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ruvviks · 5 months ago

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it's been a hot sec since i've talked about cyberpunk and i was initially working on a fic that would tell the story of this whole thing, but i've abandoned it many months ago and cannot say when i'll be picking it up again SO! i've decided to instead make this timeline. sorry in advance for how much information is in this thing the cyberpunk extended blorboverse essentially refers to the story parallel to the in-game events of cyberpunk 2077 that @mojaves and i came up with. we don't really have a better name for it but at this point the term has been used so many times that i feel like everyone here knows what it is by now, but at the same time we've never really explained the full scope of what the story is by now (it's a lot sorry). so in an attempt to get you guys a little bit more up to date with it all, here's a semi coherent timeline that describes the core events of the story and every branching story that came out of it! for additional background information, you can check out the following posts (timeline 1 / timeline 2 / timeline 3) to catch up with the continuation of the in-game storyline that's referenced in this timeline, but it's mostly irrelevant to everything here save for a couple of referenced events that cross over between the stories. it all ties together very intricately sorry about that. don't worry too much about it i've included my taglist down below to make sure people who are interested won't miss this post, but feel free to skip over this if it's not your thing! won't be doing a lot of this kind of stuff in the future but i'm trying to get back to the cyberpunk roots so this is kind of like, a good starting point and reference point for later posts!

The story starts in early 2077 and is centered around Sebastian Vidal, gang leader of the Cobras and previous test subject of Arasaka Special Programs (the linked page is a lot of information but gives the most coherent overview of what the branch actually is). The current director of the SERPENT projects, Andrew Colton, and Dr. Alana Cartier, both want him dead, to tie up their last loose end before the rest of Arasaka can find out and shut down Special Programs once and for all.

Over the past months they’ve been hiring various assassins in secret, to try and get Seb killed; however, these assassins keep failing, and their latest attempt lies in the hands of Cassidy Shaffer, an ex-corpo turned assassin with a strong moral code and plenty of experience to his name. With little to work with, as his mysterious client doesn’t give out much information, Cassidy starts with what he thinks is gonna be a quick and easy job– but he ends up hunting after Seb for essentially a year.

During this year, the two men have a series of wild encounters that get more and more insane the longer it goes on; it includes, but is unfortunately not limited to, Cassidy biting off a chunk of Seb’s ear, the two of them running over the highway, the two of them getting handcuffed together and chased by the NCPD then hit by a car right in front of the hospital, and Seb sensually licking blood off Cassidy’s face after having stabbed him when Cassidy wanted to strike at a concert Seb is visiting.

All of it comes to a sudden stop when Cassidy learns his client has been lying to him the whole time, and since he does not appreciate lying clients he ends up jumping sides and teams up with the Cobras to do some cleanup duty in Arasaka Special Programs. He and Seb work together to go after a list of targets to get the still ongoing projects mostly to a halt, while remaining in the shadows themselves as to not draw too much attention their way; and during this collaboration they meet several people from their past, bringing back both good and bad memories.

One of these people is Hanan Chisaka, the Head of Security at Special Programs. She ends up becoming the next test subject of Project Cobra after the last successful subjects, Xavier and Gabriel Mason, end up escaping in the midst of the chaos of Hanako Arasaka’s capture in mid-2077. Once Seb’s best friend and Cassidy’s mentor, she’s now forced to hunt the both of them down; but in their final confrontation she snaps out of the controlled mode Arasaka keeps her in and runs away with them, effectively leaving Special Programs without any test subjects. Another one of these people is Reid Bennett, Cassidy’s ex and ex-coworker back at MaxTac. He still works for the corporation and has been on an ongoing investigation into Arasaka Special Programs; seeing Cassidy alive and well, working together with Seb no less, piques his interest and he continues to look further into the case, which will cause him to make a very big mistake later on in the timeline.

By September 2078, Seb and Cassidy have successfully taken down all their planned targets and retreat back into the shadows, leaving Special Programs with many losses and no test subjects. With the APEX program discontinued a month earlier (incident discussed in this fic, which is a continuation of the in-game events), and Hanako Arasaka recovered and ready to take the corporation back from the hands of her corrupt brother, Special Programs ends up having to retreat for the time being, and cook up a new plan in the background.

Special Programs by this point is run by Andrew Colton, Alana Cartier, and Kaida Akiyama, three players who have been in the game for a long time already in the SERPENT projects’ runtime. Colton and Cartier are married– Cartier used to be married to Seb and cheated on him for a good amount of time when he was still at Arasaka– but their marriage is starting to fall apart. Akiyama has had to watch over Special Ops agent Ambrose Hawthorne for a while during his chase after the Mason twins, which ended up with the twins dead and Hawthorne going into early retirement (Arasaka doesn’t know the twins faked their death and Ambrose is now dating one of them lol), and xe is now determined to help Colton and Cartier get Seb back into Arasaka so the projects can continue.

Cassidy’s initial plan was to leave as soon as the collaboration would come to an end, but he has found his place with the Cobras and instead ends up officially joining them.The next chapter in the story is a more laid-back and easygoing chapter, in which Cassidy learns to be part of real life again, and in which Seb learns to let people get close to him again after spending years trying to convince himself he doesn’t need any help. Over the course of a little over a year (all the way to November 2079), the two grow even closer than they had already done, going on gigs together and, you guessed it, slowly but surely falling in love until they inevitably end up together at the end of it.

Not long after the two get together, Reid returns into Cassidy’s life. He wants to try and be friends again and Cassidy gives him a second chance, though this soon enough turns out to have been a mistake, with Reid trying to create distance between Seb and Cassidy and then going as far as trying to sell Cassidy to Kang Tao (one of the few corporations that have been hunting Cassidy down for a while now) in exchange for his own freedom from MaxTac (where he would have otherwise been stuck at for probably the rest of his life). Naturally, Reid can’t watch Cassidy get tortured for long and leaks his location to the Cobras, who find and free Cassidy and take Reid into captivity instead�� he does not get killed, but instead has to sit out some time at a safehouse somewhere in solitude, where he gets to decide what kind of person he wants to be in the future.

This brings us to Elysium; a gorgeous spaceship which was supposed to be a relatively cheap escape from reality for everyone who wanted a refreshing break from Earth, but through Arasaka sponsorship has become just another cash-grab project to compete with the Crystal Palace– and considering the megacorporation has its greasy hands all over it, the secret labs in the spaceship are used for a series of very unethical experiments. Naturally so, it would be the perfect place for Colton to continue his SERPENT projects without the risk of Hanako Arasaka finding out and shutting the place down. He sends forces up to Elysium (obviously after his other attempts at relocating the project to space have failed tremendously, having lost contact with every single crew in the smaller Arasaka stations in orbit around the planet), but since he’s not there himself his cousin (one of the CEOs of Elysium), Maxwell Crane, unbeknownst to Colton, takes control of the SERPENT projects in space instead. From the earlier linked Special Programs page: “Project Eryx used the technology of previous projects, but took a completely new approach in the hosts it used; rather than focusing on the human psyche it attempted to create a new type of cyborg which would lack the humanity that caused previous projects to fail. The Cobra chips were no longer used and the software was instead installed directly onto the host’s mainframe. The flexibility of the new hosts– more robot than human, and in some cases the entire human aspect was lacking altogether– allowed for experimentation with highly advanced cybernetic enhancements and military grade tech and upgrades, turning the test subjects– dubbed ‘prototypes’– into dangerous, unstoppable killing machines.”

