about the potentials of Saint Dennis. Arthur’s over next to the fire, talking with John. Just as you’re about to go over to him and talk about things, you see your daughter running into camp, tears streaking down her cheeks. She’s sobbing. Arthur stands up and walks briskly over to her.

“Sweetheart, what-” he starts.

“Micah, papa! He… he tried to touch me!” she sobs into his shirt.

His face immediately goes red, so does your vision. “That son of a bitch!” you holler. You’re about to stomp over to the edge of camp where that bastard is. Arthur holds out a hand and stops you, his other arm wrapped tightly around his daughter.

“Let me handle this, darlin’. I ain’t given’ that bastard any more reason to hurt my family.” Normally you’d ignore him and go marching off, but something in his eyes tells you to listen. It’s that look you’ve seen only once or twice, but it’s the look that even made you nervous in the past. It’s the look he reserves for only those who he truly plans to kill.

He holds onto his daughter for a few more seconds, trying to calm her down. Then he gently pries her off of him and guides him over to you. “Stay with your mama, okay? I’m going to take care of things, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of her head and then pats your shoulder. You nod and fold your arms around your girl. That look comes back to Arthur and then he turns away, marching over to where Micah is.

“Come on, honey,” you say to your daughter. You guide her over to the barrel of water near Pearson’s wagon to get her a drink to calm her down. If you weren’t so confident in Arthur’s ability to protect his family, you’d be pulling out your revolver and shooting that asshole right now, but you know you don’t need to.

Arthur’s marching over to where Micah was last seen. As he passes his horse, he spots his repeater. It won’t be needed, not for this. He’d prefer to do it with his bare hands. Micah has been a growing problem that he’s tolerated, but he will not accept that man putting his hands on his little girl.

He reaches the spot his daughter was, but of course no one is there. After looking around, he spots Micah standing near the river on the outskirts of camp. Good, it will make cleaning up his corpse easier.

As Arthur stomps over to him, Micah turns around and gives him a cocky grin. “Morgan, what are y-” He’s interrupted by Arthur’s fist slamming into his face, breaking his nose. As Micah buckles down, clutching his bleeding nose, Arthur grabs his shoulders and thrusts his knee into his gut.

“You put your filthy hands on my daughter!” Arthur roars as he continues to beat Micah to a pulp. Micah tries to fight him off, but he’d been caught off guard by Arthur’s ferocity.

“I didn’t do nothing to your daughter!” he howls as Arthur kicks him. “She’s lying!”

“Bullshit! You been harassing her for days!”

Arthur kicks and punches him a few more times before he straightens up and pulls out his revolver, standing over Micah. The man below him puts up his hands, trying to make Arthur see reason.

“You ain’t gonna kill me, Morgan. You can’t. Dutch would… would never allow it.” He spits blood from his mouth.

“Oh Dutch ain’t got nothin’ to do with this, you creepy bastard. No one touches my daughter and gets away with it.”

Micah tries to chuckle. “Dutch ain’t gonna like you shooting someone in camp.”

Arthur smirks at him and puts his revolver back. “Oh I wasn’t plannin’ on shootin’ ya, Micah. Just wanted to see you squirm. Nah, you ain’t worth wastin’ a bullet on. But don’t mean I ain’t gonna kill ya.”

Arthur kicks Micah again to keep him on the ground, then he kneels onto his chest and wraps his hands around Micah’s throat. Arthur rarely likes watching people die, he hates seeing their blood on his hands. But Micah is different. Micah personally wronged him and his family. He will not tolerate anyone touching the most precious thing in his life.

After a few moments, Micah finally lies still and Arthur releases his grip on him. Arthur stares into his glassy eyes. “That’s for my daughter, you son of a bitch.” He then drags the body into the river, not wanting it to be seen anymore.

As he walks back into camp, massaging his tired fingers, your daughter breaks out of your grasp and runs over to him, burying herself into his chest as his arms wrap around her.

“Papa,” she sniffles into his shirt.

“You’re okay, pumpkin. That bastard ain’t gonna bother you anymore.” He knows, as he holds onto his daughter, that he will have to go and explain things to Dutch. He’ll do that later though. All he wants to do is take care of his child. You can’t help but smile. Arthur doesn’t usually cuddle with you in camp, mostly in thanks to the teasing from other people saying he’s a big softy, but he’s never pulled back from cuddling with his girl. He’s proud to show people how much he loves her. You walk over and wrap your arms around her as well, pinning her between you and Arthur. One of his hands slides over your side, showing you how much he cares about his family.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur as a dad #red dead fanfic #awkward asks

85 notes · View notes

imaginesandinserts · 4 years ago

Text

Irreverent Pt. 39 - Dinner Party

Title: Irreverent Pt. 39 - Dinner Party Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: 5812

Irreverent Series Masterlist

Clyde was handling another assignment so you were working out of Quantico for the time being. You'd learned really quickly that not everyone had a Penelope Garcia at their disposal and you needed to skill up fast. You'd bribed her with concert tickets and a very handsome Elliot Greenberg as her escort in exchange for teaching you the basics.

Elliot worked for the white collar crime unit in New York after the BAU rejection and had recently made the transition to Quantico for sex crimes. The two of you had kept in touch over the years and he'd hit you up when he'd moved back. He'd broken up with his girlfriend back in New York for the job - which really just told you the girlfriend hadn't mattered all that much. Elliot was smart, good looking, and doing well at work but you knew he also had a nerdy streak that Garcia would appreciate.

It was kind of fun being on the other side of a case and watching Penelope in action. You figured it would be easiest to learn on the job so you'd stayed holed up in her office and the two of you worked together with the team on a case. She taught you how to do some of the less complex stuff and you got to flirt with Hotch anytime he called for an update - it was a win-win really.

When they got back, he'd decided to have everyone be home for a week and do reports and consults to coincide with your schedule. No one was really complaining about a week of no travel.

Aaron had gotten home before you as you'd had a late afternoon meeting with McKinney to update him on your progress. When you walk in, you can smell roasted spices wafting from the kitchen. Aaron had always enjoyed foods from other cuisines but with you he'd really embraced cooking it as well, since you'd lived all over and had curated your own recipes over the years. If your nose wasn't mistaken, he was trying his hand at your Chicken Vindaloo recipe.

You walk into the kitchen to see him wearing an apron and manning the stove while Jack sits at the island doing his homework.

"Hi baby." You greet Jack and place a quick kiss to his head before going over to observe Aaron's handiwork - it smelled pretty good and he already had the rice cooker going as well. Jack mumbled a hello and you could tell something was off. You raise an eyebrow at Aaron who mouths "Soccer" to you, peaking a glance backwards at Jack's head bent over his worksheets.

Aaron and you had decided to sign him up for soccer lessons, figuring it was a good age to get him into team sports and be a little more active in a structured setting. Apparently he wasn't taking it too well, though you couldn't fathom why.

You take a quick taste from the spatula that Aaron had been using to stir and add a little pinch of salt to the pan. He throws you a mock glare. "I was getting to it," he mutters, shooing you away.

You leave him to the cooking and go sit at the island by Jack. Grabbing a tangerine from the fruitbowl, you peel it and break off a piece. "Orange for your thoughts?" you ask Jack.

You can see him hesitate but he still reaches out for the small slice, putting his pencil down. "I don't want to do Soccer," he confesses, reaching for another piece. Aaron's back is turned and he appears to be bustling around the kitchen.

