#acting like he's out to dinner with his boss & spouse | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

scuttling · 3 years ago

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Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

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bitter-post-millennial · 7 months ago

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So im gonna go through this point by point:

1. I agree with you on the first paragraph whole heartedly. Disregarding Viserys’ very public want for a son- Rhaenyra’s grown up in a pretty stable household by Westerosi standards. Shes loved by both her parents (side eyeing Viserys hard in the first episode), she’s got a best friend (fruity as fuck) that she spends her days with, she’s got a sick dragon that she rides, all things considered a pretty good kid.

2. She made the love marriage to daemon after faking her first husband- Laenors- death so they could be married. Their grand plan is to do this not long after Laena’s death. So with both their children dead, the Velaryons are distraught and grieving. So what do the widows of their children do? They get married not even a month or so after. These are the people who were supposed to be dedicated to their children and they spit in both corlys and Rhaenys’ faces by getting married so soon. This is not a good look to say the least.

3. I would not call Jace and Luke respectful of others. Not when they bullied Aemond. You’re gonna make the argument that they were just children but what the fuck was that at the last dinner where lucerys laughed at the pig placed in front of aemond. That doesn’t seem kind or respectful at all.

4. If we’re going by the series, which I assume we are based on your Aegon comments, we have no reason to believe that she’s making dragonstone prosper. We hear literally nothing about that. Sure you can assume that but at the end of the day, Viserys always pushed her out of the important decisions. He shut her down at every turn when she spoke up when she was cup bearer in the small council. She doesn’t have a lot of training. Granted, I’m not saying that Aegon has any, but don’t pretend that Rhaenyra is completely well rounded in this regard.

5. I’d say knows and respects are pushing it. Also who are you considering family. Are you including Valyrian descendants or are you also including their spouses. Defining this makes or breaks your point.

6. Your next point is also completely correct. Aegons only merit is that he’s the first boy. But he’s not the eldest child. Rhaenyra is.

7. In the book Aegon isn’t a rapist. Is he an unsavory individual, yes. Is he an asshole? Yes. Is he a drunk who likes to fornicate in the wee hours of the morning in flea bottom, potentially catching and giving an inordinate amount of STDs to the surrounding population? Yes. My point is that there’s a lot of other things to choose from if you want to hate Aegon, why go for the one that’s only in the show?

8. His wife is also his younger sister that he made no secret of opposing as a match. Helaena’a his little sister and has to get drunk every time they have sex because he can’t stomach it. Also, let’s not act like Aegon’s cheating is the only instance of it. Rhaenyra has three bastard children that she got by cheating on Laenor Velaryon with Harwin strong. Not only that but Laenor also cheated on Rhaenyra with ser Qarl. This is not the place to demonize cheating.

9. Again, if we’re going by the show, ALICENT WAS 15!!! SHE DIDNT MANIPULATE SHIT AT THAT AGE. She was a child being manipulated by her father. Viserys was the adult, he could’ve sent her on her way.

10.this is the part where I see that you’re nuts and you haven’t been watching the show. Helaena is shown to be a dragon dreamer. If you want to double check, read fire and blood. She says “Aemond will have to close an eye if he wants to get a dragon” and then he gets his eye gouged out and rides vhaegar. Please don’t be obtuse,

All in all you do have some good points but they’re ruined by the sincere lack of consideration of why team green exists. This is not the girl boss story you want it to be. If you want that, I don’t think you should be consuming any of GRRMs material,

You have to choose ? It's true that the choice is really difficult.

On the one hand we have the king's eldest daughter with two parents of Targaryen blood. Her father appointed her his heir before the Seven Kingdoms and her mother was a true Queen who inspired respect and love. There was no doubt that she loved her daughter more than anything.

An heir who made a love marriage to a Prince Targaryen, who is the most feared man in Westeros and probably Essos. After so much suffering they are finally reunited and are in love with each other.Both are dragon riders.

They have children who are educated and respectful of others, whom they truly love. A true loving family.

An heir with a proven track record in managing and making Dragonstone prosper.

Every member of their family knows and respects the traditions of the Taragaryen line.

On the other hand, we have the king's second child, whose only claim to the throne is that he is a boy.

Who is a serial rapist, who abuses his power over the weak, who takes pleasure in watching starving children fight each other like animals.

Who cheats on his wife, who has several bastards he doesn't even care for, abandoning them in the Street of Silk.

Who has a mother who uses him as a pawn to steal a throne to which the Hightowers have no right.

A mother who manipulated a grieving man into crawling into bed with her on her father's orders. And we all know what that kind of woman is called. Who hides behind a virtue she doesn't possess and takes the liberty of judging others, she's the worst hypocrite there is.

Her children are only there to serve her thirst for power (three psychopathic sons and a daughter who has nothing exceptional and no, she never had the gift of being a dreamer - you've got to stop with all this nonsense!).

A woman who's bitter about her life and all the bad decisions she's made. A woman who is jealous of Rhaenyra's marital and maternal happiness.

Who, even though she's an adult, is still under the control of her pimp father.

So yes the choice is definitely a difficult one.

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years ago

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If I Fell For You (Part 2) - Baseball Caps & Stroller Naps

Summary: The reader gets into the swing of things around the Ackles household and starts having more one on one time with Jensen. He even offers to set her up with a friend of his. When he invites her to a family outing as a friend though, she gets another glimpse that he might not be as put together as he appears...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Square: Daddy!Jensen

Word Count: 5,900ish

Warnings: language, mention of death of a spouse/death of a parent

A/N: Things are starting to happen! This was also written for @supernatural-jackles Tell Me A Story Bingo!

________

“Good morning,” you said the next day as Jensen walked into the kitchen covered in sweaty workout clothes.

“Morning,” he said, going to the fridge to grab a drink. “Get the kids to school okay?”

“Yup,” you said, Jensen sniffing the air and humming as he walked over to where a loaf of banana bread was cooling in the rack. “Ah, it’s still too hot. Wait another half hour.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “It smells amazing by the way. I don’t think anything’s been baked in this house in six months.”

“I’ve always enjoyed it,” you said, Jensen taking a seat on top of the counter. He chugged down the cold bottle of water, some of it dripping down the corners of his mouth. “Enjoy sleeping in today?”

“You don’t know the half of it. I feel amazing.”

“You look rested for the first time since I’ve met you,” you said. “You should sleep in on the weekends more too. The kids don’t need to be up at dawn.”

“No, they don’t,” he said. “I do love sleep too. You do okay with getting the three of them going on your own today?”

“Yeah. JJ’s old enough to get herself dressed and make her bed and do a few things on her own. The twins are a balancing act but the trick is to give yourself double the amount of time you think you need and you’ll never be late.”

“Not a bad tip,” he said as you finished wiping off a glass and picked up a pad and pen. “Whatcha working on?”

“Ideas for crafts and that sort of thing. You guys have a lot of supplies already so I was thinking of some ideas to do this week,” you said.

“You know...you can stick them in front of a TV too. They have their shows they like. We aren’t big on tracking screen time,” he said. “As long as they play and do some kind of creative thing everyday they can watch TV for a few hours in a row if they want. Our parents didn’t worry about that shit when we were kids, you know?”

“No, they didn’t do that,” you said. He lifted up the bottom of his muscle tank and wiped off his face, your eyes going straight down to the pad so you wouldn’t risk staring. “Any work scheduled for today?”

“I gotta wash up, head to the brewery for a few to check on things. I have some voice acting work I’m doing right now so I go to a place downtown and record that. That’ll be my afternoon. I can handle making dinner tonight. I should be back around four thirty, maybe a hair after,” he said.

“Alright,” you said. “Anything you need at the store today?”

“Nah, we got plenty here,” he said. He wiped off his face with his shirt again, using his collar this time. You handed him a dish towel and he smiled, rubbing it over his neck and head. “Sorry. I’m dripping aren’t I.”

“A little. Do you work out a lot?” you asked.

“No more than the average person. Try to do thirty minutes in the morning most days of the week. It’s sort of been my only alone time lately,” he said.

“Are you a runner?”

“God no. I’m not built for that. I like boxing and HIIT, weights, that sort of stuff. Part of my job is to look a certain way so if I’m gonna be the tough guy…”

“You gotta look like a tough guy?” you asked. He smiled and you looked him up and down. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re a strong guy, that’s pretty obvious. But you’re not a tough guy.”

“Oh I’m not?” he asked but there was a lightness to his voice.

“Tough guys tend to be assholes. You’re too nice for that,” you said.

“I suppose you have a point,” he said, sliding off the counter. He stepped over to the banana bread and picked up the knife nearby, slicing off a piece for himself and popping it in his mouth. “Hot. Hot.”

“I told you so,” you said with a small laugh.

“Tastes delicious though,” he said with his mouth full. You shook your head as he ate another piece and turned to go upstairs.

“Jensen,” you said, pointing at the sweaty dish towel.

“Ugh, yes mom,” he said, swiping it away with a smile.

“Thank you,” you said, tapping on your notepad. You felt his presence beside you, not to mention the smell, and turned your head up, Jensen smiling back. “Yes?”

“Aren’t you due for a break?” he asked.

“You don’t really get how this nanny thing works yet, do you.”

“Yeah well...I’m not a shitty boss so I guess you’ll have to get used to that too. Take a break Y/N. Have some coffee on the balcony. It’s a sunny January day. Enjoy it,” he said. You rolled your eyes and he pointed at the back door before he headed upstairs. You bit your bottom lip and glanced at the clock. You had been going for over three hours non-stop and one of those had been spent trying to convince a four year old he had to wear pants to daycare.

You turned to leave the kitchen when you heard a tsk. You jumped and slipped on the rug in front of the sink, falling backwards straight down to the hardwood floor.

“Sorry! Sorry!” he said as he rushed over. “I’m always tripping over that thing.”

“I’m fine,” you said as you sat up with his help. Your ass hurt but you knew you’d be alright. “Maybe we move the rug from the very trippable area?”

He swallowed and stared at you for a long moment before you smiled.

“How about we put it outside your office?” you asked softly. He nodded and you picked up one end of the long strip of fabric. He went to the other end and picked it up, backing up as you walked it over to the other side of the house. You laid it out in front of his closed door, smiling as you straightened it up. “There we go. Safe and sound.”

You headed back to the kitchen, Jensen lingering behind you.

“I was...gonna say you can make...you can use my coffee machine,” he said quietly.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “Jensen.”

“Hm?”

“Stuff is stuff. This isn’t a museum. It’s a home. It’s gonna change over time.”

“I know. It’s just that rug...it is so damn ugly and I hate it,” he said with a smile. “I wanted to get rid of it the day she brought it home.”

“Wives have a way of getting the last word in,” you said. He chuckled and you got out a mug for yourself. “Tell me to shove it if this is too personal but are you sure you want to get back out into the dating world? It’s rough out there.”

“It is. Until it isn’t,” he said.

“You’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you.”

“Guilty as charged.” He rubbed the back of his neck and his cheeks flushed for a brief moment.

“Women like hopeless romantics,” you said. “Just don’t get taken advantage of for that. There’s some not so nice women out there too.”

“Afraid I’ll fall for some ditz?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think you’d do that. But someone might hurt you and you’ve been through enough. Maybe just...don’t fall in love at first sight or something like that,” you said. “Alright?”

“Never was much good at that,” he said to himself while you grabbed your coffee mug. “You believe in that sort of thing?”

“I’d like to. But you’re more of the expert on falling in love than I am,” you said.

“Maybe it’s not first sight but within a few days, a week, yeah I knew I was in love,” he said.

“Well if that happens again let me know and I’ll make sure this chick is good for you,” you said.

“I didn’t know my nanny came with bodyguard services,” he chuckled.

“That was under special skills on my resume,” you said as you headed over to the door to the balcony. “You should wash up. Don’t want to be late.”

“No I better not be,” he said. He turned to head upstairs, pausing on the first step. “You know, no one’s an expert at falling in love. Even those of us who were once married.”

“Oh don’t be a hopeless romantic for me getting my shit together too. We’ll be here for years,” you laughed.

“Just sayin’...maybe we’ll both find somebody. Not that we need anyone to be happy but...you know what I mean,” he said.

“Men don’t really talk about love like that you know.”

“I do,” he said. You smiled and he returned it.

“That’s why all the good men get taken early, the ones that talk like that,” you said.

“I was older than you when I got married. Maybe I’ll get married again someday. We’re out there. I promise.”

“Go shower,” you said, waving him off. You slipped outside, closing the door behind you. You leaned over the railing with your mug and let out a sigh. “You have to a be a fucking hopeless romantic too don’t you. Fucking perfect at everything.”

You lowered your head and took a deep breath.

“It’s a crush, it’s a crush,” you said, closing your eyes. “Just a crush. He’s your boss and a widow and he bought a birthday cake for me.”

You opened your eyes and glanced into the mug, taking another deep breath.