Things settle down for Seb and Cassidy, but this moment of peace does not last long. In January 2081 the two find themselves traveling to the spaceship Elysium, to investigate a curious situation in the laboratories– they’ve been hired by Arasaka without their knowledge and it’s a setup to get Cassidy killed and Seb back in Cartier’s control.

While in space, they learn that the secret labs have suffered an outbreak of the above mentioned prototypes. They quickly connect the dots and realize Special Programs is back in the game, and they work together with security guards Aubrey Valentine and Leon dello Russo to try and fix the situation before it gets out of hand. Obviously this fails tremendously and Elysium ends up on a complete lockdown after a ship-wide outbreak, which is eventually contained in late March of that year, with CEO Maxwell Crane dead, leaving only his wife Kinsley Osborn behind.

Elysium continues to exist and is rebuilt after the crisis, and Kinsley Osborn can now finally turn it into the retreat it was always meant to be. Previously, most Elysium employees were to be stuck in space for the rest of their lives; however, with Arasaka out of the picture they are free to leave as they please, which results in a gigantic cut in total employee count in the months that follow.

Seb and Cassidy return to Night City and take Aubrey and Leon with them. Aubrey reunites with his sisters; Becca, James, and Rikki, and soon after his return to the city he opens an LGBTQ+ nightclub called Bodytalk with them, found Downtown, City Center, in June 2081. Not only is it a fun place to hang out at, it’s also his main hub as a fixer, and he starts a collaboration with the Cobras to get business going between the gang and the club; and soon enough it grows into a large and powerful network of connections, which is the foundation on which the rest of the stories are built.

After this point in time, many many more things happen but it would take me another hour or ten to go into full detail of all of that, so instead here’s a quick rundown of some of the other things that Bodytalk gets involved in:

Reid Bennett is handed over to Aubrey and he starts working at the club, and he becomes a very valued employee as well as a good friend to many now that he’s no longer fucking insane

Kaida Akiyama returns from Elysium and shows up to Hanan’s doorstep, to ask for her help with getting out of Arasaka for good; much later on, xe starts working for Bodytalk as well, in an attempt to put xyr past behind xem and become a better person

Urban Dynamite starts performing at the club regularly, and it becomes their home base

Luna Serratos, Cassidy’s ripperdoc friend from all the way back to killing era, gets involved in the Harbinger case from Maelstrom (one of the gang’s most feared members); turns out the Harbinger is in fact Reuben de la Rosa, a by then 22-year-old kid who has ended up in Luna’s care with his friend Noah Telavera after the two got caught up in an explosion. She requests the Cobras’ help with getting Maelstrom to let Reuben go

Officer Michele Diaz from Militech (who used to be Cassidy’s boss) is demoted following the lawsuits after the Elysium incident, and her investigation into the incident in hopes to get her job back leads her to Bodytalk; she begins threatening them and sends the whole club and their allies into uncertain times

Many people get married. There’s so many fucking guys here we went a little insane with the numbers but there’s several weddings and there’s a whole polycule going on too feel free to send asks about this if you’re interested

Cobra Cybernetics releases a new line of cyberware, which is incredibly buggy and dangerous to the public; it’s brought to the club’s attention and it makes them realize that Luiza Vidal (Seb’s sister), who not that long ago asked them to kill her husband (William Colton (Andrew’s brother), CEO of Cobra Cybernetics), has gone missing; they now need to get involved without getting the news out that they actually didn’t kill William and that he is still alive somewhere, while also balancing out dynamics between Biotechnica (angry at Cobra Cybernetics for stealing their designs) and Arasaka (the actual reason why Cobra Cybernetics’ designs look like Biotechnica’s designs, because William stole designs from Special Programs after halting their partnership after the Elysium incident, but these designs had been stolen by Arthur Jenkins from Biotechnica even BEFORE that to be able to hijack the European Space Council’s cybernetics following the Frankfurt incident. Are you still with me)

Vitali Dobrynin (fixer and main character from the in-game events storyline and the continuation of it; Vincent “V” Mayer’s boyfriend) ends up visiting Bodytalk after meeting Aubrey at a Fixer Council meeting, which happens in late 2083; this essentially ties the two main storylines together, which means that yes, a lot of the characters from the two separate storylines end up meeting :]

Officer Ulysses Dimakos (used to work with Reid at MaxTac) is sent to investigate Bodytalk following the Cobra Cybernetics scandal, and ends up teaming up with the club to get MaxTac on a dead trail in exchange for his freedom of the corporation

On top of the Bodytalk / Cobras centered storyline, there’s a couple of side stories that are still connected to the whole thing but are more of a standalone thing with only a few touching points to the rest of it all:

This obviously takes place a lot earlier because it’s already mentioned above, but Special Ops agent Ambrose Hawthorne is tasked with chasing after the escaped Mason twins; naturally he lets them go and ends up going into retirement, and Xavier Mason later on ends up becoming Bodytalk’s part-time repair guy on account of knowing Kaida

Gabriel Mason ends up in a car crash with retired security specialist Ames Ortega, who was also in Elysium during the incidents there, and the two end up babysitting Ambrose and Xavier’s kids together while those two are helping Hanan with getting Kaida out of Arasaka (Are you still with me. Blink if you can hear me)

Mercenary Frankie Sayyad gets a promotion from his fixer, Vulture (real name Diana Crane, Maxwell Crane’s older sister and cousin of the Coltons), and becomes one of her Bloodhounds; he works together with Evelyn Harris, Nimue Nkuna, and Beckett Rydel, the latter being one of the very first test subjects of Arasaka Special Programs, and the four accidentally get themselves mixed into a mystery concerning their secretive fixer

Caleb Harris, ex-security at Biotechnica, ends up back at Club Bodytalk not long after the conclusion of the Cobra Cybernetics scandal, and starts working for Aubrey; he is partnered up with Ramiel Al-Masri, a mercenary who has been working for Vitali Dobrynin for a while and has recently joined Aubrey’s mercenary roster too, and together they dive into a series of gigs neither of them had expected

Journalist Bodhi Shankar has finally found more evidence and information surrounding the mysterious cult gang Umbra and its so-called Prophet, Thiago Salazar; however, his antics have led to him accidentally becoming part of the gang himself, and he has to figure out a way to get Thiago to stop listening to the supposed deity that the gang worships known as Scintilla, before she makes him do things that will get many people killed

taglist (opt in/out)

@velocitic, @deadrlngers, @euryalex, @ordinarymaine, @gurathins;

@mojaves, @shellibisshe, @dickytwister, @mnwlk, @rindemption;

@ncytiri, @calenhads, @noirapocalypto, @florbelles, @radioactiveshitstorm;

@strafethesesinners, @fashionablyfyrdraaca, @aemondtargeryen, @radioactive-synth, @katsigian;