"What part of it do you not want to do?" You pop a piece of tangerine into your own mouth as well.

He seems to consider your question as he chews on another piece. "It seems messy and the other kids seem mean."

You and Aaron had taken Jack by the soccer field a couple of weeks ago and you realize he's referring to the mud covered kids all pushing one another. Jack was a sweet and sensitive kid and you could understand how that was maybe a stressful situation for him. But you also wanted him to give it a shot because it would be good to do some team activities - help him make some more friends and be more active.

"It does seem kind of messy," you agree. "But I don't think the other kids will be mean. You're good at making friends and as long as you're nice to them they'll be nice to you."

He thinks over your response and you know you can seal the deal. "If you don't like it after you give it a fair shot, then we can discuss. Is that okay?" Jack was a reasonable kid and you and Aaron tried to give him choices as much as possible.

"Okay, Y/N." Jack nods, grabbing the last piece of tangerine from your palm.

"You know," you lean in a bit to Jack, lowering your voice, "your family has a special history with soccer fields."

"We do?" He quirks an eyebrow at you and he looks so much like Aaron in that moment. The cheeks are all Haley but the expression is completely Aaron.

"Well, you know how your parents met, of course," you confirm with mock seriousness.

Jack smiles and nods. "Pirate #4"

You laugh, ruffling Jack's hair. Aaron had kept his word to Haley and he did his best to make her a part of Jack's life as much as you could. But you had a feeling this wasn't a story Jack knew yet. Jack had been obsessed with all of the Disney movies lately so you know he'd appreciate a good romance story.

"Yes, your parents met during the play. But your dad was quite the young soccer star when he was in high school." You look and see that Aaron is adding the finishing touches to dinner and undoubtedly listening in. Jack has turned fully to face you, bringing his chair a little bit closer to yours.

"Well, your mom started to go watch him practice and go to his games. After a game where your dad scored the winning goal," you pause as Jack hangs on every word, "they were hanging out on the field and your dad finally plucked up the courage and asked your mom to be his girlfriend."

"That's pretty cool, I guess." He smiles, turning to look at his dad. "But not as cool as Buttercup and Wesley. Can we watch The Princess Bride again after dinner?"

You and Aaron laugh as he nods and tells Jack to go get washed up for dinner. The three of you had already watched The Princess Bride a couple of times and Aaron insisted that Inigo Montoya looked exactly like his old boss, Gideon. He'd pulled up pictures to show you, but you just didn't see it. It was probably the longest argument the two of you had had in recent memory.

As Jack leaves, Aaron turns to look at you, his face identical to Jack's from earlier, eyebrow quirked just the same. You know he's wondering how you knew that story about him and Haley because it sure hadn't been from him.

"Jess and I bonded while you were gone," you explained with a small smile. "He should know your love story."

Aaron nods as you get up to get changed for dinner yourself. He adores that you go above and beyond to make sure that Jack feels connected to Haley. Sometimes, though, he worries that you end up minimizing your role in his and Jack's life in the process.

As far as Aaron was concerned, Jack got to be witness to his favorite love story.

*------------*

With the whole team at home base for the coming week, you and Aaron decided to host the long postponed dinner party that you had initially aimed to have as your relationship reveal party. Between the team jumping the gun on you and then all of the work and cases, it had gotten pushed back indefinitely. However, now seemed like the right time to do it. You'd planned it for the end of the week when both Henry and Jack were invited to a birthday sleepover and all of the adults had the next day off.

Emily, Derek, and Penelope were all bringing dates. Rossi was seeing Strauss but knew better than to invite her to a team thing. You still remembered worming that particular secret out of Aaron. You had known something was up when you'd happened to catch his face when Rossi told him. You'd been too far to actually hear what caused that face, so you'd brought it up later. In his defense, he'd valiantly tried to protect Rossi's secret, but you had your ways. When he'd finally given in and told you, you regretted having tried so hard to get it out of him. Rossi and Strauss. Just the thought of it made you shudder.

However, with that large of a group, you decided to get some outside help, though you'd still make dessert. You'd left for lunch to go meet with the caterer, taking Rossi along with you since he'd actually be helpful. Aaron was in some budget meetings through lunch anyways and you'd grabbed him a salad on the way back. You thanked Rossi for joining you and he took Aaron's food up with him as you turned to see Derek and Emily hanging out by her desk.

"Hey, so what'd Hotch mess up?" Derek asks as he sees you.

You're confused for a second as to what he means but then you catch sight of the large bouquet of flowers on your desk. Your heart stops. You recognize that arrangement - the ostentatious roses arranged artfully. You'd forgotten what day it was. After he missed last year, you'd thought he'd forgotten - that he'd moved past it finally. This was the first time they'd arrived at the office. Usually it was sent to your home so you could deal with it in private.

You approach your desk not bothering to look for a note. Quickly, you pick them up and place the bouquet in your trash can, in the hope that no one else would see them. Both Derek and Emily eye you curiously.

You have to make sure your voice will come out steadily before you speak. "They're not from Aaron."

You hope they'll just go back to their conversation as you sit down in your chair, your mind whirling. You'd have to deal with this situation. Him sending them to work was an obvious escalation and to what end, you couldn't be sure.

From the corner of your eye, you see Derek stand from his spot on Emily's desk. He walks towards you with purpose and before you can stop him, he's reached into the trash can and fished out the note.

"Matthew? He's sending you flowers?" His voice is low and he looks troubled, holding the note in his hands and taking a seat on your desk instead. Seemed like him and Emily had decided he'd deal with it, as she was conspicuously missing, leaving just you and Derek in the bullpen.

You sigh internally. It had been too much to hope that they would've just ignored it. "It's our anniversary," you explain, looking around and making sure there wasn't anyone else around. "He didn't take the break up well. Now he sends flowers every year to torture me - though usually he's tactful enough to send them to the house."

Your revelation does nothing to ease Derek's mind. If anything he looks even more worried now than before. "So he's escalating. Trying to get your attention."

"He's not going to actually do anything," you say, trying to sound reassuring. "I can handle it, Derek." You place a hand on his knee closest to you and look firmly up at him. The last thing you needed was for Derek to be all worried and nosey about the situation. Or worse, for him to tell… "Do not tell Aaron."

He looks at you as though you're stupid and you can tell he's going to argue with you, but you really don't want to bother Aaron with this. Not in the one week you guys have at home together. "I mean it, Derek. He has a thousand other things to worry about. My sociopath ex does not need to be one of them."

Derek frowns and you know he's racing through the thousand cases you guys have done on stalker exes and escalation. Luckily for you, Matthew was too lazy to actually stalk anyone. Unluckily, he still found the time to order you flowers to remind you that he'd once been a very large part of your life. You didn't even like roses. With a glance up to Hotch's office, Derek nods, knowing he won't be able to convince you otherwise right now. He drops the note back into the trash can as Emily returns and you all go back to pretending to work.

It's late afternoon when you hear Hotch calling your name from the upstairs landing. "Y/N, can you come up here please?"

You'd gotten very little done, your mind whirling with what to do about the Matthew situation. You just wanted it to be over. You briefly wonder if Aaron wants to talk about the meeting with the caterers or Jack's schedule for the following week when the two of you will both be away. You enter his office, closing the door behind you.