“He’s just nice. That’s it. Even if he’s…” you trailed off. You took a long sip of the hot liquid, not caring you were burning your tongue. Jensen was simply a nice person and that was that. You had a crush on the attractive single dad you were nannying for. There was nothing wrong with that and you knew for a fact it’d be gone by the end of the week tops.

“Ow,” you groaned a few days later. You opened your eyes and heard a knock at the door to your suite. “Yeah?”

“You okay in there? I thought I heard a crash,” said Jensen.

“I’m fine,” you said, sitting up with a grunt, leaning back against your bed. “Shit.”

“Y/N, are you sure you’re alright?” he asked again.

“No,” you said with a sigh. “The door’s open.”

You peaked through your open door down the hall, Jensen opening the one to the suite and offering a friendly smile. You nodded and he walked inside, frowning at your cut up knee.

“I got blood on the rug,” you said. “Do we have bleach?”

“I thought we agreed earlier this week a rug is just a rug,” he said, squatting down and looking at your knee. He looked up and saw your overturned garbage can in your closet where you’d been trying to reorganize a few clothes. “Next time use the step stool in the garage?”

“Yeah,” you said, your face hot. “I’m fine really. Just want to clean up the blood before it sets in.”

“It’s a few drops,” he said, helping you stand with a wince. “You got any first aid stuff?”

“Yeah,” you said, Jensen crossing his arms. “No.”

“Come on,” he said, putting his hands on your shoulders and walking you down the hall. “Scraped up knees are my specialty.”

“Jensen,” you said, stopping at the kitchenette island and bending your leg a few times.

“I’ll be right back,” he said. He left and you hopped over to the couch, stretching your leg out. The bleeding had stopped, just a thin cut on your knee cap where you’d hit it, but you knew you were in for a nasty bruise. He returned with a bottle and cotton ball in one hand, a bandage and ice pack in the other.

“Sorry,” you said, Jensen setting the items down on the coffee table.

“Why would you apologize for getting hurt?” he said.

“I should have my own first aid supplies,” you said.

“Ah. So you’re as stubborn as I am when you’re not feeling great,” he said. You looked down at your lap and took a deep breath.

“Am I fired?” you asked.

“No? Why the fuck would I fire you?” he said.

“I don’t know,” you said, picking up the bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“Have you been fired for getting hurt before?” he asked, watching you hold the cotton ball against the open bottle top and tip it over, soaking the liquid in. You pretended to not hear him and put the bottle back, wiping the ball over the cut, a deep red mark already on your skin. “Y/N.”

“Yes, I have,” you said. You set the ball on the table and picked up the bandage, trying to angle it over your knee. He rolled his eyes and took it out of your hand, bending down and turning it around, pressing it gently over your skin.

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” he said as he looked up at you.

“Do I look like I have an HR department I can go to? They were dicks anyways,” you said.

“If you’re ever hurt, big or small, just tell me,” he said. He rested the ice pack over your knee and you sat back, throwing it up on the couch for you to lay there. “Promise I won’t fire you for it.”

“Well if I can’t do my job I’m not much use to you,” you said.

“Are all wealthy people assholes that act like that?” he asked. You shook your head and smiled. “Good.”

“I’ve nannied for eight different families, nine counting yours. Some were very good people,” you said.

“But you were just the help to them, even the good ones,” he said.

“I am the help. That’s the whole point of me being there,” you said.

“Do me a favor? Don’t assume just because you’re someone’s employee that they think of you as just the help,” he said, picking up the first aid supplies.

“Sorry.”

“Why do you apologize for…” he said, muttering to himself as you looked down. “If I ever make you feel like that, smack me in the head, alright?”

“Alright,” you said quietly. He nodded and left with the items, returning a moment later with some cleaning spray, ducking into your room for only a moment before exiting.

“It’s all clean,” he said. He lingered at the door and put a hand on it. “Leave that ice pack on for fifteen minutes and pop it back in the freezer. Put it back on for a bit before bed.”

“Thanks,” you said.

“It’s no problem,” he said. He still lingered and you took a deep breath.

“You should call someone, talk to them,” you said. He looked over his shoulder and you smiled. “You seem like you want to talk to somebody tonight is all.”

“I think I’m gonna go for a drive, maybe stop at a friend’s. The kids are all in bed,” he said. “If that’s cool.”

“Yeah go take a second for yourself,” you said. “I got everything here.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night, Jensen.”

One Week Later

“Y/N,” said Jensen as you washed your car in the driveway on a Saturday morning. You dropped the soapy sponge in the bucket and straightened yourself out. “Got plans today?”

“Uh, I was gonna run to the grocery store in a minute but other than that, no. Need me to watch the kids?”

“No. We were going out to lunch and then going to a little car show was all and we were wondering if you’d like to join us. Totally up to you. My treat.”

“You don’t want me to watch the kids?” you asked. He laughed and crossed his arms at you. “I’m confused.”

“Do you want to hang out with us today? For fun?” he asked.

“Oh,” you said. “That’s okay. You enjoy your time with the kids.”

“How do I make this clearer,” he said, walking over to you and looking down. “I want you to come with us, as a friend, to do something fun, like friends do. This is not work. Come if you want to.”

“You sure you want me to come?” you asked. He rolled his eyes and plopped his baseball cap on your head as he walked away.

“Yes. And wear sunscreen,” he said. “We’re leaving at eleven thirty.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll see you guys then.”

“There’s something about a burger that’s been cooked in a greasy pop up kitchen that just adds to the flavor,” you said as you took a bite of your cheese burger at the car show.

“It’s probably the grease,” he said, walking one hand on his burger, the other holding Arrow’s hand. She wiped her own little hand on his leg and he sighed as he looked down. “Arrow. I got napkins in my pocket.”

“Oh,” she said, wiping her face against him.

“No one mentions this part,” he chuckled. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulders once he was done with his food, humming as he pushed the stroller with a sleeping Zeppelin inside.

“Dad, I gotta go to the bathroom,” said JJ.

“I’ll take her and we can catch up with you guys?” you said. He mouthed a thank you to you as you headed over to the women’s room. You used the bathroom as well, finishing before her and waiting outside for her. “All set?”

“Yeah. Can we get fried dough?” she asked.

“Sure,” you said. You let her lead the way in line and got a plate for the two of you, taking a seat at a picnic table so she could dig in. “Taste yummy?”

“Oh yeah,” she said. “Dad likes fried dough a lot too.”

“Everybody does,” you said, taking a piece off the corner.

“Y/N, you don’t have a mom either right?” she said. “That’s what dad said.”

“Well that’s a funny question. I got a mom and so do you. They just aren’t around anymore is all,” you said. “What’s up?”

“I’m happy you stay with us I guess is all. I know you’re not mom and you work for dad but you kinda are and I like it when dad’s happy again,” she said.

“Me too. You doing okay, kiddo?” you asked. “It’s okay if you still miss your mom.”

“I do but I’m not sad anymore. Dad says when I get real old I can see her again so that’s cool,” she said, taking a big bite.

“It definitely is cool,” you said. “Maybe our mom’s are hanging out right now.”

“You think so?” she asked.

“Maybe. I bet they get up to some fun stuff up there,” you said.

“Me too,” she said. “Dad’s really happy you came with us. He’s been cranky lately.”

“Your dad’s gonna be just fine,” you said as she finished off her food. “So do you like having a nanny? I know that’s kinda new and funny, huh.”

“Yeah but I really like you being home. Dad gets flustered sometimes.”

“Flustered?” you asked with a little laugh.

“He works on a lot of stuff and he didn’t pick me up on time from school and stuff a few weeks ago. Too many chickens in a basket,” she said.

“Too many eggs in one basket,” you said.

“Isn’t an egg gonna be a chicken though?”

“I...never thought of it that way,” you said. You nearly jumped when you felt some hands on your shoulders but JJ was smiling as Arrow climbed up next to you.

“Ah. I see you ladies found the fried dough. Twins you want some?” asked Jensen.

“Yes please,” they said and he chuckled as he went off to buy some more.

“Look at her,” said Jensen twenty minutes later, pausing at a deep blue Impala, the twins both conked out in their stroller.

“Isn’t that the same car you have?” you asked, lifting up the brim of your baseball cap to get a better look.

“Mine’s a 67. That’s a 63. I love that color though,” he said. “Blue’s my favorite but it looks good on that car.”

“I think it looks good in black,” you said, walking again when you saw JJ a few cars ahead of the two of you. “Where’d you get your car?”

“Work,” he said with a quick smile, hiding behind his sunglasses and hat.

“Aren’t you an actor?” you asked.

“You have very obviously never seen an episode of my show,” he chuckled. “Which is totally cool by the way. I drove that car in the show for well over a decade. She’s one of my true loves.”

“Ah, gotcha,” you said. “So you’re a car guy.”

“Kinda. I don’t know everything but I enjoy them. What about you, you like-JJ! Stay closer,” he called out when she kept walking ahead. “So do you like cars?”

“I guess so. This is kinda neat, walking around and looking at the old ones. They had more style back then,” you said, walking past a pair of guys your age, one of them looking you up and down as you went by. “Did that guy-”

“Yup,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder, throwing his arm over yours for a few moments. “Looks like he got the message.”

“Jensen,” you laughed. “I wasn’t offended. It’s not like he was gonna come up and ask for my number.”

“I don’t like the look of him,” he said.

“Neither did I,” you chuckled, Jensen dropping his arm from around you. “You’re that guy friend girls have that will do shit like pretend to be a boyfriend and all that stuff, aren’t you.”

“At your service,” he said with a mini curtesy. You giggled and he straightened up, JJ rushing over.

“Dad can I get an ice cream?” she asked.

“How about some apple slices,” he said, reaching under the stroller and grabbing a cooler. He pulled out a little baggie and handed it to her, JJ shrugging and walking ahead of the stroller again. “Shit, that probably means I can’t get ice cream now too.”

“We can always get some on the way home for later,” you said. “I won’t tell on you.”

“I’m putting this on your performance review,” he said. You shot him a side glance and he smirked. “I’m joking. I don’t want to do that as much as you don’t.”

“Thank you for that,” you said, stopping and looking at a red challenger for a moment.

“You like that one?” he asked.

“It’s nice,” you said before you started walking again. You fixed your hat and caught back up with him, Jensen slowing down as JJ took her time ahead of you. “So I should probably know this but what show were you in where you were driving around a muscle car?”

“You really haven’t looked me up online yet?” he chuckled. You shrugged and he laughed to himself.

“I may have peeked at your IMDB page but that was it. Was it that show you were on a long time? Super something?”

“Supernatural,” he said, a big smile on his face. “Yeah, I drove it for that.”

“Oh yeah, that was the really scary show, wasn’t it,” you said.

“You’re too sweet,” he said, chuckling to himself. “It’s not that scary. I promise. Give it a try sometime. You might like it.”

“I’m sure someday I will. If I’m brave enough.”

“I think you are,” he said, JJ running up ahead again before he called for her to hang back. He sighed and threw his head back. “It never ends, does it?”

“I’m sure someday when she’s older you won’t have to worry so much.”

“I’m gonna worry about that kid when she’s forty years old,” he said.

“That’s cause you’re a good dad,” you said.

“You haven’t known me that long,” he said.

“Do you love her? Worry about her?” you asked and he nodded. “Well any dad that does that and tells his kid that someday they’ll get to see their mom again to help her grieve when he well and truly doesn’t know the answer to that...you get the picture Ackles?”

“I could be better,” he said.

“Everyone could be better. They don’t need the best dad ever. They just need the best dad for them and you seem like you’re doing a good job of that from what I’ve seen so far,” you said. “You’re gonna screw up but so does everyone. Try to just enjoy it and not be too hard on yourself.”

“You’ve spent a lot of time with kids haven’t you,” he said.

“I’ve been in the mom role more than once as a nanny,” you said. You kicked at the dirt and shrugged. “It’s how I know the difference Jensen. You don’t need me or want me to be their mother. You just need help sometimes. That’s an important difference. Asking for help, especially when you don’t want it but need it, that’s a good dad move.”

He was quiet as he walked, stopping at a yellow mustang. He stared for a moment and swallowed.

“Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot. Really.”

“Come on dad,” you said, walking away and up towards where JJ was. “Let’s go see if we can find one this one’s gonna be asking for on her sixteenth birthday.”

“Those three are finally down and out for the count,” said Jensen as he walked downstairs to catch you in the kitchen wiping up the pan from dinner. “Thanks for eating with us tonight.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” you said, putting the pan away. He looked out the back window and bit his bottom lip. “Everything alright?”

“You’re not like, hanging out with us cause you think you have to right?” he asked.

“Trust me. If I didn’t want to, I’d be down in my room,” you said. “Besides, I’ve thought about it and you know what, why don’t you set me up with that friend of yours.”

“Really?” he asked, a little alarmed.

“Why not? The age thing doesn’t bother me at all. Unless you think it’d be a problem for him?”