@estevnys, @elgaravel, @aezyrraeshh, @carlosoliveiraa

#nuclearwriting #timeline tag #this is really lengthy so again if you don't wanna go through all that i can respect that WBHSNGJFDHGDFJG just wanted to like #show that no i am NOT dead i have in fact been yelling about my ocs basically every single day since the last piece of writing i posted #but it's all in intricate rituals between me and my bf that as you can see results into. so much information. that's only barely coherent #i could go into entirely more detail is the thing. i could very easily go into entirely more detail because you see #we have encounters written out for killing era. all encounters. they're all there #we have separate timelines for the bigger events like the elysium arc and the maelstrom arc and the militech arc #the whole thing with cobra cybernetics is a buildup that dates back all the way to fucking 2072 and then happens in 2083/84 #the colton/crane family dynamics are a whole bookwork of information on its own #then there's the whole polycule that's gotten. a little out of hand i'll admit but it's COHERENT i made a VISUAL for it #there's years worth of history between SO many of these characters that can all be analyzed and picked apart personally #there's the whole side stories going on with ambrose and the mason twins and the bloodhounds and umbra #the whole elysium incident on its own is a horror freakshow that would do numbers on here. i'm telling you #BASICALLY WHAT I'M TRYING TO SAY IS. IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS ABOUT LITERALLY ANYTHING #PLEASE COME INTO MY INBOX OR IN ANDY'S INBOX WE LOVE TALKING ABOUT THIS STUFF #THERE'S SO MUCH TO TALK ABOUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WE HAVE AN INSANE AMOUNT OF OCS FOR IT AND WE'RE STILL MAKING MORE #ELYSIUM HAS A WHOLE CREW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WE MADE UP A WHOLE CREW FOR ITTBHGFJNBHGJKSDGDSNGJDSG #I'M NORMAL

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tossball-stick · 5 months ago

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heyy i saw your latest post about john's aromantic trutherism and i didn't exactly understand what you mean by that... could you explain? i too don't think he is actually in love with abigail if that's what you were saying...?

hiii!!! 1: thank you for asking about this im excited to write and analyze him in this way

2: plsplspls get the idea outta ur head that aromantic people cant love. noooo i couldnt have been misunderstood more. i wanna clarify that i do think john loves abigail. i just dont think that love is all that romantically motivated and ive got a few reasons to believe so.

3: uhhhh uhhh this ended up being like 2.5k words of analysis on john im sorry. no one on tumblr has asked me my thoughts about him before so this is the first time im talking about a lot of the stuff here and theres so much ive thought about johns character and its all messy and intertwined. itll be a little all over the place. i am deeply sorry.

okay. first reason? hes otherwise not much of a romantic. whether he wants to be or not, he falls flat on his face every attempt there is at being romantic with abigail (rarely do we see him be romantic with other women) is usually met with disdain, if there even are many to begin with. its rare to hear john say something pleasant about having a woman, and its rare to ever witness them having a good time together while in the gang.

...up until the epilogue and john gets his shit together. but by that point i could argue further analysis as to how john isnt wholly himself by that point. hear me out.

john and arthur are two halves of one whole to me. its clear theres some sort of void in john after arthur dies, and he still holds the memory of arthur very very dear. he does his best to keep the memories alive, in fact, in a way to keep arthur alive.

this starts extending to some kinda interesting parallels, though. writing and drawing in arthurs journal like he did, the hat being placed on johns head, john proposing with marys ring, the phrasing and tone of johns proposal is also shockingly familiar to arthur telling john that itd make him happy if john went to his family... after arthurs death, i find john taking on many of his traits even. he becomes more quiet and closed off, we see it even in rdr2 with arthur telking him to "knock it off with the whole being mysterious thing" or whatever. arthur claims its to act like dutch, but ill do you one better, its clearly just john idolizing his older brother and trying to be like him to be a proper man. this brings me to my next point...

the time period of rdr2!!! yayyy cowboys, the victorian era, Did u know. being a man was something you had to do in previous american and european cultures? this slowly started fading as we roll over into the 20th century, but there was a lot of emphasis placed on performing your role as a man. to be a good man, you must do xyz. otherwise, you are seen as immature, as a boy, as a child.

throughout the entire series of red dead redemption, both 1 and 2, theres a lot of stuff pointing towards jogns struggle to Be A Man. arthur and dutch frequently refuse to let him grow up, still calling him "little john" and still treating him like hes a rowdy unruly boy that needs to learn better, not a man who should know better. hosea is the only man treating john like hes a man, and even then id say hes fairly lax with the guy. only as the story of rdr2 progresses do we see arthur start to shift his view towards john. not as a boy to stay a boy, because the gang isnt gonna be around forever. john cant keep being a boy. he needs to become a man, take care of his family.

working off a distinctly gentleman influenced view of masculinity, johns inability to be a man is almost directly tied to his inability to be a proper romantic for his wife. compared to arthur, who is seen taken women on dates and flirting with them just to make them laugh at times. hes dancing with the ladies and helping them up and down the coaches, wagons, and horses. john like. just barely remembers to do that for abi in the epilogue. again, his failings to be a true romantic are tied with his failings as a man.

in rdr1, this even extends to bill having the bit of dialogue, "you always were a scared little boy!" continuing to imply that john is not a man, hes never been a man. the only reason we can read him as a man Now is because we are going by arthurs definition of manhood. we can extend this further and say bill still views john as a boy because john does not live up to bills expectations of manhood- while arthur may view being a man as something chivalrous, more gentlemanly, bill clearly views masculinity as power and violence, without much to do with women. john does not live up to that, to bill, until the end.

if you read "masculinity" as "being romantic and chivalrous towards women", then, as john fails at being a romantic, he too fails at being a man. there are a lot of other ways john is immature and childish but this is a really easy one to point out if you know the time period and just how much emphasis was placed on both romanticism and manliness, and how they intertwined.

third reasoning for aro john: his family wasnt his for so much of his life. this one is another one that needs a bit of elaboration i fear.

the story of john and abigail getting together is simple enough. she joined the gang at 17 as a sex worker, slept around with some of the gang, then for one reason or another, very clearly believed that the pregnancy was johns. john runs away for a year.

in this time, we dont know a whole lot about what gang life was like without john. however, with arthurs comments about marrying abigail himself and loving her, and his close relationship with jack, i think its pretty clear arthur was the one being a man in johns place. when john left, there was a john shaped hole arthur had to fill. (i also like to think this because the potential misery of arthur having to lose his family a second time once john returns is fun to me.)

even in the story of rdr2, we see john Love and Care For his family, but its never in the same, romantic way arthur seems to involve himself in abi and jacks lives. john will defend them with his life, but when it actually comes to pulling himself up by his bootstraps and being a father or a husband, he kinda just drags his feet and gets lost. he has to be told to reunite with his family at jacks party, despite, in my eyes, his love for jack being very clearly displayed while they were looking for him.

this is only bolstered by the conclusion of rdr2, with john and arthur on the mountain. arthur, in all his holy parallels, like jesus passing the virgin mary off to john the beloved, arthur tells john it would make him very happy if [john] went to be with his family and left. arthur is passing his family off onto john, the same as jesus passed his family onto saint john. (this one hits harder if you know the rest of the "arthur is jesus" parallels and symbolism but i feel like those would be more impactful as a web weave, and i cant make one right now haha. most obvious one i can think of to support this though is arthur being a scapegoat, dying for the gangs sins.) remember these points they are the most important and will come back later.

reason number four: "but javier-!" shhhhshshsh lemme talk. yes. john is infinitely more intimate with javier than abigail. however, again, we must take the time period into account.

not that far off from many disgusting redpill communities today, back in the 1800s it was typically expected for men to socialize with men and women with women. there was a certain level of bonding you only had with your wife, as well as a certain level of bonding you only had with the men who were close to you.