"Hey, what's going on?" You walk in and take a seat on his couch. The blinds facing the bullpen are closed, but the ones facing outside are open, casting a warm glow around the room. Curiously, he hasn't moved back to his desk and is standing in front of you, with a concerned look on his face.

"When were you going to tell me about the Matthew situation?" he asks, placing his left hand on his hip and looking every bit the part of SSA Aaron Hotchner instead of your boyfriend.

You let out a breath. You couldn't believe Derek had told him, after you'd specifically asked him not to. And now he had that furrowed brow and the concerned face and he has a deadline from Strauss on the new budget. This wasn't what he needed right now and you knew it would distract from everything else.

You grit your teeth and stand up, ignoring his voice, and open the door to his office to scan the bullpen until you catch sight of who you're looking for. "Agent Morgan," you call out, "could you please join us up here?"

Derek looks up at you before he quickly walks upstairs and enters Hotch's office. He goes and stands by Hotch while you close the door once again, undoubtedly knowing what this was about. The two of them made quite the image - frowns marring both of their faces though Aaron's was less pronounced. I knew moisturizing was a good call.

Squaring your shoulders, you cross your arms across your chest, facing the two of them. "Figured it was more efficient to just talk to you both together. Save you the trouble of finding each other afterwards," you say, your tone hinting at how annoyed you were. Not that either one of them had the decency to look ashamed. If anything they looked defiant.

Aaron started to speak but you cut him off.

"You two need to realize that I can handle my own problems. If I say Matthew isn't an issue, trust me. If I say I have it handled, believe me that I do."

"No." You expected that, but not from Derek. Maybe from Aaron, but not from Derek.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, no. Not with our jobs. Not knowing what we do. I'll tell Hotch, I'll tell the whole team. The more people on the lookout the better."

"I -"

"Morgan's right. So, let's figure out what to do."

"There's nothing to do. He sent flowers, not a bomb. Leave it alone. If the worst thing he does is send me flowers once a year - well people have dealt with worse. You're both overreacting."

"You expect us to do nothing? What about when he escalates?"

"He won't!"

"You can't possibly know that." His entire demeanor is stiff and tense and he's aggravated with you for not taking this as seriously as he is.

"I was with him for four years, Aaron. Trust me. I know him. He has nothing to gain from an escalation and everything to lose. He's married, he doesn't exactly want me back. He just hates that I dumped him and once a year he remembers that and gets pissed off and drunk and in his own passive aggressive way, chooses to do this. It's not worth any of us wasting a second more of our time on!"

Derek looks like he'd rather be anywhere but standing in the middle of the two of you at that moment.

Aaron breathes out slowly before he speaks, as though if he takes a moment it'll prevent him from shaking you into seeing it his way. "I still would like for the team to be on alert. Just in case." It would appear he'd decided on the reasonable approach.

You groan, but know that's the best you're about to get. At your nod, Aaron and Derek exchange a look before Derek moves to leave the room.

"Hey," you stop him as his hand touches the doorknob. "Next time I ask you to not tell my crazy, overprotective boyfriend something. Just don't."

He grimly shakes his head at you. "No promises."

You narrow your eyes at him. The two of you will be discussing this later.

Turning away from you, he nods at Hotch before opening the door and closing it behind him.

Aaron sighs before sitting down on the couch next to you. "Why wouldn't you just tell me?" he asks, as though he's afraid of the answer.

You know he's genuinely worried about you and grasping at the implication of you not telling him about this. You reach across the couch cushion and grab his hand, squeezing it. His fingers intertwine with yours instantly.

"Aaron, if I thought - for even a second- that this was some sort of actual threat, you'd be the first person I'd tell."

Which was the truth. If there was any chance that Matthew was a threat to Aaron or Jack, you'd have told him immediately. As it stood, however, your ex boyfriend was nothing more than a coward who got off on his little annual psychological warfare.

He nods, his mouth a straight line.

You spend a few more minutes in his office reassuring him properly (How convenient that the blinds were already shut), before leaving him to finish up the rest of his work.

*------------*

Derek watches from the bullpen as you exit Hotch's office, not a hair out of place, though he could imagine that hadn't been the case a minute earlier. He sees your eyes dart around furtively before making a quick phone call. You say barely two words before hanging up.

*------------*

Ricky Costello had the self-assured charm of a boy who had never questioned his place in life. He'd grown up scrawny and had to learn how to fight and stand up for himself. As he'd grown older and filled out some, people knew better than to pick on him or anyone he was friends with. He was loyal, headstrong, and the smartest of the family - which is why his father had pulled some strings and gotten him into a good school where he could learn something and be of some use to the family.

You'd met Ricky in your accounting class when he'd tried to partner with you for a project, thinking you'd do all the work for him. He'd had to rethink that strategy when you'd shown up at his dorm room, pretended to be his girlfriend to get rid of his flavor of the week, and then promised to continue ruining his chances with every gullible freshman unless he did his share of the work. Needless to say, the two of you had the best project in the class.

You arrived at the bar he'd texted you the address to. It was in a quiet street just off central downtown and at six in the evening, there were only commuters headed back home. No one paid much attention to you as you quickly looked around before entering.

The place was mostly empty save for an older couple seated at a table in the corner. You see Ricky seated at the bar and you make your way towards him. Feeling someone approach, he turns around, a grin breaking out on his face when he sees you.

"Hi Doll," he stands and wraps you in a hug that lifts you off the ground and elicits a small squeal of surprise.

"Hi Ricky." Your face lights up at the sight of him. It had been a while.

He indicates to the bartender for another round, before guiding you to a small table at the other corner of the bar. He pulls out a chair for you as the bartender sets down two glasses of scotch.

"Cheers," he says, lifting his glass and clinking it with yours. "To seeing old friends."

"Cheers," you smile, taking a sip, your eyes studying him. He looked older, the beginnings of grey could be seen near his temples. His leather jacket hugged him just right and he'd grown out his usual stubble into a full, well-kept beard. His smile was still very much him - a little cocky and every bit as affectionate as you remembered it.

The two of you drink for a while as he catches you up on all the drama your old group had gone through recently - the weddings, the breakups, the kids. It was odd to have missed out on all of it.

"So, tell me, why'd you really call?" he asks, leaning back in his chair, his hand playing with the rim of his glass.

You take a breath, mimicking his posture. "Matthew is planning on running for Congress."

He takes in your pursed lips and the tenseness of your shoulders. "I heard," he says slowly, deliberately. "Been meaning to pay him a visit. Congratulate him."

"Congratulate him for me too."

The quirk of his lips tells you he knows why you're telling him this. There was no love lost between Matthew and Ricky. If they were in the same room they were bound to get into it. You'd done your best to keep them sequestered in different parts of your life - however some events were inevitably meant for larger groups.

He nods with a soft laugh, before indicating to the bartender for a second round, which is delivered promptly.

"You should come back, Y/N. Give up the straight laced thing. The crew, we miss you, doll." His voice is earnest and for a moment you see the hint of the boy who'd confided all his secrets to you during study sessions that had bled into the early morning hours.

You smile, and your voice catches ever so slightly. "I've met someone - and well, he's pretty much as straight laced as they come."

Ricky laughs at that and you know he's just a little surprised. "What's his name?"

"Aaron." His name feels right at home in your mouth.