“No, he doesn’t really care about that sort of thing. I think he’d prefer it’s just someone he clicked with, had a connection, you know?” he said.

“Perfect. Why don’t you set us up for next Saturday night then?” you asked.

“I need you to watch the kids next Saturday night. I have-”

“The gala. Sorry, I forgot. Um, just, I’m free whenever. You know my schedule so you can set something up and just let me know?” you said. He smiled and nodded. As you were starting to leave he grunted. “Yeah?”

“I have some friends coming over for a drink in a bit. Small backyard fire. Whiskey and smores. You’re welcome to join.”

“Jensen. You’re not asking because you feel like you have to right?”

“No, not at all. I like hanging out with you. I’m sure whatever you’re binging on TV will be there if we bore you too much,” he said.

“Alright. I’ll be out in half an hour or so. Just wanted to freshen up from the show earlier,” you said. You ducked back to your room, taking a quick shower and changing into some leggings and a flannel. By the time you were out you could hear a slight mumbling and walked downstairs, catching Jensen with some guys on the patio pouring some drinks.

“Hey,” said Jensen when you stepped out of the slider door. “Guys this is Y/N.”

“Ah we get to meet the world’s best nanny,” said the tallest one. “I’m Jared.”

“Rich.”

“Rob.”

“Hi!” said a redhead that slipped out of the door behind you. “I’m Ruth.”

“Y/N. Your hair is kinda amazing by the way,” you said.

“This is what happens when you invite the girls,” said Rich.

“Normally we just talk about Jared’s hair,” chuckled Jensen. You grabbed a chair and helped gather up some snacks to bring over to his firepit, Ruth hanging back to help you.

“Jensen said you live here with him and the munchkins?”

“Yeah. He works so much it makes things easier on him. Are you an actress?” you asked.

“We all are. Only Jared lives close by. The rest of us haven’t been down here since…” she said and you nodded. “I really am happy you’re here. It’s nice to see a smile on our boys face again.”

“He’s a great boss. He’s very kind. We’re becoming friends,” you said. “He’s trying to set me up with his friend actually.”

“Oh which one?”

“Dunno. He just said he’s 42, an actor and is single. Age stuff doesn’t bother me.”

“Rob is a bit older than myself. It really doesn’t matter in the slightest, especially when you’re a little older,” she said. “Jensen says you’re great with the kids.”

“They’re pretty easy going. Normally the parents are the hard part of my job but he’s been great. He really loves his kids,” you said.

“Yes he certainly does,” she said.

By the end of the night you found yourself really enjoying Jensen’s friends. It was clear they cared for him at more than a surface level, especially Jared. You’d heard Jensen speak to him on the phone a few times and call him his brother but it really was apparent they had a special bond that went beyond a typical friendship.

“I’ll catch you guys for brunch before you head home,” said Jensen, waving night to them all as you helped pick up. You were just about finished and heading back for your room when Jensen caught you in the kitchen. “You have fun tonight?”

“Yeah. Your friends are great,” you said, a small pair of footsteps coming down the stairs. You both turned and saw Zeppelin there with tears in his eyes.

“What’s wrong, honey?” asked Jensen as he walked over and squatted down.

“I had a bad dream and I want mommy but she’s gone,” he whined. Jensen instantly scooped him up and held onto him tight, kissing his head. “I want mommy.”

“I want mommy too, baby,” said Jensen quietly. You mouthed go and he nodded, taking Zeppelin upstairs while you finished cleaning up.

You got up early the next morning and made a big batch of chocolate chip pancakes, plenty leftover for breakfast the next morning. Jensen padded over from the hall where you knew the home gym was, sweaty and tired but a smile came onto his face when he saw you.

“What’s all this,” he asked, getting a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Chocolate chip pancakes make everything better,” you said. He put a few on a plate for himself and sat down at the counter as you made up some more, stealing a few for yourself.

“These are delicious,” he said. You stored away some for when the kids got up, making up your own plate before you dug in. “Sorry about last night. I feel like I ruined the fun.”

“Not at all. He’s a toddler. I literally can’t imagine being in your position. I’d have fallen apart instantly,” you said.

“No you wouldn’t. You care about those kids,” he said. “You push on for them.”

“I know it’s not really my place to say so but-”

“Y/N. I’d prefer if you just talk to me like a friend, really,” he said.

“You made it sound like you were ready to try dating again. Last night you seemed kind of...maybe not so ready.”

“I’m ready. I will always miss her. I’ll always love her. But that doesn’t mean I can’t love anyone else ever again like that too, you know? I don’t believe there is a limit on how much love a person can give,” he said.

“Your wife was a very lucky woman,” you said.

“I was lucky. She was patient with me,” he chuckled. “You guys would have gotten along really well.”

“Can I offer a bit of advice?” you asked.

“What’s that?”

“Keep telling your kids about her, all throughout their lives. They’ll still get to know her that way, you know?” you said. “Tell your future girlfriend too. That’s how you’ll know if they’re a good one for you.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“You’re a kind soul. I would expect your partner would be as well,” you said.

“I hope so. Mine kinda has a permanent handle with care warning label on it,” he chuckled.

“I don’t think so. Just need somebody that understands, not try to fix you. There’s nothing wrong with you in the first place,” you said, taking a bite of your pancake.

“Thanks, kiddo,” he said.

“You’re not that much older, bucko,” you chuckled.

“Nah, I’m keeping kiddo,” he laughed. “You good to watch the kids for a few hours around eleven?”

“Sounds good. Go have a mimosa with your friends for me,” you said.

“Will do, Y/N. Will do.”

______

A/N: Read Part 3 here!

#spn #supernatural #jensen x reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles au #rpf #jensen series #rpf series #jensen ackles x reader #spn fanfic #jensen fanfic #jensen ackles fanfic #supernatural fanfic

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chibivesicle · 3 years ago

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Golden Kamuy - Kikuta really deserved better [part 2] 277-279.

Can you tell by my title that I’m a fan of Kikuta and I have some choice words for Noda? Chapter 277 starts out with an introduction to the regional politics of Meiji era Japan. The entire political shift occurred with the marriage of convenience between Choushuu and Satsuma (the Sat-Chou alliance) and how that is playing out in government and the military. With Hanazawa on the Satsuma side a commanding officer is having Tsurumi deal with the damage control. That being Lt. General Okuda (and Kikuta’s boss)

He discloses how he’s the person who helped to cover up the scandal for Hanazawa and more of the regional politics comes into play as he pulls Tsurumi into this.

Recall that Tsurumi is from Niigata and we know he is from a family that lost power and wealth due to political changes. He assumes that of course Tsurumi would hold a grudge towards those from the Sat-Chou alliance. Usami is also from a fallen samurai family in Niigata and we know that Ogata is from Ibaraki and also from a samurai family on the losing side. Tsukishima is from the island of Sado where unwanted people were dumped in Niigata so he is also an outsider. We learn of his ‘true’ feelings as the tells his core group his opinion on things.

I love how we get unhinged Tsurumi calling it all a farce and he’s over Central. But most importantly Okuda confirmed his own intel about the gold he learned while in Russia at some point in time. His gold plan can slowly move along. So Tsurumi becomes in the Hanazawa scandal cover up looking for the young 2nd Lt. and Kikuta, working under Okuda’s direct orders.

Despite his best efforts, Kikuta’s plan is revealed by a secretary at the Military Academy, while we know that Sugimoto and Kikuta are en route to the engagement dinner.

Hanazawa panics and sprints out to determine what is happening. Right on his tail is Tsurumi and his key team of Ogata, Tsukishima and Usami. Clearly this is going to become a huge mess. The next few pages are amusing, but really don’t add value to the plot. I am impressed that Kaeko has an excellent plot to get Sugimoto naked and I commend her efforts! GK is never short of strong female characters. Who enjoy sex.

This sets up a hilarious moment where he’s naked and trapped in a bedroom while she leverages the potential scandal to her advantage. By that point Tsurumi has caught up to them. What is most interesting is when Usami addresses Ogata as Hyakunnosuke and asks him what he thinks about meeting his brother. It is clear this isn’t out of concern from Usami’s part, we know he hates Ogata to his very core.

But as usual, Ogata doesn’t respond and we just see only a part of his eyes, not even a glance of his lips to give us an idea of what he’s thinking.

Kaeko and Sugimoto continue to talk as she reveals what she knows from Hanazawa Hiro. She had been a nurse during the first Sino-Japanese war so it has allowed her to reflect on the impact of war on individual soliders.

This tells us a few things; Hiro’s patriotism is more nuanced. If she were being selfish and just saying she doesn’t want her son to go off to war without experience it, that would be one thing. Instead, she knows being a military spouse first hand what happens - no one could say she didn’t do her own duty and go likely above and beyond. Ultimately, she wants to protect her son from her own experiences and observations and be a mother.

Sugimoto then realizes he needs to bail and leaves poor Kikuta confused. And then bam! The 27th is there.

Of course this leads to the most Sugimoto situation of all time! Tsurumi threatens Kaeko with his handgun and Ogata asks where Yuusaku is. Of course Sugimoto flies out of the bathroom naked sans Kikuta’s hat and Ogata is just amused beyond belief.

This would be complete if he were relaxed eating a box of popcorn or something like that. 278 continues this absolute chaos and lots of fan service for Miss Kaeko! I really don’t think the fight scene needs much meta. Ogata just finds it amusing (and btw sucks at hand to hand combat) while Usami rumbles with Sugimoto. Tsurumi realizes he’s not Yuusaku and Kikuta rushes in and gets shot in the shoulder by Tsukishima.

Somehow, Kikuta is able to get the rest of them to flee but not without running into the actual Hanazawa Yuusaku. Awkward. Tsurumi only then realizes that Kikuta was doing his job and they run out into the street.

Kaeko tries her best to convince Sugimoto to marry her. Granted he is a very heroic figure and he fought to protect her. However, reality wouldn’t allow that to happen and Sugimoto decides to join the army - thinking he won’t starve that way.

Kikuta looks so sad and disappointed when he hears this.

He’s definitely thinking of his younger brother who died b/c he told him to join the army with him. I loved the fact that we learn that Kaeko got to be a successful woman who was also compassionate to others.

There is a quick exchange that shows the first encounter between Ogata and Yuusaku. Yuusaku notices Ogata and salutes him as a cadet.

Ogata doesn’t even return the salute and he look he gives him out of the corner of his eyes. What is he thinking? I’d say Yuusaku doesn’t know who Ogata even is. But something has him very suspicious to be this leery of him. This also makes me think of this previous encounter between Koito and Ogata in chapter 200.

This time Ogata is bolder when he walks by Koito who is also currently still in the Army Academy. Except unlike Yuusaku who doesn’t seem to pick up on Ogata’s vibes, Koito does! And the two of them stare each other down. I think that this in part shows that Koito has more innate awareness of things and could be considered more of a ‘natural’ in the military. Which Yuusaku isn’t. We have no evidence Yuusaku has any sort of military talent or skills.

The chapter ends with Kikuta asking Sugimoto if he’s serious about joining the military and how he’s already fated to go to hell based on what he’s done in his life. 279 continues the conversation between Kikuta and Sugimoto and he flat out tells Sugimoto about how his brother died of illness in the army during the Sino-Japanese war.

Sugimoto then becomes Kikuta’s younger brother telling him that it is time to move on. This continues the trend in GK where a character that is speaking becomes someone else to the listener.

This is most evident with Asirpa when she becomes Yuusaku on more than one occasion to Ogata.

But this facial expression from Kikuta [sobs].

No wonder Kikuta worked so hard to save Ariko’s life! He can’t just always be responsible for the deaths of others.

Sugimoto convinces Kikuta that he’ll be alright in the army and he relents and lets him keep the cap. This shows that Kikuta has moved on from the death of his brother - a big deal! In an unusual way, Sugimoto has helped Kikuta move on and take the next step in the healing process. Kikuta reports to his commander in the 1st. Okuda wants him to keep an eye on Tsurumi. Obviously, he knows now that Tsurumi interfered with Kikuta’s plans for Hanazawa rather heavy-handedly so he would need someone else to balance it out.

It then reveals that Ogata is also working for Okuda in the 1st. This explains why when the two of them crossed paths in the brewery they did not engage but nor did they appear to exchange any information.

I can’t help but feel like something is still off with this. Ogata does have skills from working in intelligence with Tsurumi. He’s observant, makes himself invisible and can get others to talk easily. But Ogata being a 100% willing spy - it seems like he wants something else out of this. Kikuta’s character screams secret agent - but Ogata, he’s something else. I’m not sure if Ogata’s choice to be a spy on Tsurumi was a real choice.

When Ogata and Tsukishima had their shoot out in Yubari at Edogai’s, Tsukishima told him he was a pet cat for Central. Ogata replied that they were part of a rebel element. We know that Ogata was working with Tamai at the beginning of the manga. I struggle to see how Ogata has loyalty to anyone honestly. He seems to be moving throughout this game with again his own mysterious objective. Ogata is cynical and has no belief in the nation state nor does he harbor any sort of deep patriotism towards Imperial Japan.