i have got to grab this fandom by the shoulders and say rockstar did not make these men as affectionate as they should have been with each other, and thats completely platonically. this is taking romance out of the equation, these men considered each other brothers and family. they were all in a cult together. they would have been very close, and also very affectionate! they would confide in each other and hold each other and cry to each other. they would make gifts for each other and sing and dance together. you can at least see them all pass around beer bottles between each other.

do i think john and javier are closer than most? yes absolutely. do i think javier is in love with john in some way? yes absolutely. do i think its romantic? ehhh maybe. do i think john loves javier? yes absolutely. do i think its romantic? ....noo not really. their whole dynamic reads as one sided through and through to me. even if they ever got together im sure they were quickly apart again, and i doubt the relationship would have been fulfilling in the ways javier would want, leaving him longing still.

the "ive always loved you, even now" immediately funneling into a crate being shoved onto john to knock him over can also be metaphorical- javiers love is disarming to john Because he does not know how to react to it. hes never known how to react to it. hes never known how to react to love from anyone, because "love" seems to feel so much different for everyone but him.

reason ff. fiiiiive. dear god. im sorry for this being this long: john loves. he clearly loves very hard. he was clearly wrecked by arthurs death, he would clearly crawl through hell for his family, he was clearly hurt because his love for javier eventually stabbed him in the back. however, to me, a lot of this love feels similar to the love john has for dutch, or arthur, really. its familial, its platonic, it sure as hell isnt romantic. (even if the games themselves like to joke about it being so lol.)

its just clear to me that he loves. he cant not love jack and abi after everything hes done for them. he cant not love javier after being so close for so long. but in the same vein, he cant not love dutch for the same reasons. ysee what i mean? his devotion to his wife and child feels identical to the devotion to dutch, compared to arthur, whos devotion to eliza and isaac directly went against his devotion to dutch.

much like with dutch, where john was still seen as a boy, he will ferociously do the big things for his family (saving jack, defending the ranch, tackling gangsters and robbers). he will almost always fail to do the little things that would make him a true man, though. yknow. winding down, relaxing, just working, not getting involved in fights. spending some time with his family maybe.

he can shape up and be good, he just never does.

and i think thats why hes so torn between leaving on his own, leaving with his family, or staying with the gang. theres no difference between romantic, platonic, or familial love for him. when arthur tells him to go be with his family and john replies "youre my brother" its not only announcing arthur as family, but i think it only reinforces that blurred line of what love is for john. "i love you the same as them, why must i leave you behind? if they are family and i love them, then you too must be family, for i love you."

point six: i hope you remembered the first few points like i told you to. you did remember right

this brings us back around to john not being a man by not being a romantic, arthurs family being passed off to him, and also john not wholly being himself later on. in the epilogue, between 1899 and 1908, we hear about how john has been unable to avoid trouble and has them on the run still. whenever abigail asks something of him, he instead goes and does what he wants. its only after she leaves him (ultimate failure of being a man) do we see him start to shape himself up again, and i would argue this shaping up increases substantially after he reunites with charles. charles sets him on the right path and reawakens that memory of arthur. i imagine being close to blackwater also helps here. id argue due to charles' apparent closeness with arthur, and then sudden closeness to john due to john being all thats left of arthur... it makes john also feel like hes all thats left of arthur. i believe after speaking with charles and thinking to himself, he decides to fulfill the one dream arthur had, seemingly, at the end: take care of the family he had lost. well, eliza and isaac are six feet in the dirt so next best option: abi and jack.

john starts to become quieter and more in his own shell- by rdr1 hes struggling to even really ask people for help with the most basic things. he becomes a lot more of a romantic speaker. he had always used fancy words with the gang, but never with charismatic purpose in the way i feel he does in rdr1. he starts making the decisions he thinks arthur would make. as a result, the hole that arthur left behind when he died, does not get filled by john. instead it simply gets filled with whatever arthur john can muster from within himself.

id also like to bring up john being the favorite, but not the golden boy. he was the youngest and most spoiled, but he was not the one dutch turned to for just about everything. he was still living in arthurs shadow, so i imagine all of that also plays a role in johns choice to live like arthur to get his family back, to be a man. he failed at being a man by his own merits. arthur was a real man by his own merits, lets just do what we've always done and look up to our older brother about it. copy what he does. clearly hes got it all figured out, even though you know he didnt, after reading the journal.

this all is finally bolstered by john making the choice to kill micah and repeat the VDL cycle of violence, which ruins the perfect life he made for himself. he makes another decision HE, not arthur, HE would make, and thus has to deal with the consequences.

in conclusion: i think john loves a lot and very hard. hes passionate about these people. but in his own words towards javier that start to become readable as projection, "hes a cynic that wants to be a romantic" and "hes all passion, no love ('no love' being how he perceives it, due to the views of those around him. he loves abigail and jack, he loved arthur, though because his version of love was different than theirs, its not read as love. therefore, he has none in his own eyes)."

all of this coupled with a detached attachment style that leaves him cold and distant leaves him being tugged along in romances he truthfully does not feel the same about. he says he does, because he loves, but he doesnt know why the love isnt the same. so, clearly, since he loves, he must want the romance. he has to perform it for love regardless of if he truly does want romance or not. if he loves, he must be a romantic, and hes failing at being a romantic, so he cant be himself. he must be someone else in order to convey his love to his family.

i hope i got everything across alright ^-^ feel free to ask questions or send more asks ive got plenty more where that came from

#john marston #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #rdr2 #rdr1 #red dead redemption analysis #rdr2 analysis #red string on the corkboard #if anything ive written is insensitive towards arospec people lmk and ill fix it ^-^

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socdarlings · 2 years ago

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how do u think the members of the gang would feel about/react to fireworks?? love ur page btw!!!

hi i’m aware this is like 18 days late sorry anon

How the gang would react to fireworks:

Pony:

wouldn’t really care tbh. he doesn’t enjoy the sound but he likes watching it explode

tries to take a pic of it and ends up crying cuz it looks like shit (never take pictures of fireworks. it never looks good)

ends up attempting to draw some from memory. he’s not great at painting but he actually, surprisingly, manages to get a good firework painting going

overall he likes them. wishes he could capture them though. 8/10

Johnny:

this poor boy. doesn’t like fireworks at all

he likes watching them from far, far away but going near one while it sets off? he’d rather die

also don’t bring him to where a bunch of fireworks are going off while it’s crowded. sensory issues to the max

i just know the gang’s gonna get their own firecrackers and light some off in the street. johnny is NOT getting involved. he stays in the house while it goes off and tries to listen to music or smth to distract himself. the loud noises scare him

3/10. doesn’t like em

Sodapop:

this dude loooooves anything that explodes. too much of a wimp to set it off himself though but he loves being there for it

he likes them going off, loves the colorful explosion it gives, loves the popping sound some of them do too. he’s not an artist by any means so he’ll ask pony to draw some. cue him failing

will go with steve to light them up after work. they’ll try and find a place and when they do, he’ll be giggling uncontrollably like a little kid

10/10. he’ll have a blast (had to do it)

Steve:

like soda, he loves these things. he’s more interested in setting up the fireworks than seeing them though.

he’ll try and make it from scratch too. also will try to get a car engine so he could make a “MasterBlaster5000”

does not fucking work. he does rig something so they set off all at once though. (he was planning on making a firework bomb)

steve reminds me of those guys on Minecraft that sets up elaborate redstone systems. would not be surprised if he got gunpowder so it could, in his words, “make more booms”.

also 11/10. too excited. have the fire department on standby.