"Nice Catholic boy?" His face is one of boyish teasing.

"I always did have a thing for those," you joke. And you know, you know Ricky will take that in the friendly manner that it was meant.

The two of you wrap up and Ricky closes out the tab before walking you back to your car. As you're about to pull out of the parking spot, he leans into your window, placing the lightest of kisses to your cheek.

"Tell your boy Aaron, he's the luckiest guy in the world."

*------------*

You hear the front door open and close as Aaron arrives, having dropped Jack off at the birthday party sleepover he was invited. You'd spent the day making sure you'd made enough tiramisu for all the guests while both Jack and Aaron snuck bites of it when your back was turned.

You've just finished dusting off the final pan with cocoa powder, when you feel Aaron's arms circle your waist from behind. You have to slap his hand away as it makes its way into the dessert. Him and Jack had polished off half a pan that morning and at this rate, you'd have none left for the actual guests.

"You can't eat all of the dessert before the guests get here. At this rate, you're pretty much cut off from it entirely. I don't think I can make it again if you and Jack are going to be like this," you scold, turning and poking at his stomach.

He doesn't have the decency to look even a little embarrassed. He just smiles and shrugs, his arms encircling your waist again. "I'll just have to find something else to eat instead, I guess."

His words send a spike of heat and desire through you. The two of you had been making the most of being home at the same time and every night had ended with him between your legs - one way or another.

Shaking your head, you escape his hold and move to clear the island for the caterers. He was relentless, however.

"You expect to wear this and have me keep my hands to myself?" His voice is a deep rumble behind you as his arms cage you against the island countertop and his mouth finds your pulse point. He's referring to the off shoulder dress you'd changed into while he'd been gone, highlighting your collarbone magnificently. It flared out from the waist, making you look like the epitome of the perfect housewife you had once been destined to become.

"I'd hoped you'd at least wait till the end of the night," you retort. His arms are warm and his chest firm behind you and you really didn't have it in you to push him away again. You were pretty helpless against him.

"I always like to get a head start." You can hear the humor in his voice as he pushes you against the counter a little more firmly, his arms coming from around you to clear the space right in front.

"Aaron." His name escapes you with a soft sigh as he plants warm kisses along your neck down to your exposed shoulders. He sweeps your hair to the front, lips traveling down your spine as his hands move underneath your dress, finding the waistband of your underwear and then slipping inside to find you wet, warm, and waiting for him.

He lets out a groan at the feel of you and can't help but grind himself against you. He knows he's working against the clock and is surprised you've let him get this far.

You let out a sharp gasp as his thumb presses against your clit and he inserts two fingers deep within you. He had the art of getting you to come, down to a near science. He quickly pumps his fingers in and out, his thumb rubbing your clit in repeated circles. With his other hand he brings your head around and captures your lips. The press of his lips against yours is a feeling you'll never tire of you.

You come embarrassingly quick, fluttering around his fingers, your back arched and your ass grinding into his hard length behind you. He turns you around, his mouth hot and needy against yours. When you pull away, his eyes are blown wide and there's a sheen of sweat on his forehead from the exertion of keeping himself from simply plowing into you.

You make quick work of his belt buckle and help him work his jeans and underwear down, eager to have him in you. With one eye on the clock behind you, he hoists you up to the countertop, placing you on the edge, and enters you swiftly, eliciting a loud groan from you.

"Fuck, sweetheart. Always so ready for me. Always tight…wet." His voice is rough and low and makes the coil in your stomach tighter and your breath come out harsher. He moves efficiently, his head tucked into the crook of your neck and his arms working to keep you balanced on the edge.

His breath is warm against your neck, and he's panting and leave wet open kisses to any skin available to him. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he thrusts into you. You're close and you know he is too based on how irregular his movement is becoming.

You remove one hand from his shoulder, pulling on his hair to move his head enough to reach his mouth in a lazy kiss. He groans into your mouth as he comes, drawing your orgasm out right after, causing you to tremble against him.

As you come down, you're entirely slumped against his chest and he's moved you to sit more firmly on the island. You know you look nowhere near as presentable as you did fifteen minutes prior, but you're finding it hard to be too upset about it.

Still, you can't help but be a little bratty about it. "I'm going to have to redo my makeup," you whine against him.

Laughing breathlessly, he picks you up to carry you upstairs. It was a wonder he had the strength to do that right after. You could barely stand up when he deposited you outside the shower.

The two of you work quickly to get cleaned up and Aaron is the one to let the caterers in as you redo your hair and makeup. You fish out another dress - one with sleeves and a higher neckline. You couldn't afford to be pulled into the coat closet with people around.

*------------*

An hour and a half later, the party is in full swing. Emily had brought Henry Eastwood - Senator Williams's Chief of Staff. The two of you had run into him while out shopping a few weeks back and having recognized you, had come up to say hello. You had a feeling that had Emily not been with you, he would've entirely ignored some girl his boss had dated for a few weeks a year or so ago. However, you couldn't deny that they made a handsome couple.

Penelope had brought Elliot - the two of them had really hit it off and you were happy to see her smiling and laughing with someone. You'd given in and allowed Rossi to bring Strauss and you were pleasantly surprised to see her being on her best behavior around Aaron. Derek had brought Savannah and they were talking to JJ and Will.

You walked to the kitchen to open up another bottle of wine and refill everyone's glasses. It seemed Savannah had followed you, empty glass in hand. Laughing, you top off her glass with the almost empty bottle in hand, before opening the next one.

"Thanks for having everyone over," she says, taking a drink from her glass.

"Of course. Aaron and I honestly meant to do this ages ago, but work got away from us."

You have a feeling Savannah wants to talk to you about something else, however, so you don't say much more, trying to give her the chance to speak up.

She looks around a little nervously, but seems to make up her mind. "You're different for Derek, you know. Different from Emily and Penelope. He's very protective of you."

"I'm protective of him too," you respond softly. You know what she means however. You and Derek had gone through the worst thing in the world together and only came out the other end because of one other.

"Savannah, you have nothing to worry about," you reassure her, knowing that's what she really needed at the moment. Her and Derek hadn't had much time together lately and you could understand feeling insecure. "Derek loves you and you're good for him. You challenge him and you're the first girl I've seen him be so head over heels for."

She smiles and you know that helped a bit. "Thanks."

The two of you each grab a bottle and head back to the main living room. As you pour more wine into Dave's glass, you catch Aaron's eye and you feel warmth pooling in your stomach, the promise of a good night ahead of you. You walk around the room and top off everyone, making sure there's enough appetizers still out.

Derek offers to help you carry back the empty platters and follows you into the kitchen. "So, I heard something interesting today," he says, placing the platters on the counter.

You hum, as you grab more of the stuffed mushrooms from the warmer and arrange them on the empty platter.

"Cops responded to a call about a break in in New Hampshire, placed by someone's neighbor," he pauses and he knows you're listening. "When they get there, guy living in the house was obviously beat up, but his wife seemed alright. Just a little shaken up. Funny thing is - dude refused to press charges, even though cops could tell that the house had been broken into."

Your posture has gotten incredibly stiff as he spoke. He knows. You don't say anything, simply look at him apprehensively.

"Tell me," he continues, "what's the Italian mob's going rate to put the fear of God in someone?"

You take a breath, before meeting his eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh yeah, you wouldn't. Probably get the friends and family discount," he trails off, grabbing the platter and walking out of the kitchen.