Since Okuda is friends with Hanazawa and is based in Tokyo, he may have known Ogata since his birth and has kept tabs on him after the Ogata grandparents took him back to Ibaraki with his mom. Ogata’s existence might be a sort of trump card that Okuda is keeping . . . but others found out as well like Tsurumi. Did Okuda have Ogata tell or leak information that Ogata is Hanazawa’s first son? The chapter jumps to the 203 meter hill in the war and we see Yuusaku fallen on the battlefield. Ogata watches from distance, his face cut off while other members of the 27th run out to help Yuusaku.

This finally reveals Yuusaku’s eyes! Not the anticipated reveal - I kept thinking this was something that Ogata was going to see but it shows us clear eyes. Which look sort of similar to Asirpa’s eyes.

So many thoughts are jumping around in my brain about this reveal.

1.) These eyes are not the ‘trademark’ Hanazawa eyes. Dark black orbs with those eyebrows! This indicates his eyes aren’t from his father.

Seeing this, I can’t help but think that Yuusaku is not Hanazawa’s son. Instead, Hiro had an affair with someone else. A major theme in GK is that the children inherit the skills of their parents. Asirpa is able to do many things as she inherited the intelligence of Wilk. And that Ogata is the true inheritor of Hanazawa’s military skills.

Recall this from chapter 58. Ogata leads the crappy local gang against Hijikata and acts like a commander.

We know that Tsurumi’s lie about Ogata wanting to avenge Hanazawa is to keep Nikaido in the dark.

This would also explain why everything we learn about Yuusaku is terrible at military things. If he also isn’t Hanazawa’s son it would make it even more reason for Hiro to try to prevent him from entering the military since he’s not even genetically related to this great line of Hanazawas. I wish we knew more about the Ogata side of things - I think we’ll also learn that the Ogata side had competent military men on it as well. 2.) Yuusaku’s eyes are the same as Asirpa’s and indicate their sort of innocence. In this case, it would perfectly explain why Ogata sees Yuusaku instead of Asirpa when he has the fever and then the melt down on the ice floe. Yuusaku kept himself naive and innocent to meet his father’s expectations. A man who I don’t think is even his father at this moment. Therefore, Ogata’s guilt on killing Yuusaku is tied to his sort of innocence in these situations and why he can’t seem to shake his mental confusion when it comes to Asirpa. However, unlike Yuusaku, Asirpa has never forced herself on him to do things or guilt tripped him so it leaves things open for him to not link her to Yuusaku.

3.) Yuusaku was going to blow Ogata’s cover working for Okuda. Now that we know that Ogata was working for Okuda while in the 27th it means he’d have to keep his role quiet. If Yuusaku found out that Ogata was working for Okuda, I could see him going to Tsurumi and telling him this information. Therefore, to protect his status, Ogata used this as his rationale to kill Yuusaku on the battle field. I have never figured out if Ogata was nudged to kill Tsurumi by his ‘don’t kill him right now.’ comment as one of Tsurumi’s backwards motivations that lead Ogata to directly killing him. So many possibilities! I want more Ogata backstory dammit!

Anyhoo, to not make this meta super long let’s get back to the action. Asirpa begins working out how to try to break the code. Hijikata notes that Wilk could have used something other than kanji, since he’d know the Latin alphabet for Polish and Cyrillic for Russian. Shiraishi makes a clear point that this could be a message from Wilk towards her, though it feels like he’s channeling Kiro. Out of many of the Japanese characters Shiraishi time and time again comes out much more sympathetic to the minorities than others.

Asirpa begins to wonder how the coin is linked to the skins. She’s thinking things through and is on her way to solving the puzzle.

After saving Ariko, Kikuta is returning to Tsurumi’s group in the church. Oh Roger, this is why I love you so much.

Look at that smirk with a slightly watery eye. At the same time Tsurumi is also looking at the coin and realizes he’s figured it out.

Kikuta approaches the rest of the group and comments on if he’s found the location. Tsurumi states that things are just getting started. He casually pulls out his gun and fires two shots into Kikuta at point blank range.

And with this I am deeply saddened and shocked. How dare you do that to Kikuta!!! He was my Kiro replacement and now he’s also going to die.

First Boutarou died and now Kikuta. [cries]. We know that Tsurumi is a shinigami but this is just brutal. The bear death trio died early on in the manga. Ogata escaped. Kikuta now is the next link to Central that goes down.

#golden kamuy #Golden Kamuy manga #golden kamuy meta #warrant officer kikuta #sugimoto saichi #asirpa #tsurumi tokushirou #Usami Tokishige #Hanazawa Yuusaku #Hanazawa Hiro #hanazawakoujiro #koito otonoshin #okuda #ogata hyakunosuke #tsukishima hajime #wilk #hijikata toshizo #Kaneko Kaeko #okuda hidenobu

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apiratewhopines · 3 years ago

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In the Offing

Summary: AU - Storybrooke - Emma Swan is drafted to help Liam Jones clear his brother’s name in the disappearance of a former flame. As she digs deeper into the rash of missing person cases, she risks losing more than just her heart as she uncovers the truth.

Chapter One - Pilot

Summary: In which our heroine embarks on an adventure

“Let the exits pass, all the tar and glass

Til the road and sky align”

-Angela, The Lumineers

If asked, Emma Swan would land firmly in the ‘It was a dark and stormy night’ camp rather than the ‘Once Upon a Time’ one.

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in happiness and true love and good triumphing over evil. She did. Or at least she tried to believe in them, which was nearly the same thing.

It was just that in her experience, relationships were more likely to end in indifference and divergent roads at best or disappointment, deceit and violence at their worst. It rarely ended in laughter over the dinner table, surrounded by the people you loved and admired. In fact, it never ended that way for her. And she was fine with that. Or at least she tried to believe she was, which was not nearly the same thing.

So it was without the slightest bit of surprise that she made her way back to her office from yet another honey trap date, her third this week if anyone was keeping track. She didn’t anymore, had stopped wondering years ago how there were so many cheating spouses and deadbeat dads and none too bright criminals in one city. Nor did she have the energy to wonder why she found her doorway blocked by the broad form of her sometimes collaborator, sometimes competitor, always annoying quasi-neighbor.

“What do you want, Liam? I’m not staying. I’m only dropping off paperwork so I can go home and mourn the loss of human decency uninterrupted.”

“Perhaps a bath would be more helpful, lass. You smell like a walking distillery,” he replied, not bothered by her unfriendly tone and refusal to meet his eyes as she elbowed him out of the way and unlocked the door. “Were you drowning your sorrows or were they drowning you?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I caught the guy who did this and he smells like jail now so I would say I won,” she muttered, bristling only a little bit when he followed her inside. She would like to say that she and Liam had a complicated relationship but the truth was they tolerated each other when they had to and avoided each other when they didn’t. She could count on him to be professional, which unfortunately was not a given in their line of work, and his complete disinterest in her as a person was a quality she appreciated, having never been someone who craved attention or willingly engaged in small talk.

Now that she thought about it, he was probably one of the better connections she had made in Boston. If his self-righteous, holier-than-thou attitude chafed at times...well, no one was perfect. She had met him when her boss moved their bail bonds office operations to their current location and with his private investigation business occupying the suite next door, they would throw work each other’s way when it made sense. Despite knowing him for nearly two years, she would be hard-pressed to recall a single interaction after hours or off the job so even though she was tired and her feet were killing her from running down tonight’s skip in stiletto heels, she was a little curious about why he was there. “Barry isn’t here.”

“If I was looking for Barry, this is the last place I would be.”

She snorted as she dropped off a packet of reports on the nearest desk. The truth was that her boss, who also happened to own the business, was probably cruising off the coast of Florida at that very moment and hadn’t stepped foot in the office since they moved. But she considered absenteeism a great quality in a boss so she wasn’t complaining.

Sighing, she turned around to face him. She leaned against the desk behind her and hoped he didn’t notice her flexing her feet in an attempt to keep them from cramping. “As nice as it is to catch up, I’ve had a long night. Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

“Henry mentioned that he was going to spend the summer with his father when he came by last week,” Liam stated as if that explained everything. Henry’s capacity to make friends never ceased to astound her and was definitely a characteristic he inherited from Neal. Even curmudgeonly Liam Jones had fallen victim to her kid’s ability to engage with anyone. Little did her visitor suspect that reminding her that she had nearly eight weeks of going home to an empty apartment was not the best way for him to start a conversation.

It had been with great trepidation that she had agreed to the trip at all. After years of fielding her son’s questions about his father, she used her considerable tracking skills to finally run her ex to ground about eighteen months ago. Enough time had passed for her to forgive him, although she doubted she would ever forget, but she felt she owed Henry the chance to at least meet his father. And of course, they had hit it off as she had both hoped for and feared.

She had worried, apparently needlessly so, that Neal would quickly lose interest in the son he hadn’t know existed and was inconveniently located in a different state. However, the man who had no issues with abandoning her a decade ago had surprised her. He called Henry every day and made the trip at least once a month to visit. He had shown up and supported Henry in ways she hadn’t expected and it reminded her that not all the times had been bad and maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t a villain. When Neal had approached her about a long distance trip that spanned their son’s entire summer break, her first reaction was to forbid it but she knew Henry needed it. Although she would never admit it to Neal, she had also appreciated that he had brought it up with her first rather than sending Henry to talk her into it.

Still, it had physically hurt her to see them walking away together at the airport yesterday, similar gaits and probably with matching, wide smiles on their faces.

Now her interaction with her son would be reduced to a couple of texts a day and FaceTime calls a few times a week while Henry had the time of his life gallivanting around California with his father and future stepmother. In a flash, she went from tired and curious to tired and pissed. “Right. Glad you reminded me before I made it home and called the police about a kidnapping. Did you need something, Liam, or are you just trying to bother me?”

“Both. Obviously,” he said dryly.

“Great, he’s got jokes,” she groaned as she threw her head back in frustration. “I should warn you that I’ve already punched one jerk tonight. I’m hungry and exhausted and if you don’t get on with it, I’m not afraid to add another one to the list.”

He sighed and for the first time she noticed the tenseness in the way he was holding himself. Whatever the reason for his visit, it obviously had him wound up pretty tightly. Against her better judgement, she felt her curiosity stirring again.

“Fine, since you’re obviously not fit to be out in public,” he said with a vague gesture toward her whiskey-flavored dress, “order some delivery and let’s talk.”

—

The smell of cheese did a lot to restore her good humor. She watched him from under her lashes as he looked at the meat-lovers pizza with what approached horror in his expression. She never pegged him as a health food nut, although she could tell he took care of himself, so maybe what offended him was the grease that had soaked through the box to the papers that were stacked neatly on his desk. Tearing off a large slice, she hummed happily while she took the first scorching bite.

“I need a favor,” he stated without preamble before he too took a bite and glanced at her with a pained look in his eye.

She was pretty sure that this was the first time he had ever uttered those words in his life and that was probably the source of his discomfort rather than the molten lava cheese he just swallowed. She tried not to show any interest even though hundreds of questions wanted to escape her mouth. She wanted to ask when they started doing favors for each other and why he was acting like a caged animal. Instead, she settled for something that he would probably find a bit more in character considering their past interactions. “Would this be the type of favor that involved payment of some sort?”

“It will, if that gets the job done quicker,” Liam answered, staring intently at his half eaten slice.

“Well, that would depend on if we’re talking about an hourly rate or a flat fee,” she joked. “I have typically found that payment is the best way to insure a job gets done.”

Something was definitely bothering him and damn if that didn’t make the hair on the back of her neck stand up and chase a shiver down her spine. With a hint of disgust she threw her uneaten crust down on her plate. She already knew that whatever he was about to ask, she was going to agree to so she continued, “Might as well spit it out, I would like to go home and get some sleep sometime this century. What kind of favor do you need?

“The kind of favor that involves going away for a couple of weeks and solving a cold case.”

Of all the things she thought he was going to ask, actual work didn’t even make the top ten list so she was a little letdown. His discomfort had her prepared for anything from being a date to an ex’s wedding to a surprise twist of being asked to babysit his previously unknown kids. Even a mundane request to water his plants while he was on vacation would have been more interesting. She wasn’t entirely sure Liam was human and it would have been fascinating to see the lair he crawled back to when he wasn’t in the office.

“Why the cloak and dagger routine? You made me think something was horribly wrong,” she huffed. Picking up another slice, she thoughtfully examined his face. There was more to this request but she was afraid she was going to have to drag it out of him based on his body language. His eyes were shuttered, shoulders hunched in on himself, body twisted slightly to the side as if he had decided this was a mistake and he was on the verge of running out of the room. While she would dearly love to see Liam Jones run away from his problems like a mere mortal, she was clearly already too invested to let that happen. Quickly swiping her fingers across a napkin to rid them of the worst of the grease, she gently laid her hand on his forearm to hold him in place. “Whatever you need to say, it will go no further.”