Dallas

Oh he hates these things. absolutely fucking hates them.

doesn’t like seeing them, hates hearing them, and will go somewhere else if somebody’s lighting them up. he goes to buck’s when they do, because the bar music is loud enough to block it out. or to the shepard’s house because it’s far away

he knows the difference between fireworks and gunshots, but being around them is a whole different story. any type of explosion reminds him of New York, and he tries to forget anything about that place

even if the gang or the shepards try to invite him over with beer, he refuses. prefers to sit at home and get drunk by himself

him and johnny bond over their dislike of fireworks, even if he knows johnny likes seeing the patterns

-11/10. fuck the 4th

Two-Bit:

his favorite activity is sitting by and watching them explode while wasted. will be that drunk uncle that brings two 12 packs and a lawn chair

will set them off with steve as well. even though he’s not really into the process, he likes watching steve build stuff

will also be that annoying uncle that hollers and claps. if he knew how to grill, he’ll bring a Foreman too

one time him, steve, and soda (dally did NOT wanna come along) set off a bunch of fireworks in the street even though darry told em not too. cut to the neighbors calling the cops and they all took off running. two-bit was unlucky enough to get caught and spent his july 4th locked up

10/10. thank you uncle Keith for bringing the beers

Darry:

lord help this man

despite half the gang begging him to come, he only does because he wants to grill. and bring little sandwiches

and he does admire them, somewhat. again, he’s mostly there for the food

if the shepards come, tim’s by his side. somehow both him and two-bit managed to persuade him to drink, and he only got down one. someone needs to bring back the gang after all

if the gang sets off firecrackers in the streets he’ll be. livid is one word. he’ll pick up anyone that gets arrested for setting them off *cough* cough* twobit *cough* but now he has to talk to the cops. will be furious if he finds out either pony or soda was there

5/10. meh

Tim:

Like Darry, he’s mostly there to watch his siblings. when he does get him to drink, it’s the first time he starts genuinely laughing in a while

he does not care. he’s there for the drinks.

lets dally stay at his place if they’re setting them off. his house is the farthest from everyone, and away from the explosions

if the gang sets them off and curly’s there, he’ll egg him on. but if it gets too bad, he’ll pick up curly and haul ass outta there

2/10. bring on the beers

Curly:

don’t get me wrong. this kid loves fireworks. he’s just particular on who he spends it with

he hates the noisy people who yell and scream when it goes off, but he does like seeing the explosion. or the person that tries to take a picture of it with flash when they’re all crowded together. feels really angry abt it for some reason

if he does wanna look at it, or if he’s even in the mood to do so, he’ll bring along somebody quiet. to him, fireworks are supposed to be observed

eventually it does get boring to him and he wants to go home.

4/10. this could’ve been a video.

Angela:

I’m stuck on if she likes seeing them or not

like curly, i feel like she has to get in the mood. otherwise it’s just boring to her.

if somebody brought weed, she’ll smoke it and watch. if somebody brings booze, she’ll drink and watch but eventually she’ll just fall asleep.

she feels like fireworks is something to watch when you’re not sober

would she go by herself to watch? no. would she go with others? absolutely.

7/10 when drunk, 2/10 when alone

#did they have fireworks in 1965 #it was prob dynamite back then tbh #the outsiders #johnny cade #ponyboy curtis #dallas winston #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #two bit mathews #steve randle #tim shepard #curly shepard #angela shepard #luci’s rambling #the outsiders hcs #requests

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broken-clover · 2 years ago

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Your tags in the filler episode post has made me think, so for your enjoyment consider: for the fandom of your choice (gg sly whatever) what do you think is each character's favorite board game?

I'm quite serious, it is so fun knowing all sorts of minute info and trivia about characters because it makes them feel so much more fleshed out and like actual people. Tell me what flavor of ice cream they would pick!! What kind of drawing skills do they have!! What do they do in their free time!! Tell me!!

(But man, it has been a hot second since I've played board games! I suppose part of it is just that I don't really have any irl friends. Also because I know like four board games I'm gonna throw in some card games too)

-Chipp likes playing Settlers of Catan as practice for trade delegations in the ECK

-Nagoriyuki used to play Shogi, but it's hard to find anyone with enough patience to learn it and enough aptitude to be an actual challenge for him. Secretly, though, sometimes he still confuses the osho and gyokusho pieces for each other, and he's embarrassed about it

-Likewise, Baiken is trying to teach Delilah about hanafuda and how to play Koi-Koi but it isn't going super well, she's mostly just interested by the artwork and likes to look at the pretty designs

-Faust plays mancala, sometimes as an intellectual pursuit and other times because he just likes playing with the little glass beads and making them plink against each other.

-Johnny is a gambling man, as we all know, but as of now all board games are banned on the Mayship because he realized his habits were rubbing off and the girls were making bets over yahtzee. He's trying to set a good example for them but so far hasn't been able to come up with a good explanation for why it's bad without making himself look like a hypocrite. He means well.

-Ky is one of those sickos who unironically enjoys Monopoly. He finds it relaxing. Mysteriously, whenever he goes to play it with someone, the box vanishes

-Perhaps not a board game per se, but Sin loves those water toys where you squeeze the button to make the water shoot and you try and get the little colored rings on the little hooks. It's very enriching.

-Sol claims he hates board games, but he absolutely gets a smug sense of satisfaction over the fact that he whoops ass at Trivial Pursuit.

-You would think Axl would also kick ass at old-timey Trivial Pursuit but he doesn't actually remember a lot of that stuff. He's quite fond of shut the box/canoga though, he played it a lot back during his bar-hopping days

-Elphelt likes candyland because she has a crush on literally every character in it

-Ramlethal will play just about anything the others offer up, but she will gleefully make up her own rules just to throw everyone off mid-game. Ram is also a knockout at Risk, but nobody plays it with her because she gets really intense about it

-You would think Bedman would be good at chess because of the whole 'smart guys play chess' bit but secretly he's only half decent and the only reason he has such an impressive winning streak is because he mostly plays against Sin

-Scrabble is officially banned from Illyria castle because of what happened the last time the Kiske family played it, referred to as 'The Great Scrabble Disaster of 2187'

-Taokaka loves playing games with people! Unfortunately she doesn't play any of them correctly. Whether that's on purpose or not is a question for the ages

-The Cooper Gang in general like playing card games to pass time between jobs. Sly always cheats. They are fully aware that he cheats. Nobody says anything.

-Murray likes playing mousetrap but nobody else ever wants to play with him because getting all the game parts set up takes forever

-One time Dimitri suggested a gang-wide game of Cluedo and long story short it ended up with the board being broken in half and several murder attempts. Penelope still insists she was framed.

#heehee this was so fun #thank you rex I love questions like this #I like getting sillay #ask #guilty gear #sly cooper

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scribble-sketches · 28 days ago

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So, after about 3/4 of a year of having these characters, barely drawing them, and instead just rotating them in my brain, the gang is done!