Crap. He really did know. He knew about Ricky. Which meant he'd probably gotten Penelope involved as well.

Quickly composing yourself, you carry the other platter out, joining him by the appetizer table.

"Derek - "

"Don't worry. Garcia won't say anything."

You look at him, and you know he won't either.

"Thank you."

He nods, popping another mushroom in his mouth and smiling at you. He wouldn't be doubting you again when you said you had something under control.

He wouldn't tell anyone. When Hotch asks him later about the Matthew situation, all he'd say was that it was handled. Hotch would pause, look at him, but then trust Morgan to know that it was really handled.

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch #hotchner x you #hotchner x y/n #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #irreverentseries

106 notes · View notes

sweet-sammy-kisses · 3 years ago

Text

Monsters of Past

For my @badthingshappenbingo prompt take me instead. Fandom: Batman Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, and OC Rating: M Warnings: Past rape/non-con, rape/non-con elements, Tim Drake has bad parents (they are the worst) Lots of protective Jason, Cass and Dick Summary: "That is what I was trying to protect you from Damian." Tim's voice was hollow. "You talk about your birthright as Bruce's blood son, that you want everything you deem yours handed to you on a silver platter without knowing that there is a price you are going to pay. Do you know how many there are who would love to have the Crown Prince of Gotham's blood son in their power? Forced to do whatever they want to seal the deal? They are the monster waiting in the shadows knowing their money and power will protect them. I was trying to protect you, Damian.

"To protect Damian Tim gives himself to a monster of his past. Word Count: 2,901 You can also read it on AO3

"Enough is enough. Today is the day that I take my birthright back from Drake." Damian had waited long enough for his father to dismiss the unwanted one, he had already been removed as Robin as one of them now it was time to remove him from his position as CEO - it was his birthright and that Drake was still in his place filled Damian with rage - and once and for all show Drake he wasn't wanted nor needed and it was time for him to move on, far away from them.

Damian had overheard a conversation between Drake and Tam before Drake discovered and destroyed the bugs Damian had planted in the CEO's office the last time he had been there reminding Drake that he was nothing but a temporary replacement until father took back what was his or passed it onto him as it is his birthright.

Tam had brought up the owner of a company that they needed to work with but the CEO was holding out until Tim agreed to a private meeting with him.

"We can't keep putting this meeting off. The board members are beginning to ask questions as to why you don't want to meet with Aiden Tyler."

"I know. His company is doing some good but Aiden Tyler is an ass."

"Tim!"

"I'm sorry but I have dealt with that man in the past and he is a real scumbag and if we didn't need his product I would tell him to go to hell. Call and see if you can make an appointment with him sometime next week."

Damian knew that was his chance to prove he was worthy to take over now, despite his age.

+******+

Aiden Tyler quickly agreed to meet with Damian and the youngest Wayne couldn't help but preen with pride.

"That will show Drake." He will secure the deal and prove once again how worthless Drake is then maybe they could finally be rid of him.

Dressed in his finest of suits Damian arrived at the five-star restaurant where he walked in and owned the place like the Prince he is. "I am meeting Aiden Tyler, take me to him." He demanded.

The host quickly did as ordered and Damian couldn't help but smirk the man knew not to mess with a Wayne.

Led to a booth in the back a handsome man with deep brown hair with streaks of silver the man was fit for nearing his fifties. Dark eyes met his and Damian refused to shiver as they roamed over him with something in them that made him uncomfortable.

"Mr. Tyler, I am Damian Wayne, I am thankful that you could work me into your schedule." Damian greeted him.

Aiden's lips curled up into a smile, "Please call me Aiden and when it comes to Wayne Enterprise I am always willing to make room. I'm sure that we can work out a partnership that is agreeable to both parties."

There was something about the way the man spoke that reminded Damian of a predator stalking its prey. 'Well, Mister Tyler you will learn that Damian Wayne-Al Ghul is no one's prey.' "I hope that as well."

"Well isn't this nice but if you want to do business with Wayne Enterprise you need to talk to me."

"What are you doing here Drake?" Damian hissed out, he couldn't believe that Drake had the nerve to show up here and ruin his chance to prove to his father he was ready.

Thankful for all the train Bruce had given them Tim was able to hide his feelings behind a cool mask as he was forced to face someone he hoped he would never see again unless it was behind jail bars. "I am doing my job, Damian. Now, why don't you run along and leave this to the grown-ups." Tim ordered not suggested.

Damian bristled much like Alfred the cat and he looked ready to spew his usual vile insults towards Tim but right now he didn't care, he needed Damian far away and somewhere safe.

"If you leave now I will not inform Bruce of you trying to endanger Wayne Enterprise's." Tim held up a hand as Damian went to speak, "As you would know because of your age any agreement you reached with Mister Tyler would not be binding. So in order for this partnership to be legal, it is me that must make the deals. Now head home Damian." Tim ordered.

A low growl escaped Damian he hated to admit that Drake had a point, after all, he was not of age to make any partnership legal which is why he had planned on creating the agreement than bringing his father in to show him he was capable. Now he couldn't for that surely end with his father agreeing with Drake. "This is far from over," Damian warned before storming out.

"Such a shame, I was looking forward to seeing what young Mister Wayne had to offer me." Aiden's voice was like nails on a chalk board and all Tim wanted to do was run far away but it was too late for if he did nothing the man would go after Damian again.

'You can do this Tim. You have faced the likes of the Joker and Ra. You can face him.' Tim repeated to himself as he forced the smile back on his face, "I'm sorry but you will have to settle with me."

Aiden's smile turned wicked, "We both know that I won't be settling for you, Tim. Come sit, let us catch up before we get down to business."

Having little choice Tim slipped into the booth.

Tim could feel the vile beginning to build up in the back of his throat as Aiden's hand slid up his thigh. He did his best not to shudder as unwanted memories flooded his mind.

Moving closer Aiden removed any space between the two of them, "I still hope that you cry as pretty as you use to do." Aiden whispered in Tim's ear. "I am going to have so much fun breaking you all over again. It was so sweet of you to offer to take your little brother's place."

Tim wondered if it was wrong that he wished for an Arkham outbreak at that very moment. "As long as you leave Damian alone you can have me instead."

"Agreed." Never had such a word sent pure terror flowing through Tim's body.

+******+

"Father! I demand that you talk to Drake!" Damian growled as he slammed the door to the manor open.

Bruce could feel a headache building, he wished that his two youngest sons could get along. "What now?"

"I had a meeting with Aiden Tyler, one that Drake has been putting off for a month, since he wasn't in a hurry to seal the deal I took it onto myself to see it through."

Cass appeared out of nowhere, her expression hard, "Did you leave Tim with him?" She shocked everyone with her growl.

Damian blinked at Cassandra, taken back by the rage burning in her eyes. "Yes."

Horror filled Cass' eyes before she was moving. Bouncing to his feet Dick followed after his sister, "Cass, what is going on?"

"Tyler hurt little brother in past and is hurting him now." Was all that Cass offered before she was gone, leaving their very confused family behind.

"Yeah, that doesn't sound too good, someone gets Babs on the line and have her find out everything she can about this Aiden Tyler," Jason suggested. Something was bugging him, he had heard that name before and the fact that it made him want to reach for his guns wasn't a good sign.