Apparently those were the magic words to unlock whatever secret he thought he needed to keep because with a sharp intake of breath, he started his tale. “There is a town in Maine...”

—

Hours later, he was dropping her off at the entrance to her building with a promise to pick her up at six o’clock the following evening. She wasn’t crazy about starting out that late or the fact that they would hit the tail end of rush hour traffic but her mind was swimming with too many details to make her normal fuss. Honestly, she would need all the time she could get to go through the files stuffed in the briefcase he passed off to her as she emerged from the car.

Without registering the journey upstairs, she found herself opening the door to her apartment and immediately kicked off her heels with a moan while her toes curled a little to celebrate their freedom. Her dress had climbed up her thighs a bit during the car ride but she had a feeling she was the only one who noticed. She was pretty sure she could have been naked and Liam wouldn’t have paid any attention. He was just that kind of guy. Considering they were about to embark on a trip to his former hometown where they may end up having to give the impression of a relationship, she should probably be grateful that his only attraction to her seemed to be limited to her ability to find people and her reputation for being a spookily accurate human lie detector. For her part, all she wanted from him was a couple weeks of distraction from what was surely going to turn out to be a lonely summer. If she was getting paid for it, all the better.

Leaving her shoes where they fell in the entranceway, she grabbed a hair band from the narrow table that she privately thought of as their crap collector. She had never been the neatest person and she had passed that trait on to Henry so you could never predict what random stuff would be found on the table that served no other purpose than to be a catch all for the things they discarded when they arrived home.

Styling her long blonde hair into a messy bun, she pulled her ruined dress over her head and casually threw it in the direction of the laundry basket. Taking advantage of the fact that there wasn’t a ten-year-old at home that would be traumatized by her behavior, she lugged the briefcase to the kitchen island and spread the files across the countertop before walking back to her closet to slip into a pair of black yoga pants and a Red Sox tank top, not wanting to take the time to shower at the moment. Besides, she was the only one home to know how bad the smell of whiskey and sweat was after sitting for hours in a small office, stuffing her face with the unhealthiest pizza on the planet and getting drawn into the web of mystery that had made the always serious Mr. Jones even more somber.

Pouring a glass of wine, she climbed up on one of stools that formed a line that ran the length of the counter and pulled the top file to her. The photo paper-clipped to the inside showed a rundown pawn shop that might as well have had a neon sign flashing ‘Shady Place of Business.’ Below it was a list of names from various missing persons cases spanning thirty years.

Taking the first sip of wine, she murmured, “What have you gotten me into, Liam?”

She spent the next several hours combing through the files until her back hurt and her contacts felt scratchy in her eyes. It seemed like Jones Investigation had a file for everyone that lived in the town at the time of the burglary as well as newspaper clipping from the various investigations into the suspicious disappearance of citizens.

It was too much information to take in during the course of one night but Liam had been insistent that the files remain in Boston. He didn’t want to risk tipping off any suspects to the real reason for their trip should the paperwork be discovered. So, under direct orders from the former British Naval officer to memorize the facts, when she reached the end of the files, she would start over again. She sorted and resorted the files into stacks based on a variety of factors from chronological order to some distinguishing characteristic like age, proximity to crime, or possible motive.

If her attention kept wondering back to the grainy photo of one Killian Jones, brother of her dour compatriot, she blamed the wine and lack of sleep. Even the low quality of the picture couldn’t conceal that the younger Jones brother was an incredibly attractive man. However, he looked enough like Liam to make her interest unsettling and that was what finally pulled her away from her research and drove her to bed where she dreamed of blue eyes and a wicked smile.

—

For most of the trip, the only sound was of the sports commentators who nearly shouted out a play-by-play of a soccer match Liam had politely asked to listen to as they pulled out of her parking garage. The only other break in their silent commute was the subtle hum and thump of road noise occasionally making its way into the cabin. He had been unimpressed with her offer to take her car, not even bothering to acknowledge her when she suggested it and simply opening the lift gate to the large, dark colored Honda Pilot he had rented. If he noticed her surprise at finding several bags already in the truck and heard her sarcastic observation about packing light as she had to reposition some of his luggage to find a spot for her single gym sized duffel bag, he didn’t show it.

As she had predicted, they spent an hour stuck in traffic before getting beyond the city limits where the cars spread out and their follow drivers seemed to think that allowed them to indulge in NASCAR fantasies. She used the quiet to mentally go over the particulars of the case before them, secure in the knowledge that unless she magically sprouted another head Liam was unlikely to start up a conversation at this point in the trip.

Fact One: Leo and Ava Blanchard left for a date night and never returned home to their young daughter. There car was found broken down on the side of the road about a mile from their home. No sign of foul play, no trace of their whereabouts.

Fact Two: Shortly thereafter, there was a burglary at Gold’s Pawnshop on Main Street. No sign of forced entry and the owner claimed nothing had been stolen, but the alarm had been tripped from the inside. Having nothing to go on and with no stolen items to track down, the local law enforcement devoted a total of five minutes to the case. Basically as soon as the report was filed, the case was closed and life moved on.

Fact Three: Robert Nolan had a few too many at a bar one night, which apparently was a reoccurring circumstance, and never found his way back to his family. He was rumored to be involved in some illicit activities but no proof of a crime was ever found.

Fact Four: There appeared to be a bit of a lull for more than a decade and then a rapid secession of missing person reports: Regina Mills, Peter Wolfe, and finally Milah Gold.

It was the last one that seemed to drive Liam’s interest in the cases. Although he and his brother hadn’t relocated to the US until the early 2000s, it seemed his little brother quickly formed an attachment, which Emma read between the lines to mean had an affair, with the older wife of the town’s local businessman. After his wife vanished into thin air, Mr. Gold and the local police tried their best to pin her disappearance on Killian but could never come up with enough evidence to press charges.

The final piece came through sources Liam was disinclined to name. He had recently found out that a newly arrived visitor had been asking questions around town and according to his source, the visitor was a best-selling true crime author named August Booth who happened to be weeks away from publishing a tell-all book about the sordid history of the town.

Going into full protective mode, Liam had decided the best course of action was to return to the small town and solve the mystery, or potentially multiple mysteries if they were as interconnected as he thought, thereby clearing his brother’s name beyond all doubt.

If it had been anyone else who had asked for her help, she would have been flattered but she knew Liam to be practical above all else. He valued her skills but it was probably Henry’s absence that was the catalyst for this particular partnership. He needed an extra set of eyes and ears and she was a known element who was conveniently available for a long term undercover assignment. Still, he had trusted her with the family secrets, or at least his brother’s secrets, so she was trying to be mindful this wasn’t simply another case for him.

She wasn’t convinced the non-burglary and series of disappearances he seemed to think connected would turn out to be anything but she knew better than to discard possibilities this early on. She also wasn’t convinced that parading in front of his family and friends as a girlfriend was a good game plan.

“I think we need to revisit this cover story,” she said as he pulled off the highway and into the lot of a gas station.

“If you can find a more convincing reason for me to show up with a strange woman, I will gladly listen to it,” he replied before exiting the car and fading away into the dark night.

“No, I wouldn’t like anything from the store, thanks for asking,”she called out to his back, wanting to nettle him in retaliation for his rudeness although she doubted he heard her. According to the GPS, they were only about forty-five minutes from their destination, a place called Granny’s Diner. She tried to research the town, including restaurants, venues, and things to do but it was as if Storybrooke existed out of the modern age. While you could find it on maps, there wasn’t an internet presence at all. There were no tourism sites, despite the fact that most little towns that dot the Atlantic coast were in peak season for welcoming travelers. It appeared that chains and national franchises had no interest in the sleepy town either. There were no notable residents making their marks on the world at large, no complaints on business sites, no reviews of the natural beauty to be found in its forests and parks.

The sound of Liam returning to the vehicle and pumping gas broke her train of thought. Hearing the gentle chime of her phone, she took the opportunity to check her texts before they got back on the road. Smiling a little at seeing Henry’s name on her notifications, she clicked the message and was rewarded with a silly photo of him pretending to be eaten by a shark at one of the selfie stations located on a pier in whatever seaside town they were currently visiting. She text him back a thumb’s up, following it quickly with a good night and reminder that she would send him the details of where she was staying in the morning.

Running her finger gently over her son’s happy grin in the photo, she didn’t greet Liam as he climbed back into the car.

��That’s a nice picture,” he mumbled, clicking his seatbelt in place before pulling out and rejoining the dwindling line of cars heading north. “Is he having a good time?”

“Looks like it,” she answered, turning her head away somewhat embarrassed to feel the prick of tears in her eyes. She wasn’t an emotional person but she missed the kid something fierce.

Either he was being exceptionally sensitive to her distress or he didn’t notice it because they lapsed back into silence until they were about fifteen minutes from the town line. Deciding next to the last minute was as a good a time to broach the topic again as any, she picked up on her earlier comment as if it hadn’t been over half an hour ago. “Listen, I’m not saying I have a better cover but maybe we could not volunteer the girlfriend story. You know, keep our options open unless someone asks us directly. Or maybe actually tell them we are there to investigate.”

Hope for a rational debate on the merits of her suggestions was immediately crushed when he actually started to laugh. “You’ve never lived in a small town, have you?”

“No, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“Emma, I left five years ago under some difficult circumstances—“

“What circumstances? How difficult?”

“That’s need to know, lass,” he interrupted in a tone that cautioned against any further questions. “If it had anything to do with our case, I would have already told you. Let me assure you that everyone will know of our arrival within minutes of the car entering town. There will be a description of you circulating before you wake up tomorrow morning. There is no way people aren’t going to ask us directly and repeatedly the nature of our visit and relationship.”

She was about to interrupt again so he held up a hand to stall her and added, “And if we decline to provide details, they will make them up. Trust me, it’s better to control the story than to have eyes following us everywhere trying figure it out for themselves. As far as openly investigating a crime, you’re daft if you think they won’t clam up the second you start asking questions. In my experience people are more comfortable being a gossip than a snitch. If we are simply a couple enjoying a trip down memory lane, we will be able to move much more freely.”

“But your brother,” she countered weakly because she had to admit he had a point. “How can you lie to him? Surely he can be trusted with the truth. Not to mention that if we are staying with him, he’s going to notice that we don’t like each other.”

“What are you talking about? I’m quite fond of you. You’re one of my best friends,” he said in indignation.

Her jaw went slack with shock as she tried to process how she had slipped into some bizarro alternate reality. What in their past could possibly have given him the idea that they were friends, besties even. “I don’t know what—“ she sputtered. “Is this some weird British thing?”

He barked out a laugh that was so unlike him that she doubled down on her alternate reality theory. “Calm down, Emma. It was a joke. We aren’t friends exactly but I don’t dislike you. It will be fine. Pretend I’m one of your fake dates for a couple of weeks. Lucky for you, I’m an old-fashioned guy. Killian won’t think anything of us bunking separately.”

“There is old-fashioned and then there is being a monk, Liam. But whatever. I still think you should trust your brother. Especially since it’s his neck we’re trying to save.”

“I would trust him with my life. What I can’t trust is that he won’t go off half-cocked and muck up the investigation. He’ll understand why I did this as long as we get results.”

She believed that he believed what he was saying. She also believed he was wrong. As a person who always preferred the truth, no matter how painful, her gut told her that it would be a mistake to keep the younger Jones in the dark about the true purpose of their trip. However, besties or not, she knew the mulish tilt to Liam’s mouth indicated that for him the discussion was over.

At that moment, the high beams illuminated the Welcome to Storybrooke sign. She felt an ominous dread settle over her as they approached, turning in her seat to look at the sign as they passed.

It was the last thing she saw before the world exploded in glass shards, twisted metal, and smoke.

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kravitzkrusher · 2 years ago

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You wanna talk "black on black" crime to Tucker Carlson your way out of an argument you're not smart enough to have started?? Oh buddy.

When are we going to talk about white on white crime, because the #1 killer of white children is their parents and themselves.

There is an extremely high suicide rate that directly correlates to gun owners keeping their weapons in the home. White kids are grabbing Daddy's gun and killing themselves and their white siblings/friends. There's also another extremely high spouse mortality and domestic abuse among police. They're killing and torturing their own white wives and white children. Every day. And you're not looking.

White people are killing their coworkers, bosses, girlfriends, exes, daughter's boyfriend, and their own parents when they're done paying for the nursing home bill. Cold. Blooded. Killers. Are. Walking. A lot of them. And when white people in particular wanna kill people, they will go down killing everybody including their own flesh and blood. They will stack bodies on top of bodies. I'm talking serial killers. War criminals for generations sat at home UNPUNISHED and raised more criminals. And you want to overlook all that unjustified death in favor of the "black on black crime" strawman argument.