I'm gonna make the drawing actually look nice, finish it for one, then color it, etc etc. BUT the idea is communicated! Info on the whole of the project is below :3 (It has space travel, the apocalypse, and The Horrors™, so there's ur hook)

Our little band of goobers is made of...

CLIQS: Our local goblinoid type fish person from the busy city of Riptide. He likes breakdancing, screaming, and hitting things with a big axe. He is very excitable, loud, and kinda the embodiment of ":]".

PEOPLE: DEEPWATCHER

GOGO: He's a gun who really like data analysis. Built* as one of the many Disinfector units, which handle guarding and heat sterilization, he innately is a flamethrower. Despite this, he is by far the least combat useful, instead typically being the team's go to researcher, common sense haver, and poet.

PEOPLE: SHREDNOUGHT

XALU: An Earthling, coming from a family that never left the blue marble. She works to be a true Renaissance type, attempting to do everything, especially music. She holds a great degree of pride for being an earthling, and is also quite the overachiever. She is quite the optimist, but in a "shit happens" type flavor. She is the leader on most of their missions, and acts generally non chalant about... everything.

PEOPLE: HUMAN(EARTH)

THE EVENT

This should have killed the universe, yknow, wipe it clear, let the matter recollect and restart the big bang, etc etc, but no, people lived. Many died though, over 2/3rds of the universe's population, but 1/3 of an Incomprehensible number isn't terrible! 3 of which were the long time friends, Cliqs, Gogo, and Xalu, and due to poor luck, prophecy, skill, whatever you want to blame, it is now their job to get the universe back up on its feet.

Ok heres the big event of this whole thing. At the first heartbeat of the universe, the basic forms of creation sparked into being. The Holding, things like solid matter, The Taking, things like antimatter, and The Yearning, which is a little special. The Yearning is a sort of wild card, put in unbelievably small amounts in every planetary core, it's the universe's restart button. They observe the station they're placed at, and when the moment strikes, they all go off. They burst from the earth, finally free to have fun. energy built up over however long they were watching flies out and sparks into anything energy can convert to. With all the observations they've made, they can truly get creative, and each planet is given a personalized Armageddon event.

SO YEAH THATS MY PROJECT SO FAR. I'll be updating this post as stuff changes, and making added posts increasing lore specifications (because this was a very barebones run through of it all), and I'll try to link those posts in this one. Thank you for reading this, in its current state as I write this, it's kinda bad, I made it all in 1 sitting near midnight, what can you expect, but I needed to share my children with the world. So yeah, thanks for taking the time to read it, and I do mean that, I hope you have a good day. :]

#oc #original character #outer space #fish person #robots #worldbuilding #character art #Project: Bullseye

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handelplayssims · 2 years ago

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It’s a new day! And we have a person who works as a doctor in this family! So today we follow Omar into work! And just before he was set to go off for it as well, it’s near 8AM and if Harrison was just a little bit slower, would have just missed him.

Right, our promotion task this time is to perform surgery on three patients and we got one already. That’s not something I can press for so let’s just take care of our patients as usual.

WOW! Rude! So Sally Sigworth is an alien and I knew ahead of time that this kid would be marked up and alerted as such, so I decided to treat her first and see if we’d get this result. I mean, come on! You’re a vampire Omar! Can’t judge a kid too harshly! Hmm, but looking at the compelling diagnosis, we got two options here. Both of which, Sweaty Shivers and Llama Flu, have fevers, the animation I keep seeing Sally do. I’m gonna take a stab in the dark and go for Sweaty Shivers… and hooray! It was correct! Yay for me!

Next we’re going to attempt to treat Judith Ward, famed superstar she is! We did manage to find her illness just in time for work to wrap up. It was a non-surgical related one so I wasn’t going to stay overtime for it. But hey! Good day at work!

Right then! We got some thirsty vampires as we return home! So I have Harrison go for the plasma fruit salad that’s in the fridge, Omar continues his drinking from medicial bags, like he did at work, and Selena invites over a neighbor. She invites over Santiago! ...oh huh. I didn’t realize she too has the guilty drinker drawback as a vampire. Huh. Welp! Anyway, it’s New Skill Day so we’re having Omar pop down to the computer to write a little, as he’s on the cusp of getting skill level 2 as a writer. Onto Harrison and his next task is to get a promotion with his fabulously wealthy aspiration. Hmm. Well, there’s no work task as he’s just a retail worker. And maxed out into taking the calls at that! His Charisma skill is at level 7, so I’m not particularly enthused about working on that. How about working on acting? That might be fun! Selena needs to meet up with someone for her aspiration...and Emile wants to be inspired to draw some pictures so let’s sort those two out. We found Sally, newly cured, walking along the street! That’ll do for an introduction.

Let’s see...why is the next stage on childhood social stage always the “make a bff” one? That takes so much effort! Hmm. Wait a moment. Her sister could count! It’s those two versus their weird family, after all! Let’s see. Omar and Harrison are getting thirsty again, the drawbacks of not satiating thirst upon the blood of normal sims. After Emille finishes off her drawing, we’ll take Omar out for a drink. We’ll even bring this Sim along that he keeps wanting to talk to! At least he’s friendly with him!

Oh hey! It’s even Guys Night at the local bar! Neat! First we’ll have a Plasma Jane then! And then we’ll chat! ...oh no! The guy that I keep getting whims to chat with just decided to leave! Rude!

...you try to have a private -ahem- moment with someone flirting with you and a whole gang decides to join ya. Very rude. ...too many people kept trying to intrude so FUCK IT! I’m not going to have a perfectly private moment. Fuck me, I suppose, Sims are far too social for their own good. Or perhaps...aha! Reset object debug stopped a dude in their tracks. And the conversation but eh. ...oh hey! Random dude turned out to have some very nice plasma! Good to know! Local whim is to dance at the bar, so let’s dance then! Though this tune of the blues more strikes me as not dancing music so much. Ah well! Also I keep a counter of how many young adults vampires drink. If they drink 5 or so in a row, they’ll regain young adulthood! Anyway, to a place where elders hang out instead! To the lounge! Might be more Carson’s speed!

And we got bills again. 918 dollars of them. Hmm. Man does being vampires in small lot with the frugal trait help, or what? Anyway, our whim is to go and befriend Carson Allen, so that’s what we’ll do! Also evidently, the barkeep is also a vampire! Let’s say hello! And befriend her! We need to make friends with the local vampires! ….why is Oasis Springs the vampire hub? Why did that happen in my file? Anyway, we’re just going to chat with Marisa and then head home. ...she says, ordering another drink to top of Omar’s thirst. I just remembered that he has those drawbacks that make him extra thirsty. Joyous! Lets return home and make time for-

Neighborhood Watch!

Emilie Prado in the Prado household has died. Emilie got on the bad side of a rabbit.

Noooo! Another uni student I enjoyed seeing around! Man I gotta get back to university at some point.

#sims 4 #liveblogging #stuart-waddell #omar waddell #harrison stuart #roxanna stuart #selena stuart #emilie stuart #vampire

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cepheusart · 2 months ago

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also some notes on it lol

Okay so: I was having a lil bit of trouble with his hair, so I shoved an undercut in there even though thats probably not the most accurate. But the Shivers do have the whole "looking cool" thing going on and it looks nice so i decided to keep it. Also, Shivers (the dude's gang) usually wear darker colors and stuff but i thought giving him a paler color pallette would suit Ghost more, since, well, he has to hide and his whole camouflage thing is based on him being very pale. Honestly my attempt was to make a whole piece with very muted light colors, but meh, that didn't turn out very well.