Worry shone in Dick's blue eyes, "Do you think Timmy might be in danger?" His and Tim's relationship hadn't been the same since he didn't believe Tim that Bruce was alive and caused him to lose his standing in the hero community, he kept meaning to fix it but he kept pushing it off and now his baby brother might be in trouble and he might turn away his offer of comfort.

"I do," Jason growled out.

+******+

At Alfred's suggestion, they had moved down to the cave to do a background check on Aiden Tyler and discovering that Tyler Holdings had a history of deals with Jack and Janet Drake made Jason even more on edge.

He stepped over the edge when Cass returned a protective and murderous aura pouring off of her and a long line of hickies on Tim's neck arrived. Cass was curled around Tim, looking like a mama bear ready to take down anyone who proved a threat to her cub, her sharp glare had everyone on edge.

A gasp of horror escaped Dick, "Timmy."

Jason knew what those marks meant, he had worn his own when he was living on the streets.

Bruce looked like he was going to be sick, his parents and then Alfred had shielded him from the lengths some would go to get more money.

Though Damian had been raised as an Al Ghul his mother had made sure he would never have to lower himself to serve others so he had no clue as to what powder keg he was about to set off. "What is the meaning of this Drake? You were supposed to be sealing a deal not lowering yourself to be a common whore." Damian snarled at Tim.

"Damian! Enough!"

Shock filled Damian's face as he found himself taking a step back at the anger in Dick's voice, his Batman had never spoken to him like that and he didn't know why Richard chose know to speak up. "Why are you defending him now Richard? I am only speaking the truth as I have before, Drake has proven himself to be nothing but a whore unfit to wear the Wayne name."

"I'm only the whore to spare you from becoming one." Tim's voice was soft but it echoed through the cave.

Damian could only blink at Drake before scoffing at him, "I would never lower myself as something so disgraceful. You make no sense."

The fire burned in Tim's dull eyes, "There was a reason that I kept putting off meeting with Tyler. I was waiting until I was sure that Bruce, Dick or Jason could be there with me. The bastard wouldn't try anything with one of them there. He just likes them young and pretty."

"What are you saying, Timmy?" Dick didn't know if he wanted to know the answer.

"You think that this is the first time that I had to give myself over for a business deal?" The laugh that escaped Tim was bitter. "I have been doing this for years. I was a prize that my parents dangled before anyone they could. Now that I am CEO of Wayne Enterprise I am an even bigger prize."

Jason's eyes were glowing green as he realized what his baby bird was saying.

Dick looked like he was going to murder someone.

Bruce looked horrified.

And Damian... Damian looked baffled.

"That is what I was trying to protect you from Damian." Tim's voice was hollow. "You talk about your birthright as Bruce's blood son, that you want everything you deem yours handed to you on a silver platter without knowing that there is a price you are going to pay. Do you know how many there are who would love to have the Crown Prince of Gotham's blood son in their power? Forced to do whatever they want to seal the deal? They are the monster waiting in the shadows knowing their money and power will protect them. I was trying to protect you, Damian."

To no one's surprise, Jason took a protective stance in front of Tim, there were few things he hated more than child rapist, the main one being the Joker, and to hear that his little brother had been forced to entertain monsters like that had him tasting the pit in the back of his mouth and he wanted nothing more than to hunt all those bastards down but that would come later right now all that matters is Tim. "Cass, take Tim upstairs and call those friends of his. He needs to be with people who will love and support him."

It was telling how awful that Tim was feeling as he didn't put up any protest as he allowed Cass to lead him out of the cave, he stopped only once to look at Damian, "You might not believe this but I do love you Damian and there was no way that I was going to let my little brother be forced to do something like that, not if I could protect him in ways that no one protected me."

Bruce collapsed into the chair as he buried his face in his hands. Dick would have offered him comfort but his legs gave out beneath him.

A dangerous growl escaped Jason as he flew a fist at the punching bag, he didn't care what Bruce said tonight he was going hunting.

"I didn't know." A shaken Damian whispered, he thought that Drake hated him just like he hates him but to know what Drake protected him from made his world spin. His mother had drilled into him that Timothy Drake was his enemy and the only way to take his place in his father's family was to get rid of him. "This makes no sense. Why would Drake do that for me?"

"Because you are his little brother and he was trying to keep you safe," Dick answered him with a sad smile on his face. Tim had protected Damian but they failed in keeping him safe. "There has to be a way to fix this." Dick just didn't know how to start.

A strong hand landed on his shoulder lifting his head Dick found himself staring into Bruce's grim face, "We messed up B."

"I know." Bruce felt guilt building up in him, he is Tim's father it is his duty to keep him safe. "All we can do is be there for him. Jason is right though Tim needs his friends here. We need to show him that we love him and are here for him."

No one noticed when Jason slipped away from them he had a monster to hunt.

+*****+

Kitchen

Jason stalked towards the door with purpose in his step.

"Master Jason."

Halting in mid-step Jason clenched his fists at his sides, "I cherish you Alfred but not even you can stop me from doing this." Jason warned.

"I don't intend to Master Jason," That had Jason whirling around to look at Alfred, the man looked calm but Jason could see the storm brewing in his eyes, "I would just like to inform you that Aiden Tyler will be attending a party tonight and from his habits, he will not arrive at home until around 2 am, which at such time the Sirens have promised to keep the rest of the Bats busy," Alfred informed Jason. No one hurt one of his grandchildren.

A wicked grin appeared on Jason's face, "This is why you are the best Alfred."

"Indeed. Now I need to prepare snacks for Master Tim's guests. Do be sure to return tonight and I shall have your favourite cookies waiting for you." Alfred gave Jason a soft smile.

"You rule Alfred." Jason would come back for Alfred and look after Tim.

+*****+

With Tim curled up in a puppy pile with Bart, Connor, Cassie and Cass watching Star Wars. The Sirens leading Batman, Nightwing and Robin on a chase throughout Gotham the Red Hood was free to deal with business.

Aiden was riding a high he had sealed a deal with Wayne Enterprise that was sure to make him an even wealthier man and his favourite toy returned to him. Nothing could bring him down.

That was until he felt the cold metal of the barrel of the gun pressed against his forehead. A red helmet followed and Aiden felt a sense of fear.

The Red Hood was in his home.

"Whoever sent you I am sure that I can pay you double what they offered you."

"I am a Crime Lord I don't need your money and no one sent me. See I have issues with people like you who target children and think because you have the money and power that you are above the law. But you aren't above me. I am here to ensure that no other child is gifted to you."

Aiden had been so focused on the gun at his head he never noticed the second one aimed at his groin until it was too late.

Beneath his helmet, Jason grinned as Aiden screamed in pain on the floor, blood pooling around him.

+*****+

"Is he dealt with?" Dick asked.

Jason grinned at his older brother, "He will never hurt baby bird again."

While Dick wished he had been the one to deal with that bastard he needed to keep Bruce busy, still that didn't mean he wouldn't ruin him in other ways. Someone had sent Clark a copy of everything Babs had dug up on Aiden. He would see that monster ruined, without money and his power stripped from him, until he was as helpless as he made Tim feel.

#badthingshappenbingo #sherri writes #my fics #tim drake #dark elements #cw: noncon/rape elements #batfamily #jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #cassandra cain #damian wayne #dark fic #protective jason #protective dick #protective cass

19 notes · View notes

nooneelsecomesclose17 · 4 years ago

Text

Robron week - Day 6

“I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to you, Dad.”