What about all lives? White lives. Poor innocent baby Jessica dies at the hands of her father again, tale as old as time, song as old as "He Was A Lone Wolf Acting Alone But Who Cares About Baby Jessica Because Black People Are All Homicidal Murderers and Daddy Deserves to Kill As Many People As He Sees Fit".

Poor innocent old Barbara thrown to the bottom of the stairs, tale as old as time, song as old as "He Was A Lone Wolf Acting Alone But Who Cares About Old Lady Barbara Because Black People Are All Homicidal Murderers and Daddy Deserves to Kill As Many People As He Sees Fit".

Poor innocent Danny shot eight times in the chest because he fell in love with someone's daughter, tale as old as time, song as old as "He Was A Lone Wolf Acting Alone But Who Cares About 20-year-old Danny Because Black People Are All Homicidal Murderers and Daddy Deserves to Kill As Many People As He Sees Fit".

Poor innocent neighbor Dale mentioned he had taken testosterone to level out his hormones in college at dinner, and yeah he's dead now, murdered, tale as old as time, song as old as "He Was A Lone Wolf Acting Alone But Who Cares About Neighbor Dale Because Black People Are All Homicidal Murderers and Daddy Deserves to Kill As Many People As He Sees Fit".

How many of these do you need? How long do I have to hold your hand like a kindergarten teacher, helping you spell everything out, like you're 5?

Does death just not matter to you?

Is it a joke to you or does it not feel real? Because the stories of Jessica, Barbara, Danny, and Dale are actual stories from actual people who are actually dead because their white killer was seen as inherently nonviolent because black-on-black crime exists somewhere somehow someway and of course it's worse right. You have to see how this argument is getting your own people slaughtered.

Is white death the only death important enough to get you to focus on the actual point and listen? No one deserves to die for no reason?? Not just black people, just white people, just woman people, or just child people. No one. Nobody. All lives do matter. Including black folks. So what's the point in insulting an awareness post about dead victims of unfair brutality by insinuating that YOUR PEOPLE aren't getting slaughtered by YOUR PEOPLE at higher rates?? Which they are. By randomly talking about black on black crime, your overlooking the way white people REGULARLY massacre each other in their homes on Christmas.

The problem is not black people's lives mattering.

The problem is you not listening to black people and instead choosing to bleat the talking points of someone who supports everybody dying. You and me included. If everybody dying at the hands of murderers while we look the other way is the world you truly want, that my dear is the future you already have.

Now go ahead now, put your head back in the sand. It's warmer isn't it?

I’m 99% sure that people who say “I’m an egalitarian, not a feminist” are the same people who change “black lives matter” to “all lives matter”.

#admin imah #add on

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jiejie-eonni-onee-sama · 4 years ago

Text

The only one I need...

For the sweet @stardancerluv 🥰🥰🥰🐇🐰

Hope you like it!

Sitting on her couch, (Y/N) glanced at the window of the penthouse with a thoughtful look in her eyes. She distantly stroke her slightly rounded belly. The young woman could not still believe that in five months, she would become a mother.

This perspective positively thrilled her, of course. She was happy to start a family with the man she loved... even if the latter was not the suited man for being a father, according to many Gothamites. Indeed, (Y/N) was married to Roman Sionis, one of the ruthless mob bosses of the city. Of course, when he was in business, he was cruel and wicked. But, when he was with her, Roman was the perfect husband.

The young woman sighed: honestly, he was happy to be a father. Well, she guessed he was glad. Since the beginning of her pregnancy, she cannot confirm if her husband was ready to start a family.

Moreover, she felt that he was distant from her. Roman barely even hold her when he was an insatiable hugger. Perhaps being pregnant made her look less glamourous in his eyes. After all, Mister Sionis was a man who showed interest in appearances. Sure, a changing body was not a pleasant view for him. He certainly preferred spending time with gorgeous women in hourglass bodies.

(Y/N) felt tears rolling down her cheek. Of course, she had everything she dreamt of, but she felt so alone.

"Hi, (Y/N)! You're alright?"

Wiping her tears, she turned around and saw Victor, who stood there, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Oh, hello, Vic. I am sorry I did not hear you coming."

"That's okay... Are you sure you're alright? You seem upset."

"Me? No, don't worry: I am just tired. Pregnancy mood swings, you know."

"I guess so. Well, I mean: I trust you on this one... Is there anything you want?"

She shrugged.

"No... Unless you know where Roman is?"

"He has a business meeting at the club. Stu and Joe are with him."

She nodded, a sad look on her face.

"I see... Thank you, Victor. You can go if you want."

Shaking his head, the scarred man sat on a chair and asked:

"Do you think I am going outside and leaving you like that? I may not be the smartest, but I am not blind. I see there is something that worries you."

(Y/N) stuttered:

"No, no, no! I assure you..."

The skeptical look Victor gave her made her stop. She sighed:

"Okay, you won. But I don't think that the wailings of a pregnant woman are interesting."

"I will see... Go ahead!"

She bit her lip before explaining with a quivering voice:

"I feel so alone. Since I told Roman the news, he acted distant towards me. It feels like he did not want this child or that he found me ugly. I cannot tell what he thinks... Argh, I am getting mad!"

The henchman gently patted her hand.

"Don't worry, (Y/N). Roman always acts like that when something new happens. I know him for years, and I can tell you that he would never think about having a family of his own... until you tripped in his life!"

"Do you just said that I am clumsy?"

"Maybe! Seriously, (Y/N): he always told me that no woman could compete with you, concerning beauty or cleverness! But he just tried to cope with this new situation. And you know that he does not easily share his feelings..."

She slowly nodded.

"I guess so... I wished that he opened up to me about his opinions."

She slightly grinned.

"I appreciate your help, Victor. Thank you!"

"Hey, you make my boss happy! It's the least that I can do!"

He looked at his phone.

"Ha, I have to leave: Roman needs my help!"

"Is there anything wrong?"

"No, no: he just needs my... special skills!"

"Okay, okay, I got it! See you later!"

"Bye, (Y/N) replied Zsasz before leaving the penthouse.

While (Y/N) relaxed, Victor drove to the warehouse where Roman and his bodyguards waited for him with their prisoners.

"Hi, boss!"

"Ah, Mister Zsasz! You come at the right time! You see, those gentleman tied upside down belonged to the gang of the Davinovitch brothers. And they thought messing with our dealers was a good idea. Anyway, peel off their faces! I want to send a warning to their bosses! Make sure they suffer!"

Victor sadistically grinned.

"With pleasure, boss! Just let me pick my tools!"

And while Zsasz peeled off the faces of the prisoners, Roman asked:

"I wonder... Where were you before I called you?"

"I went to the penthouse checking on (Y/N)."

"Ah, my beloved wife! So, how is she doing?"

His henchman grimaced:

"Well, she is physically healthy. However, I am afraid to tell you that she is upset, to say the least!"

The mob boss started to worry.

"What do you mean?"

"Honestly, boss: she is on the verge of depression!"

"WHAT? AND YOU SAID THAT JUST NOW?"

"I just saw it today. I asked (Y/N) what's going on, and she confessed that something upsets her. Well, someone upsets her."

Roman turned towards his bodyguards and yelled:

"WHO DARED MAKE MY WIFE FEEL MISERABLE?"

The henchmen denied their involvement, shaking with fear: the last one who dared made (Y/N) cry rested in pieces with the fish.

"You better not lie to me because if I found the guilty, he would finish like those jackasses! Am I clear?"

His guards nodded.

Once Victor finished his job, they went to the club. The scarred man cleared his throat and said:

"Boss, when I said that someone upset (Y/N)..."

"Yes?"

"Well, I was talking about you!"

"I beg your pardon? How can I upset the woman I love, the mother of my child?" asked Roman, annoyed.

"Seriously, boss. (Y/N) feels alone, and you do nothing to reassure her! If only you saw her, she was down depressed!"

Roman frowned.

"To that point?"

"I'm telling you!"

The mob boss sighed.

"What have I done?" he muttered.

He turned towards Victor.

"Call Dean: tell him I have a specific order!"

"Consider it done, boss!" smirked Zsasz as he dialed the number.

The next day.

Thanking the driver, (Y/N) went out of the cab and entered the penthouse. Her appointment with the doctor went well. She was in good shape, and her baby was healthy. Moreover, she knew that she expected a boy.

The woman smiled: a mini-Roman. Let's hope that he won't inherit his father's temper!

She headed to the living room when a pleasant smell welcomed her. Intrigued, she went forwards and discovered a table perfectly laid with her favorite meals.

"Is anybody here?" she asked.

Suddenly, Roman appeared with a huge bouquet in his hands.

"Here comes my beautiful wife! How was your appointment?"

"Uh, it went well." (Y/N) answered, taken aback by Roman's behavior.

Yesterday, he was cold as ice, and today, he acted like at the beginning of their relationship. Something was fishy...

"Wonderful! Now, let's sit down and enjoy our dinner! Let me take off your coat!"

"Thank you, Roman. But I can do it."

"No, no, no: let me take care of you, darling. You must be exhausted!"

Once they sat down, they started to eat. (Y/N) ate a few mouthfuls, which confused her husband.

"Is everything okay, sweetheart? You don't eat that much. Yet, you must build your strength for the baby!"

"Can I ask you a question, Roman?"

"Of course, my love. What do you want to know?"

She sighed before requesting:

"Can you explain why do you plan this dinner? Do we celebrate something? A successful trade?"

The mob nodded before he put down his fork and said:

"So, Victor was right. Do you think that I neglect you?"

"WHAT? No, I would never say..."

She mentally cursed Victor: why did he need to tell Roman?

"My little doe, there is no need to panic. Besides, I owe you an apology..."

"What for?"

"I made you feel miserable. You, the only person who sincerely loves me for who I am and not for who I seem. And how do I thank you? By letting you alone with your insecurities and sadness!"

(Y/N) was impressed: she did not expect Roman to do this!

She gently put her hand on his:

"You know, I appreciate your gesture. But I can understand that starting a family might trigger you, as you don't have good memories of your parents..."

"As it happens, it gives me a lesson: it taught me what not to do with a child! I don't want my offspring to suffer as I did!"

He paused before he explained:

"About my distant behavior, I know I have no excuses. But... I was scared!"

"Scared?"

"Yes, I know: coming from me, it sounds weird. But I feared to fail you and our kid. Imagine that I end up being like my old man: a pure jackass!"

His wife firmly stated:

"But you're not your father. You succeeded better than he would ever do! You just proved it: you have concerns about how to raise our child properly!"

He smirked:

"That proves I rightly choose my life partner. I don't know what would I do if you were not here!"

Roman leaned and gave her a small kiss on the lips.

"And don't ever think that you are ugly! No matter what happens, you're still the most gorgeous woman in all Gotham!"

(Y/N) felt her heart melt: she never managed to resist his sweet talk!

She hugged him:

"Thank you."

"No, thank you!" he muttered while hugging her back.

They stayed like that a few minutes before Roman exclaimed:

"Now, let's finish our dinner, and then, let's go to bed!"

An hour later, the spouses laid in their bed, in each other's arms. Roman gently stroke (Y/N)'s hair while she laid her head on his chest.

Suddenly, she felt his hand resting on her belly, making her chuckle.

"You wanted to check if the baby is alright?"

"Kind of... I just want to let them know that I am here for them, no matter what happens!"

(Y/N) beamed.

"I am sure our baby boy would appreciate it!"

"Indeed... Wait, did you just say...?"

"You heard it right: there will be another Mr. Sionis in Gotham!"

Roman happily laughed.

"Amazing! I can't wait to meet him"

"Let's hope he won't have your flair for drama!"

"What?" exclaimed Roman, faking shock.

They both laughed and talked during the night, planning what they would do with their son.

In the end, while they drifted into sleep, (Y/N) heard Roman whispering in her ear:

"You're the only one I need..."

And as she closed her eyes, all her fears vanished in the air. She could not wait to write this new chapter with the two men of her life...

Thanks for the reading!

I hope you like it and do not hesitate to ask for another story!

Take care! 😘🥰😍

#requests #dceu #birds of prey #roman sionis #ewan mcgregor #eva green

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bisluthq · 3 years ago

Note

do u think joe contribute to any common household expenses (obvi not security or house rentals or jet expenses) or is he just living off THEE Taylor Swift? And now probs pat also will be living off her if teh NYU rumors are true cause NYU surely expensive and living in NY also.

Yeah I think he shops sometimes (but like they also obviously do have staff who do shit like stock fridges so it’d be more if he wants something other than like basics - like if he wants a particular item or a kind of beer or something, I imagine he just buys it) and buys shit he wants/subscribes to services he wants whether she has it or not, and I also think he pays for dates he takes her on and vacays that he plans (eg Cornwall, the Lakes, etc). He also obvi pays for his own shit like clothes and grooming and shit.