The flag was kinda cool to make, we know the shivers have the letters "SH" on their tattos so i licked a somewhat fancy (but not too fancy) font for the S and made the flag wave. ALSO I was gonna draw Ghost with his feet bandages actually! And I also was gonna hang the flag on his Crowbar TM but the bandages didn't look thay good so i drew the nikes instead lol. But he didn't have the crowbarr at that point in the story, before his shoes get stolen, so i just shoved the flag in a stick.

The bg was not very hard to make but i spent quite a few minutes editing it. I tried to make them all straight and square with some crumbs missing (bc well. Post apocalypse) but they probably wouldn't look this neat tho. Also also we know people are usually very afraid of ghosts eyes because his irises are so pale it looks like they blend in with his sclera and he just has two tiny black pupils staring at you, from afar. I made sure the color is quite pale like that, so if you dont get close you can really only see his pupils.

My favorite parts in this are the hands and the sneakers, fr. These are prob the best hands ive ever drawn and the shoes???? I love them. The lil caption were also a bit crafty and tricky but i like how they turned out too 😌 And that's basically it!

(click for better quality)

[id: A drawing of a young boy with very pale skin, hair and eyes, standing near a flag with a the letters S and h. He wears light gray clothes and white nike shoes and sits on a rock, looking foward. Behind him are many buildings, some with windows lit in bright yellow, red and blue, over a pale cloudy sky, with the Seattle Space Needle in the horizon. On the bottom of the drawing is written: "The Ghost of Seattle". /end id.]

Aaand it's done! My fanart of Chase/Ghost from the child soldier novel by @defire: TGOS! I really like his visual, and I thought it'd be really fun drawing him :)

Art taglist: @for-the-love-of-angst

#i also tried giving chase pants bc i thought its make more sense but it ended up ugly so thats why he has these shorts #rambles

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calico-strawberry · 2 years ago

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Having troubles sleeping rn so I guess I'm gonna ramble more about my oc x canon shenanigans that will not Stop. This time mostly focusing on Erin's perception of Anya and how her feelings for her end up developing. This is a very long post I have many thoughts

Their first proper meeting in Darchlight caves was honestly a good impression on Erin. She was very quiet, not really saying more then necessary, and this girl also evidently new Aelita too. Erin didn't sense any hostility from her or anything, and in fact, when Anya seemingly got enough confidence to actually speak to her some point before the Bladestar grunts started actually flooding in, she was actually very nice to her.

Basically her first impression of Anya is, she's smarter then she looks, is very encouraging (she was giving compliments to Erin's battling as they pushed through the grunts), and was very strong. Although very quiet and shy, and she noticed she didn't seem to be giving herself much credit.

Now in game the early GDC arc really kinda moves really really quickly compared to early portions of the game, but since there's not a solid track on what month it is or exact dates until Chapter 15 starting out with November, I'm gonna say this early GDC arc up to Venam's unfortunate rock related incident is about a week or two in this version of events.

And well, since Erin kinda is locked out of the Theater until Aelita comes back after said mineral related incident, she frustratingly to herself has to stay at the apartment everyone was staying in for that period of time. During this in between her attempts to find Aelita, she actually had some opportunities to hang out with Anya as she was kinda doing her own thing in between stuff like the two's meeting with Cassandra and other things like that.

Basically throughout this time she kinda learns more about Anya in general. Kinda realizing she's selectively mute (noticing she's fairly talkative with the gang, even of she's still one of the more reserved of the group, primarily), noticing she seemed to like reading as well and seems to have taken an interest in drawing. Stuff like that. She ends up spending time around Anya simply because she was the quietest of the bunch and Erin didn't really mind her company surprising to herself. Anya herself getting comfortable with Erin too, and being rather friendly.

Of course though, Erin gets frustrated with her inability to find Aelita and decides to just storm back to the theater coincidentally after Anya had reunited with Aelita in the nightmare city and had gotten to the Theater themselves. Basically everything past this point is relatively the same as canon for a while, as everyone's focus shifts to Aelita's whole deal. The most notable thing is this around this point is the first time Erin learns Anya has nightmares (I think I'd place this during that night in past Sheridan, after that meeting they had with Cella. I'd say it'd fit better post alternate timeline arc, but I actually don't remember if the group leaves immediately after Vivian's deal or if they stay one more night after that). But anyways, Erin hadn't gotten to sleep yet but the other two had, and Anya getting woken up by her nightmare wasn't startling enough to wake anyone up. Erin checks on her, unintentionally startling Anya more, but after a very hushed whispers confirming Anya had a nightmare, actually offers that the two take a short walk outside to clear her head. Erin, frankly, isn't sure why she felt the need to take the time to comfort Anya, but she rolls with it. The conversation is frankly nothing special, just the two talking back and forth about random subjects until Anya feels calm enough to go back to sleep. This is the point though, where Erin starts to solidify that she cares about Anya though.

The rest of the story plays out as normal, only that Erin is slightly less abrasive/sassy to Anya (I do mean only slightly here, I mean Anya does manage to get kicked out of the library like mere minutes of being there even if she didn't do anything). But when Anya and Erin see each other again at the tournament hall, just before she's about to leave to go to the party with Melia, Anya gives her a brief hug and a cheerful "I'll see ya later!" Before she does and, even if for a moment Erin feels a slight warmth in her face. She gets distracted immediately though, and doesn't think too hard on it.

Of course, fireworks happen and Anya is in a state for sure, she's extremely worried about Erin especially hearing that she's completely unaccounted for from the explosion. I mentioned this before in a previous post, but when Anya sees Erin at the end of Chapter 14 she basically tackles Erin because she's just so relieved to see her alive, and Erin is immediately caught off guard by the incredibly sincere worry and joy Anya exuded from seeing her again. Again, she gets distracted by the plot and doesn't think too heavily on this. Only thing of note for the remainder of chapter 14 is Erin subconsciously puts herself between Anya and Dr. Isha when she notices how visibly uncomfortable Anya is on what that guy was saying about her.

Chapter 15 is when she suddenly has a lot more time to think on her feelings on Anya. The training is as normal as canon is. Although, thanks to Melia's comments on trusting Anya, and Erin's own developing feelings, she feels inclined go trust Anya very fast when more about her nature as the Interceptor is revealed during that month. This period also happens to be when Anya is getting her more frequent nightmares and again as mentioned in a previous post, is when Erin takes more time actually comfort her from these. By the end of the training month Erin has fully realized "oh shit" that she has full blown romantic feelings for this girl.

As Anya and Aelita are the first to leave for their mission, Anya very much makes sure to give Erin a hug before leaving which really does not help Erin's emotions here. Of course by this point everything that happens during this chapter happens as normal. Again though, when everyone is brought together again at the end, Anya again seems to be very joyful at seeing her Specifically, which yet again makes Erin feel Things. Again plot happens, can't really think on it much. Anya somehow managed to feel both relieved and more burdened then ever at the same time with everything she learned about herself during that chapter, and as of right now that's where it gets left off.

I do think they'd end up together probably not long after this, as Anya reciprocates Erin's feelings, even if Anya doesn't really have the experience to label those feelings she has. Basically everything is messy, neither of the two know if the both of them are going to see the end of this journey together, but by Arcues do they have each other.