It had all happened so quickly. One minute they were welcoming Seb home from university and the next he and Robert were in the back of an ambulance and he felt like his whole world was falling apart.

Seb hadn’t even waited until they were sitting down to the welcome home lunch they’d worked on all morning before he’d dropped his bombshell. He was dropping out and taking himself off travelling. Aaron had wanted to sit and discuss it quietly having convinced Sara to go and visit her Grandma for a while, but Robert was having none of it.

The little boy that had clung to his Daddy on his first day of school refusing to let him go had changed into what his Mum would've said was a typical teenager, even at the age of twenty one, and he and Robert had been butting heads for years with Aaron stuck in the middle.

Predictably the pair of them had got into a massive fight, standing toe to toe in the living room, shouting over each other and getting nowhere until Robert had gone quiet as soon as the words left Seb’s mouth. Before Aaron could say anything he was having trouble catching his breath and complaining of pain. Now they were in a hospital room.

“Is Seb here?” Robert asks him, still sounding pretty stunned, but a lot better than he had a couple of hours ago.

“He’s in the waiting room with Sara. I'm going to call Ana in a bit.”

"There's no need, I'm fine."

“They’re our children and you just had a heart attack.” Robert huffs out a breath and groans.

“A mild heart attack.”

“A heart attack is a heart attack in my book. You heard what the doctor said, you’ve been stressing yourselves out for weeks and blowing your top at Seb certainly didn’t help.”

“He’s dropping out!”

“So what? Would you rather he was miserable? Whatever happened to them following their heart like you used to tell them?"

“Being a doctor is all he’s talked about for years.”

“Well maybe he’s realised it's not for him…I don’t know but you’re not going to find out by going toe to toe with him over it. If the two of you ever just talked to each other rather than everything turning into a slanging match then maybe you’d know that.”

“So it’s my fault?” Aaron's not looking but he can practically hear the pout.

“That’s another thing you could try and get better at, actually listening to what people are saying.”

“Very funny. Will you go and talk to him.”

“I’d rather stay with you.”

“I’m fine. Aaron…you heard what he said.” Aaron knew. As soon as the words left Seb’s lips he knew what Robert would be thinking. “Please. I can’t have him thinking he…make him understand.”

“Ok, ok. Just calm down or I’m going nowhere. I mean it, I can’t be worrying about you and talking to Seb, Robert.”

“Send Sara in then. You know she won’t let me get away with anything.” Aaron snorts, their younger daughter had acquired a bossy streak from somewhere which most of the time was a complete pain, but right now it could be just the thing he needed to keep Robert under control. “I’ll behave, I promise.”

“Good. I don’t want you going anywhere just yet, you hear me?”

“Mild, Aaron. A mild heart attack.”

“Still a heart attack.” He fires back, hand on the door handle. "Behave."

He takes a few moments to himself before going to find Seb, he can't remember the last time he was as scared as he'd been ringing the ambulance, seeing Robert look so pale.

He finds Seb in the waiting room, head in hands, Sara next to him flicking through a magazine but Aaron's sure she's not seeing any of it, unless she'd acquired a sudden interest in gardening techniques since she'd arrived.

"Sara, would you go and sit with your Dad sweetheart, while I have a chat with your brother. He's ok, but make sure he's not knotting his sheets together to escape or 'owt will ya." He squeezes her shoulder as she passes and looks back at his son. "Seb. Sebastian, let's take a walk."

"He's really ok?" Seb asks him when they step out into the sunshine. Aaron leads him to the hospital garden, that he'd found years back when Ana was born and he was here all alone, needing a break.

"He'll be fine mate. As long as he takes things easy."

"I'm sorry Dad. I didn't mean to make him ill." He sounds like the little boy who used to come into their room complaining of nightmares, not the confident young man he'd grown into.

"Hey, you didn't. Your Dad's been stressing for weeks about stuff and besides he got himself all worked up, that's all."

"ls...is he really mad?"

"No, not in the slightest."

"But..."

"He's not mad. He's worried that you think you're a disappointment to him."

"I...I'm not?" Aaron hates how small his voice is, like all his confidence has just melted away. He's always known he's a mini Robert, but sometimes it's still hits him and this is one of those times because this is Robert all over.

"Not one bit. If you want to go off and travel for years then do it, but can I suggest that if you tell your parents something that momentous you maybe prepare the ground a little and perhaps don't be quite so defensive when we ask you if you're sure."

"But it means I'm giving up everything you wanted. for me. A good job and that."

"Seb, me and your Dad wouldn't care if you were collecting trollies at Tesco. The only thing we care about is that you're happy, and now I think about it, you haven't been have you?" It hadn't really occurred to him until now but in their weekly chats Seb's sounded different, less like himself. He'd put it down to studying hard but now he knew better.

"I hate it, and I'm really not very good at it."

"Oh mate, you should've told us."

"Didn't want to disappoint you."

"Not possible. Dad and I would never want you to be miserable just to please us. Especially him, that's the very last thing he'd want. What made you think he would?"

"He's just... he was on my back so much when I was at school, making sure I had good grades, and always asking me how it was going and that. S'pose I thought I had to be the best."

"That's his way of showing an interest. He'd started watching medical documentaries on telly so that he could try and understand the stuff you talk about, which didn't really go well judging by the shade of green he'd turn."

"Dad!" He's pleased to finally get a laugh out of him.

"What? It's true! Listen Seb, your Dad just wants you to do what you want, what makes you happy. I know he gets a bit...well Dad but thats only because...If I tell you something I don't want you to tell your sisters ok?"

"Why?"

"That word is no less annoying now than it was when you were four and wanted to know what was holding up the sky,"

"Stop it!"

"Your Grandad Jack..."

"What about him?" They only knew him as Grandad, a good man and Aaron didn't want to ruin it, after all he'd been the only Grandad they'd known, even if it was only in a photograph, after he'd fallen out with his Mum and Paddy. He can remember Robert insisting they knew who he was even though Aaron and Sarah would've preferred the man be consigned to history.

"He and your Dad they didn't always get on. When he was little, your Dad wanted to do something with computers. he didn't want to work on the farm, like your Grandad expected...and well, instead of supporting him like you should he just got angry." He's not telling him everything. there was no need and Robert was adamant they would never know. "That and some other stuff that I'm not going into left your Dad feeling like he wasn't good enough, that he was a disappointment and he spent years trying to make up for it." Aaron sees the moment the lightbulb comes on.

"Oh."

"That's why what you said, and I know you didn't mean it, but yeah it hurt him. Your Dad he's so protective of the three of you and he's never wanted you to know this stuff but I think you're old enough now to know that not everyone is as perfect as they seem."

"So why can't I tell Ana and Sara?"

"Because it's not your place. It's up to your Dad. I only told you because he was so worried you were feeling like he did as a teenager. Besides, you're not grown ups to us, you're still our babies."

"Ugh, you're so annoying!"

"Yup. Come on, let's go and see your Dad. I expect he's driving your sister mad by now."

"I can't believe you thought she'd keep him calm. She's so bossy."

"Yeah yeah. Do I have to remind you who said she wasn't allowed your toys when she wasn't even a day old?"

"That's just common sense Dad. Ana had already destroyed everything I owned."