It strikes me as a very normal dynamic but just reversed in terms of gender. Like a beta spouse who is also ambitious and does earn money and spoils the partner, but an alpha who sorts out like… life shit.

Obviously we can’t know this stuff for a fact, but we know Joe like… shops when he’s away from her, and we know he loves takeaways, and people describe him as a gentleman and Taylor sang “acts like such a man” so I don’t imagine he’s like asking her for money or not paying for dinner or inviting her on a country vacay and then asking her to chip in.

But like he can’t afford their homes or the jets or all the staff lmao, that’s part of her lifestyle, so obviously she pays for that shit and he just gets a sweet ride.

It’s the same as Joshlie where like Karlie’s a boss lady who 100% loves to spoil her manz and does organize little getaways and special date nights and sorts out her own clothes and grooming and shit and buys treats and stuff for them but like… fundamentally Josh funds her lifestyle.

It’s very common and really healthy tbh, Swiftwyn is just unusual because he’s doing the wife role.

#nat talks Swiftwyn

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starker-eternity · 5 years ago

Text

Taken

A little fic Drabble surrounding an idea that won’t get out of my head...

Warnings: Starker, societally accepted kidnapping, ABO

*****

Pepper Potts knocked on the ornate mahogany doors that protected her boss’ private office, waiting for permission to enter before pushing open said door. As she strode to the desk where her boss sat, she noticed his attention was focused intensely on the holographic and touch screen surface of his desk. Several windows were open and he was switching amongst them with sharp waves of his hand.

Pepper came to a stop right before his desk and waited for Tony Stark, genius and billionaire philanthropist, to acknowledge her presence. As she waited, she took note that the Alpha was lingering on an image of a young man with a mop of chestnut curls. She couldn’t clearly see the picture from her angle and she knew better than to let her attention linger. If it was a matter that concerned her, she’d know it soon enough.

“Ah, Ms. Potts, right on time.”

Pepper nodded her head once, a professional smile on her face. “Of course, Mr. Stark. You needed to see me? What can I do for you today?”

Tony traced one finger down the digitally imaged cheek of the young man’s face before his gaze snapped up to look at his Beta assistant. Piercing dark eyes held her gaze as a smirk spread across his face. “We need to plan a party. A celebration, in fact!”

Pepper raised one eyebrow even as she opened her tablet to start taking notes. “What kind of party, sir? Small or large guest list? Time frame?” She was not prepared for his answers.

“Large party I think. Invite the elite of society. And it needs to be as soon as possible... this weekend.”

Pepper was startled and it showed on her face. “This weekend? It’s Thursday, Mr. Stark. That’s not a lot of notice. Venues alone will take time to be vetted and booked -.”

Tony cut Pepper off with an impatient slash of his hand through the air. “I don’t have the luxury of time, Ms. Potts. He’s legal now and I need to act before someone else does. The party is only a courtesy to let society know I’ve made my claim.”

Pepper’s eyes narrowed as she asked, “Exactly what kind of party is this, Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s face broke out in a smug smirk. “Why Ms. Potts, it’s a wedding party. I’m getting married, now that my chosen Omega has come of age.”

****

Peter finished setting his text books neatly on the provided shelf above the desk and took a step back. As he looked around the single dorm room, he gave a small pleased sigh. A typical dorm room for an Omega, it was more like a small studio apartment as it had its own bathroom and small kitchen space. All meant to give unclaimed Omegas a safe haven for their quarterly heats, away from their Alpha and Beta classmates. Claimed Omegas either lived with their mates and commuted to and from campus, or if both were students then they lived in the provided campus housing suites.

Peter flopped down on his bed, attention turned to the television that was blaring some news story. The commentator was one of those reporters with a bubbling personality, enthusiastically reporting on some societal event.

“And I’m here live, at Stark Towers, where the party of the decade is happening! As you can see, everyone who is anyone is here to celebrate one of the world’s wealthiest Alphas bidding a fond farewell to his bachelorhood!”

The bubbling reporter turned to observe the crowd before her eyes widened in surprise. “And here he is! The Alpha of the hour himself! Tony Stark, how does it feel to be celebrating your pending nuptials?”

The man in question turned to the reporter, his eyes covered in a pair of red tinted shades, a smoldering grin on his lips. As he removed his shades, he answered, “It’s great to see so many people celebrating with me. Really, it is!”

The reporter gave him another blinding smile even as she shot another question at him. “And the question on everyone’s mind - who is the lucky bride or groom? Are they even aware of their impending wedding?”

Tony smirk grew wider as something dark flashed through his eyes. “Well to answer that question, I’d have to say no. In one of the only few times in my life, I’ll be following in my father’s footsteps and kidnapping my groom. So I’m afraid you’ll have to wait with everyone else for an identity reveal, my dear.”

As the reporter tried to weasel more details out of the billionaire Alpha, Peter angrily turned off the television. Grabbing his pillow, he hugged it closely to himself, sulking at life. Tony Stark was a major icon of the world and one of Peter’s secret role models. Peter never would have believed he supported what he had just revealed. Personally, he was disgusted at what Tony Stark had just casually admitted.

Spouse kidnapping.

A disgusting, archaic tradition where the dominant partner, usually an Alpha, kidnapped their spouse to be. First, the dominant partner had to announce to the public their intentions to kidnap their bride or groom. After the public announcement, he or she had 48 hours to actually kidnap their chosen. Once taken, the kidnapper had one week to secure the union, usually by successfully mating with the victim.

There weren’t very many unsuccessful kidnappings throughout history, most victims giving in to society’s view of normal behavior. Sometimes there was outrage, but usually quieted down by the kidnapper later through gifts. In these modern times, most of the victims knew their abductor beforehand, so it wasn’t really a surprise.

Peter objected to the practice in theory. No one he knew personally had been the subject of an unwilling spousal kidnapping. His Uncle Ben had courted his Aunt May and had proposed to her. He then had a mock kidnapping to satisfy societal norms. Peter wasn’t sure how his parents’ union was, but he had been told it was mutual.

If Peter’s future spouse wanted to have a mock kidnapping, he supposed he’d go along with it. However, if he was kidnapped by a complete stranger? Peter shuddered to even think of it. Maybe Tony Stark’s groom to be knew about all of this and the couple was just portraying the societal expectation that being a celebrity entailed.

A notification coming through his phone distracted him from his stormy thoughts. Unlocking the device, he read a text from his best friend Ned, asking if he wanted to grab some dinner. Sending a confirmation back, Peter resolutely shifted all thoughts about Tony Stark and his situation out of his mind.

After all, what did any of it have to do with him?

*****

Tony looked at his extraction team with a shrewd eye. Every single member had been hand picked for this operation. He wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

He turned to his best friend, James Rhodes. “Honey bear, everything’s set up at the Compound for my week of isolation with my groom?”

He received a nod of affirmation so Tony turned his attention to Steve Rogers. “All right, Captain. You have the details - this needs to go smoothly. I don’t want a single bruise on my mate.”

The blond man rolled his eyes even as he said, “We know, Tony. We’ve only gone over this a million times.”

“Then once more for luck,” came the sharp demand.

“Fine. Clint will be on high, keeping an eye on the target and anyone in the surrounding area, notifying the group when the target is alone. Natasha will be tailing the target from behind. Thor and I will be lying in wait to ambush the target. And Happy will be driving the car, ready to transport the target to the Compound. So the target won’t be spooked, Tony will be waiting in the car. He might have seen the earlier declaration and seeing Tony may cause him to bolt.”

“And Sam will be driving the other car that’ll take us all back to the Tower, where we will wait for the news your groom has accepted your suit,” finished Rhodey.

Sam shook his head as he spoke up, “Man, I don’t know about all of this. Wouldn’t it be easier just to talk to the boy?”

Tony glared at man even as he gritted out, “No, I can’t take the risk. His Aunt prevented me from interacting with him when he was underage.”

“Well, you are much older than he is, Tony.”

The Alpha ignored the comment from the only female in the room. “And now that he is of age, I can’t take the risk someone else might snap him up. I knew he was meant to be mine the first time I saw him years ago. I will not be denied my mate any longer!”

“Okay, okay Tony. Calm down, man! It’s not us you have to convince anyway.”

“That part I’m not worried about,” joked the billionaire.

Natasha rolled her eyes and then looked to the group. “All right, everyone try to keep a low profile. The paparazzi are literally foaming at the mouth because it’s been 24 hours since Tony’s declaration and they haven’t seen movement. They know his time limit like we do. Tony, is your body double ready to occupy the media?”

“Yup, he’s all ready out there leading them in the opposite direction of where we’re going.”

“Good. Then let’s go.”

*****

They came out of nowhere.

Peter had been walking back to his campus dorm from the dining hall, after parting ways with Ned and MJ. The Omega dorms were on the opposite side of campus from the other student dorms and he’d waved off Ned’s offer to walk him to his dorm. In hindsight, he should have taken Ned up on the offer, but at the time he was thinking that there was no need for Ned to have to walk the campus and back.

As he walked along, he noticed that the campus was pretty empty. He didn’t think too much on it though as school wasn’t officially starting for another week or so, and the students were sure to be flooding in over the week. As he was crossing through a parking lot of one of the class buildings, a strong voice called out to him.

“Excuse me, son, but do you happen to have the time?”

Peter stopped to look toward the voice and saw a rather intimidating blond Alpha standing there. Although his hands were nonchalantly tucked into his jeans pockets, he still radiated strength and authority.

Nervously shuffling his feet, some inner sense telling him to keep his distance, Peter glanced at his phone and answered, “Um, it’s almost 8pm.”

The blond man gave him an earnest grin and said, “Thanks son. Thor?”

Just then Peter felt two strong arms clamp around his upper body, keeping his arms pinned to the side. As he gasped and looked over his shoulder, he saw his assailant was another blond man. Peter tried to struggle against the hold, but the other man rushed in and grabbed his legs, lifting his body completely off the ground.

Peter let loose with a yell, even as he futilely attempted to wiggle out of their hold. He barely heard the screeching of tires as a car pulled up beside the three, the door being flung open. Hands grabbed for him as the other two men pushed him into the waiting vehicle.

Peter was shoved into the backseat of a luxury car, the door slamming shut as soon as his feet were clear. He was thrown off balance against the seat as the car peeled away with a screech of tires. As soon as he managed to right himself, he tried to open the door to possibly escape the moving vehicle, but the door wouldn’t open.

Peter pounded on the window, yelling, “Let me out!”

That’s when he felt the prick in his neck.

Whipping around, one of his hands going to his neck automatically, he was just in time to see a man capping a syringe. He gaped at the man, even as his blurring vision recognized him.

“Tony Stark?!”

The man in question gave him a large smile and reached a hand out to card some of Peter’s curls away from his sweaty forehead. He ignored Peter’s flinch backwards as the young man tried to plaster himself against the car door, out of Tony’s reach.

“That’s right, sweetheart. You can call me Tony.”

Peter’s vision swam and the inside of the car began to spin. He realized he was losing consciousness as black spots appeared in his vision and he felt his eyes close. As Peter’s body fell forward, he was caught by a strong pair of arms and held in a loose embrace.

Peter felt his body being moved into a more comfortable position, hands carding through his hair. As he fell asleep, the last thing he heard was, “Sweet dreams, love. When you wake up, we’ll have much to talk about.”

*****

Maybe a part two later.

#starker fanfic #starker #au #fic drabble #abo

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hisfasttemper · 4 years ago

Text

pietro maximoff in..."filmed before a live studio audience" -- wandavision {ep. 1}

waking up in a suburban stylized home to the shattering sound of dishes before breakfast was perfectly adequate for the dandy brother/ brother-in-law role pietro maximoff had been cast in as of late.

cue a pun of 'flying saucers' and 'indestructible heads' accompanied by laugh tracks, shortly before the speedster made his timely queued entrance in the magic-enfuelled kitchen. sliding in unfasionably, the speedster gave a twirl as he hopped up onto the kitchen counter, surrounded by said flying saucers, finishing their quirky pubs with "--and your brother who's quick on his toes!"

"-feet, pietro, the saying is; quick on his feet." wanda corrected with a loose eye roll, grinning.

the suited synthezoid followed with, "quite correct wanda, see the phrase regarding one being quick on their feet originated from one's-"

"heyo vis! dictionary and his pal thesaurus called! they want their definitions back!" the brother-in-law quipped, swaying his legs on the counter.

wanda giggled towards their banter, levitaring a lollipop to her brother's shirt pocket as if rewarding a child having made some sort of achievement, which pietro had not, really. either way, the speedster took the sweet with an overjoyed gasp. "gee whizz! thanks, wanda!"

vision found himself having to leave behind the bantering siblings quite soon after to confide himself to an office working at a job with no purposeness whatsoever. not a matter to the twins however, as filling their days with distractions and 'obligations' came rather easily.