"Just a bit of an exaggeration. I found your giraffe the other day you know. I was clearing out the attic and there he was."

"I thought I'd lost him. You didn't throw him out did you?"

"I wouldn't dare. Your Dad would kill me for a start. You know he bought that for you. It was your favourite for years. You were a right menace if we forgot it any time."

"Still a menace though aren't I?"

"You're a Sugden-Dingle mate, that was a given." He opens the door to let Seb through. "Seb, maybe we don't say it enough but we're very proud of you, both of us."

"Alright, don't start gettin' mushy on me."

When they get to Robert's room he's sitting in the chair by his bed and Aaron looks at Sara who holds up her hands. "Don't look at me. The nurse said it was ok as long as he didn't get wound up."

"Well you were the wrong one to sit with him then squirt." Seb jokes, pushing her shoulder, yelping when she punches back.

"Exactly how old are you two? Sara, go ring your sister and tell her your Dad's ok and not to rush over."

"Why can't you?"

"Because I'm the Dad." He sighs as Robert glares at him, telling him to leave them to it. "Fine, come on, I'll do it."

He takes one last look at them, Robert looking more like his old self, and Seb standing to one side looking anywhere but at his father. He hears Robert tell him to come closer and Seb's in his arms before he can finish. Robert catches his eye and nods.

They'd be fine.

#robron week #rw2021 #i don't know what this is #i thought this would be the easiest day #but it was a real struggle

23 notes · View notes

deathsteel · 4 years ago

Text

30 day fanfic challenge

Prompt 28 - Honesty

Looking back, Dean was amazed by all the little lies he used to tell himself to make it through the day. All the damned, asinine justifications for looking too long or standing too close.

Every guy did it.

He was just looking for aesthetic reasons.

That bodybuilding magazine was for BOTH of them to read, Sam.

He’d just been going through a dry spell and that’s why that had happened, okay?

Get defensive. Be desperately confused and so scared that someone would question him. Deflect. Deflect. DEFLECT.

And yea, there had been times when he’d almost told Sam or Bobby. Times when their looks they had given him or exchanged between themselves had been just a little too knowing or concerned, but there of course had never been time. There’d always been a world to save or a baddie to stop.

But then there had been Cas.

An angel who’d looked through every molecule of who Dean was and didn’t judge him for lying because he could see the fear that hid behind it. A man who was so brave and strong and frustratingly beautiful that Dean could’ve almost pulled his own hair out from the sheer amount of restraint he had to have when he was around the other man.

Honesty had always felt like a luxury to Dean who had spent his life stealing identities and grifting and lying through his teeth just to stay alive. But in the one moment it mattered most, it felt like the easiest thing in the world to give away.

“Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you. I cared about Sam. I cared about Jack. I cared about the whole world because of you. You changed me, Dean.”

Even crying he was the most beautiful thing in the world to Dean who’s heart was seizing in fear.

"Why does this sound like a goodbye?" Dean asked, swallowing back his own tears as they threatened to spill. He chanced a glance behind him to see the wall peeling back to reveal the inky blackness of the Shadow.

"Because it is.” Castiel replied, smiling almost apologetically. “I love you."

Dean felt the hand on his bicep and knew in his gut what his stupid, selfless angel was going to do before it even happened. So he reached out and gripped his hand in the front of the other man’s shirt, pulling him closer than they’d probably ever come before.

“You fucking bastard,” Dean ground out, his eyes darting up as Billie kicked the door in behind the angel’s back and the wall behind him spilled open to fully reveal the Shadow come to collect on Castiel. “We’re talking about this some more later.”

Pulling Cas with him, Dean dove to the side as the Shadow burst from the wall like the tentacles of some grasping kraken to grope blindly in the spot where they had just been standing.

“Get them!” Billie barked, taking a step towards where the hunter and angel had fallen in a tangled sprawl on the floor near the far wall of the room.

Dean held his breath and tightened his grip on Cas who was struggling to break out of the hunter’s hold and sacrifice himself like the moron that he was. But he still saw the precise second that the Shadow seemed to decide who the common enemy in the room was and shot out to wrap its slithering tendrils around the reaper who screamed in frustration and anger.

“No! It's him!” Billie screamed, clawing at the tendrils around her waist with one hand as she pointed at the angel with the other. “He’s the one who disturbed your rest! He’s the cause of all of this!”

“Yes, but you lied to me,” the Shadow intoned from somewhere within the depths of its shapeless void of a form. “You made it LOUD.”

The Shadow shook Billie in its grasp a bit before it abruptly withdrew her into its maw that had formed in the wall of the bunker.

“You, angel,” the void echoed as it started to fold in on itself. “Keep that loud nephilim away from me and our deal is even.”

Underneath Dean, Castiel just nodded dumbly; tears from his confession still streaking his face.

“Sure thing, Mr. Shadow Empty, sir,” Dean answered aloud for posterity, his voice only shook a bit.

A acknowledging hum filled the room and then faded as the blackness of the Shadow folded in on itself and disappeared.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Dean muttered, dropping his head down onto Castiel’s chest and letting the tension in his body uncoil as he willed his heart rate to slow.

“Middle names actually were not popularized until the late 17th century,” Cas’s deep voice said shakily underneath Dean. “But I believe his mother did call him ‘Jes’ for short.”

For some reason Dean found that exceedingly funny and once he started laughing he just couldn’t bring himself to stop. Not until tears were dripping from his nose and staining the other man’s eternally white dress shirt.

He felt a hand cautiously patting the back of his head as he worked to compose himself. “Yes, it is amusing I suppose.”

“You idiot,” Dean whispered, finally pushing himself up so he was propped up on his elbows, face to face with the angel. “I can’t believe you would do something like that.”

“I just wanted to protect you,” Castiel explained remorsefully.

“No,” Dean said quickly. “I expected you to try to be a martyr. I meant the other thing.”

“Oh,” the angel said, swallowing as his cerulean eyes darted over Dean’s face. “It seemed fitting to be honest if those were going to be my last moments.”

“Yea,” Dean acquiesced, licking his lips as he took in the nervous expression on the other man’s face and decided it was time for some honesty of his own. “I feel the same though. Everything you said. I feel that way too.”

“Everything?” Cas asked hopefully.

“I love you,” Dean blurted, his heart picking up speed again as he said it.

The silence from the other man made Dean feel exposed in the worst possible way. In all the ways he’d always feared he’d feel when he’d told all those sweet, little lies to cover up his biggest truth.

But then, a smile. Small and tentative at first before it grew into the blinding brightness that Dean had always coveted and cherished and hoped to inspire. He still felt exposed, but now it was like curtains being opened in a darkened room after too long of being in the dark instead of a wound being abruptly uncovered.

“I know,” the angel said around his smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with merriment as Dean made an affronted squawk.

“You did not just Solo me!”

The laughter that earned Dean could only be met with one reply, a kiss.

It felt like a homecoming. Like years of wanting and hiding and wishing finally fulfilled. It felt like a truth being spoken that absolved someone of all their sins. It wasn’t perfect since they were both still running on adrenaline and disbelief and both of their faces were still teary, but that was okay.

It felt like the most honest moment of Dean Winchester’s life.

#30 day fanfic challenge #fic writing #spn fanfic #destiel fanfic #15x18 fixit #honesty #spn

20 notes · View notes