"now now, pietro, don't you have some groceries awaiting to be grabbed by your speedy little hands? " wanda whimmed, pinching her brothers black and white cheeks, "just because vis has no appetite doesn't mean we don't, does it? maybe you can introduce yourself to the buddying neighbourhood."

"you don't think the locals will be a little spooked at the sight of a silver blurr saying a fine 'how do you do' ?"

"not once they see that dashing face of yours. and I argue the vibranium husband and his telekinetic wife will leave them a little worse for wear than your speedy show."

the banter continued, each quip gaining laugh upon laugh from an unseen audience until pietro made his way out of the houses back door to shop the required foods his twin had listed for them. taking a glance around the overly cheerful neighbours with the blazefully unnatural su beaming down upon westview, pietro suddenly found himself in company before having the chance to arrive at the supermarket in a flash.

"golly !" came the quirky, astonished interruption of who could only be the maximoff's next door neighbour. pietro blinked, now fixated on a coal haired, 50's attired woman in her middle age. she gave pietro a scan over with eyes that hid more than he felt comfortable not knowing. "I tell you sweetcheeks, they don't make' em like you anymore, do they? living with my ralph has definitely proven that!"

his brows drew together in utter bafflement as they invisible audience laughed the woman on. he was oblivious as to who either she or this 'ralph' were, though he wasn't rude enough to say he didn't care. offering a fake smile and little bow at her compliment, the former sokovian- now american- replied with, "well your ralph must be blind as a bat to not see that he's living with someone remarkably stunning as you doll! "

she offered her hand, "the name's agnes, and what's your name hon, I'm betting something pretty." pietro dismissed the handshake, his urge to pull a stunt that would distract this 'agnes' and allow him to run to where he desired most to be was growing by the second. the neighbour continued, "I was just popping over to give an old fashioned welcome to your lovely little family when i saw you come out just now."

he REALLY desired to leave now. "well, I'll let my sister give you a grande introduction then, shall I?" the laugh track repeated unecessarily, while pietro's silver trail abandoned the scene.

hours of schenanagins and coupling woes occured between wanda and vision within the time it took for pietro to return home. only he entered with his sister's hands covering another petite woman's eyes in the style of their native country's greeting, all while in a dress not for a brothers eyes. to say that bafflement overwhelmed the speedster would be understating it by a long shot.

"ohhhh I'm going to cover my eyes, but not to say 'welcome to our home'!" the disturbed brother exclaimed, followed by vision erupting into a similar state as his own. as it unconventionally turned out, vision's boss and his spouse were visiting for dinner that could promote the synthezoid's future at his useless company.

chaos erupted in the kitchen as both maximoff twins were magicked into far more formal attire, with wanda in a oceanic dinner dress and pietro in a crimson suit and white bow tie. they were burdened with the task of cooking a full course meal within mere minuets while vision kept them suspiciously entertained in the meantime.

"how could this slip your mind, wanda, surely our nosy neighbour didn't distract you to the extent of FORGETTING A DINNER PARTY?! and WHAT were you wearing when I came in-"

she hushed him, flicking over the unprepared mashed potatoes in his direction, unexpectedly filling his mouth. he could only attempt to continue protesting, though wanda wanted a review of the food, not an interrogation. she perked up her brows, waiting. "is that mouthful enough of a distraction, or do I have to spill my real plans for myself and vision tonight?"

dinner came after floods of unpredicted silliness, and wanda's sudden lack of need in actually COOKING, rather just summoning a meal on the spot for the family and their guests. little did they know the true chaos would commence at the table...

the speedster chowed down on his food, letting visions boss mr.hart dabble on any nonsense or any 'couple's questions he inquired for his sister and brother-in-law. though as the laughs disintegrated, and tension suffocated the five of them,

"and who are you, what's your part in this?" questions now FIRED towards pietro...

and he too felt choked of knowledge or the ability to provide answers, just as wanda and vision seemed to be. what is his 'part'? what could that possibly mean...'part' as in role? like an acting role, in a movie, or show....? his theories were cut too soon as convienently, the aggressive questioner began to suffer his own form of choking attack, all three maximoff's dumbstruck where they sat as the boss's state grew creepily out of control.

"vision...help him," wanda ordered softly, pietro gripping her hand beneath the table until both of their knuckles faded white. vision resolved mr.harts state of struggle and for that evening, pietro couldnonly bear to stay for seconds longer before retiring to his unfamiliar bedroom, feeling TOO broodily faint to be shown on air. because, after all....

...he wasn't the main star of wandavision.

#wandavision: starring pietro maximoff #v;; wandavision #;; wanda #;; vision #;; my writing #reblogs allowed for mutuals ONLY #if any personals touch this I'll block asap #hope you liiike

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peterspideyy · 5 years ago

Text

chapter 1 - partners in crime

series masterlist

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“holland, boss wants you!”

“thanks osterfield.” tom replied, giving him a quick smile before signing of the case he just finished. he’s just arrested a millionaire for money freud. yeah, pretty boring.

tom stood up, placing his badge back on his belt, before leaving his desk to special agent carson’s office. he’s never been asked to his office, alone. he’s always been with other people for meetings, so to tom this was a massive shock.

he arrived within minutes, looking through the blue blinds to see carson reading a case. was that his case he’s just finished? tom was so caught up in his thoughts, that he didn’t notice the special agent looking at him, until he waved his hand as to say ‘enter.’

tom moved his tie, before entering and taking a seat in front of the desk. he rubbed his hands together, before meeting the eyes of carson through his glasses.

the agents name gleamed in front of him on a gold plaque placed neatly on the front of his desk. he noticed how messy his desk was. normally, all his pens and papers where neatly placed into piles and containers. but not now.

“so,” carson began, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes as he leant back in his black leather chair, “how did the money freud case go?”

“er it was good sir. i found out that the millionaire mr reed was behind it all. so he’s away for good.” he joked, but soon stopped laughing when he noticed carson wasn’t laughing with him.

“ah good,” he replied, slowly making tom uneasy, “you know what my problem is holland?”

tom shook his head, waiting for him to respond.

“don’t get me wrong, your a great agent. been here for 10 years because of your dad. you’re one of my agents with the quickest time to close a case. less and less bad guys off the street, because of you. but, i’ve noticed something about all your cases. you’re always alone.”

“well sir, i feel that i work better on my own. no distractions.” tom shrugged. it was true. he’s only worked with another agent once, and it caused him months to close the case. so, ever since, he’s worked alone.

“well, i would like the change that.” carson replied, sitting forward looking straight into tom’s eyes. oh god.

“well, sir i don’t think that’s the best idea you see-“ tom was cut off, by carson waving his hand again causing the door to fly open.

tom’s eyes went wide, when he saw who entered and who his partner was. it was...you.

the thing is, tom would of finally accepted that he had to work with someone. but, he has no chance if he’s working with you. the problem is, you and tom well, have a past. by past, it means ex relationship past. you where the fbi go-to couple, before stuff happened and suddenly, you weren’t. you couldn’t even be in the same room without being sarcastic to each other, never mind the same case. agent carson surely must be incorrect.

you came in, eyes wider than his. oh, maybe it’s a surprise to both of you. ever since you and tom broke up, you haven’t seen him in ages due to the fact everyone makes sure you are as far as possible away from each other. you must admit, when you where with tom he was only a young boy, but now he’s a man? you couldn’t believe you where thinking this. even though, he’s attractive it doesn’t make you forgive him any less. he broke your heart, and it can never be mended.

you uneasily sat beside tom, unsure how to act or what to say. the room thickened once you walked in, and it didn’t go un noticed by all of you. you looked at carson, ignoring tom’s stares.

“next case,” carson spoke, handing you both a case file, “apparently the most dangerous mob group is back in new york, the red dragon. they are on the top of the fbi most wanted, so this is our only chance to catch them for good. they are going to be here for about a month, before disappearing off our radar again. let’s not let that happen this time. we don’t know what they’re planning. so, your mission is to find out what they’re planning and hopefully arrest them on scene. is that okay with you both?”

“both?!” you and tom screeched at the same time, sitting forward in your chairs.

“you heard me. you’re both going undercover together, to try and get close to the mob group. your going to be the english royals, mr and mrs kingston.” carson spoke, handing you both fake passports and another case file about your character.

“wait, mr and mrs? we’re going to be married?” tom shouted in disbelief. you couldn’t believe this was happening. tom not proposing despite being together for 5 years, was one of the many reasons you broke up.

“yep,” carson said, popping the ‘p’, “listen, i understand your-your past together but hopefully this will cause you to become friends? holland you need to start learning how to work as a team, so you working with l/n will help this build on those skills. your both one of my top agents, so please do this. i can’t trust anyone else with this sort of case.”

“i’ll work with him,” you spoke, leaning back, “but i will not become friends with him.”

tom scoffed, “you know i have a name, right?”

“yes, peice of shit.” you turned to him, smiling sarcastically.

“sir, come on you really think i can work with that?”

“that? at least i called you a human.”

“how is ‘shit’ human? use your brain.”

“i have more of a brain than you. at least you agreed with me that you are a peice of shit.”

“right right stop,” carson shouted above you both, while you and tom gave harsh daggers to each other, “you can argue all you like, but it will not change my mind. unless one of you kill the other. don’t kill each other, for my work sake. anyway, you will have an apartment just across the street of the red dragons house. cameras are already set up, so you’ll just be watching for the time being, until they say their plan. you will start monday, so it gives you this weekend to read through the files on the red dragons, as well as your undercover. any questions?”

“no.” you huffed loudly, grabbing the apartments key before walking out, slamming the office door behind you.

tom watched you leave, sighing loudly massaging his fingers against his temple.

“sir, come on! this has to be some sort of a prank, right?”

“holland, it’s not a prank. i want both of you to work together. when you were well together, you were amazing at catching criminals. but, not anymore since you’re both alone on cases. that’s not what the fbi is for. our motto is-“

“work together, catch together.” tom interrupted, crossing his arms.

“exaclty. tom, ever since you broke up with her, you’ve both be different. you may not notice it, but she’s heart broken. you can tell. i’m not trying to set you both up, but hopefully both of your hearts will be patched up after this. in a friendly way.”

“fine, thank you sir.” he gritted, grabbing the spare key before leaving his office to go home.

half an hour later, tom opened the door to his empty apartment, throwing the files on to the table in front of him. he couldn’t believe he was working on a case. with you.

his stomach rumbled loudly, making him realise how hungry he was. he opened the fridge, taking left overs from yesterday’s tea out as well as a beer, before placing the food in the microwave.

tom opened the beer, taking a big swig of it before picking up the file on mr kingston, and opening it to read.

full name - james paul kingston

date of birth - 23rd february 1996

nationality - english

living - london

spouse - amelia elizabeth kingston

tom winced when he read that you where in fact his ‘wife’. however, deep down he felt gult. he’s never felt guilty about you since you broke up. but, carson’s words of how heart broken you where reminded him of one of many fateful nights.

“do you love me?”

tom choked on his food when he heard your words, “are you seriously asking me that?”

“yes.”

tom looked at you, smiling before kissing you passionately. he pulled away, moving a strand of hair behind your ear looking at you lovingly, “does that answer your question, love?”

“erm kind of.” you replied, before moving away to carry on eating.

“what do you mean? come on darling, you know i love you. why do you think i don’t?”

you looked at him, tears threatening to fall. could he be so oblivious? obviously, he can.

“we have been together for 5 years? yes?”

“yes.” tom answered, un sure of where you were going with this conversation.

“so why is this still empty?” you whispered, bringing your ring finger up to tom’s face. tom looked at you immediately, to see tears falling softly. he didn’t know what to say.

“i-i,” tom stuttered, “i’m scared.”

“bullshit tom,” you angrily replied, standing up. you grabbed your phone and coat before looking at tom who’s face was filled with confusion and guilt, “i’m going to lucy’s for a couple of days. i hope you realise how much i want to spend the rest of my life with you. i’m not breaking up with you, but i want you to understand how much i want to marry you. how much i want to start a family with you.”

before tom could even process what you said, you left and so did a piece of your heart.

the microwave beeping, caused tom to jump slightly and snap out of his thoughts. he grabbed the now hot dinner, before sitting on the table where you both had that argument, sighing slightly.

blowing on his food, he caught sight of how thick the case file was before groaning. this was going to be a long weekend of revision. but, an either longer case with you.

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a/n - hope you enjoyed my first chapter! it’s quite short, but hopefully as the story goes on, it will get longer. comment below if you want to be tagged on the masterlist for this series :)

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tags:

@averyfosterthoughts @cyrusandhiscollaredahirts @hayleeharling @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @hollands-osterfield @coveredinthemessimade @deathofmissjackson @itsjusttor @chaoticpete @dreamofaprilsblog @iamaunicorn4704 @parkeret @loveforthor @aevoit @supernaturalwriter24 @spiderbibby

#peter parker #tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland imagine #tom holland oneshot #tom holland series #tom holland x fbi #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #imagines #series #fbi #fbi agent #spiderman

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