#sorry for the long post i just havemany thoughts on them...#im back on my bullshit guys #long post #lemon rambles #oc x canon #Pokemon rejuvenation

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silksaddle · 4 years ago

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The Traveler 2

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x f!reader Western AU

Chapter summary: 1907, Old West. Talk of the Statesman gang is slowly on the rise while Jack continues to distract you from your chores, taking you on another but entirely different night-time outing.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, guns, mentions of alcohol and gangs, copious flirting, SMUT, oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex/piv sex, outdoor sex, thigh spanking, please pardon me for the amount of smut content in this chapter, a crumb of plot development, Jack Daniels again...

Word count: 14k (leave me alone)

A/N: gif credit to @javier-pena once again! thank you my beloved astrid! and as always, much love to my amazing friends who sent me inspo posts and listened to my anxious ramblings about god-knows-what. you are all the best and you have my heart.

Read Chapter One ~ Series Masterlist

Chapter Two: Six Shooter

Jack is spreading his half-naked body over the mattress in a contented stretch when you return to the bedroom, flustered and hot-cheeked.

“You here to take my sheets, darlin’? I must insist I keep ‘em,” he chortles, turning his bright face over the soft pillow as you attempt stripping the sheets from under him, your lungs emptying in a huff when he catches your wrist and draws you to him instead. Your body lands perfectly on top of his with your weak protest, a poor match for his irresistibly gravel-like voice and his buzzing snugness.

“You’re making my job quite difficult,” you mumble into his neck, kissing the smooth skin there although your words are much more harsh. His chest rumbles, fingers running the length of your clothed back from when he’d hurriedly laced you back into your dress, lips skimming graceful but mindless lines on your temple.

“Mrs. Adler thinks you’re doing your chores.” Jack’s palms are now ghosting over your shoulders as you prop yourself up on your elbows, taking his gaze with you as you move, and you can tell your dilating pupils are betraying the falseness of your annoyed tone when you look at his expanding chest. He takes a deep breath in, the angle of morning light catching his eyes just right to melt them into golden flecks, his dishevelled hair incurable without a bath.

You card your fingers through, and though it’s slightly tangled, the texture is silky enough to brush through the messy state and straighten it out, just a smidge. The touch causes his eyes to flutter closed, and shimmying up his body, he leans his head back to expose his neck further, the long lines and tone popping against each other. His breath hitches when he feels your own puffing across it, his chest immobile while he waits to feel something more from you, but you don’t kiss him, don’t nip him, don’t caress him there.

“I’ve only come to take your sheets to wash them— I should already be downstairs,” you insist and he mopes, your voice softly carrying throughout the bright bedroom, limbs absent-mindedly wrapping around his firm ones until he clings to you.

“Oh,” he hums, tipping his body until you roll under him onto the no-longer-fresh sheets, landing on your back with his hands cradling your head. His handsome smile makes you forget you ever needed to take his sheets in the first place, and when he kisses you deeply, moaning low when you open up for him and his bare skin slides over you, you don’t even remember where you are. “Thought you’d wanted some more of me…”

“Mmm, Jack— she’s already a little suspicious of me,” you giggle, wriggling underneath his heavy weight and it’s a futile effort beneath his affection, his lips laying warm insistent kisses all over your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw. He’s unstoppable, whether it’s the heaviness or the happiness that makes you lie there and take it with quiet laughter as the rough skin of his cheek touches gently to yours.

Jack is as much the sunshine of the room as the real thing, chuckling sweetly along with you and growing more pleased the louder your squealing sounds become, your fingers pulling across the bare skin of his back— he likes it too much to let you off in a timely manner.

Mrs. Adler had only just believed your excuse of a poor sleep as you’d rushed out in a tizzy with your disheveled hair and clothes, and a terrible flourish of panic had bloomed in your chest at the thought of an unchecked mark lingering on your neck. But Jack had looked you over meticulously; deft fingers had worked at the laces of your layers. And even before making it to the kitchen, two dozen kisses wet on your thighs, you’d opened the door only to find the old woman pacing about on the landing of the stairs. Slamming it shut with your back on the wood, panting in the face of confrontation, Jack snickered and peeked out for you a minute later, confirming your chance to slip out undetected.

Now finished serving breakfast, Jack once again prevents you from carrying out your tasks.

“You’ve left me with a lastin’ impression,” he rasps, eyes crinkling as he slips a hand under your skirt and the touch tickles and inspires a giddy laugh from your throat as you swat him away, at last slipping out from under him.

“Give me your sheets, you greedy man,” you order, lifting your chin and furrowing your brow with your arm extended. Jack purses his lips and thinks, sitting up to run a hand through his dark hair, your smile growing despite yourself when it sticks up in bulky curls to leave his contented face in view.

“These sheets have got your smell on ‘em now,” he grins like it’s his most favoured fact in his whole life, leaning back into his palms and his cock is slowly hardening between his legs as he considers his next words, “your cum is on them.”

“Jack,” you chuckle, “you’re dirty.” Inching closer to him, his joyous face turns dark when you arrive in the middle of his strong thighs extending past the edge of the bed, “Get up, please, or I’ll have you explaining why I’m behind schedule for the second time today.”

He presses up onto his feet, his gentle scent covering you as if a fleeting spell, and before any more rational thoughts occur, your hand is reaching into his unbuttoned pants, wrapping around his hard length. His head tips back, the softest growl filling your ears and he pushes his hips forward, placing his hands on your cheeks, urging your lips to slide along his as he fucks into your tight fist. It’s a sweet kiss compared to his already desperate thrusts, his cum still streaking your thighs, inside of you, outside of you, from mere hours before.

“I told you I’d come back here tonight. We’ve plenty of time to ruin more sheets.” Your whisper earns a heavy sigh expelled onto your skin, his grip sliding down to your neck and as his mouth hangs open, you nip at his bottom lip and pull it into your mouth, a tender suckle on the plush softness. He hisses as you let it go, burying his nose into the curve of your neck, and stilling his movements with your hand, he lets you work him like that— your fingers tightly curled around his cock as you slide it in and out of your palm.

“Fuck me,” he groans, “I better see you back here if you’re gonna touch me like this, darlin’.”

Smiling, you pump him quickly, whispering how you can still feel him as if he’s fucking you right now, how good he is, how thick, and he growls from his chest, shutting his eyes tight in concentration.

“Maybe you’ll let me touch you tonight, too, Jack, leave your ropes for another time…” Your free hand clamps around the back of his neck, twirling your fingers around the hair at the nape of it, before tugging him down for a slower kiss, capturing his striking whine in your mouth.

“Shit, darlin’... I’d do anything you say right about now… Christ,” Jack’s fingers trace the neckline of your bodice as his lips skate along your cheek, and his voice is so husky and rumbly, you almost consider a greater risk of trouble.

He makes no protest as you bend carefully, still pumping his thick cock while you yank the sheet away from the mattress, pulling back to fold it into your arms and finally leaving his hard length unattended. Jack’s eyes snap open in a crushing neediness, his displeased but wrecked voice calling after you in a bid to keep you here and he laughs incredulously, “You get back here right now.”

Backing up into the door, your lip caught in your teeth, you reach behind and find the cool handle, offering a cheeky grin before you slip away and murmur, “I’m busy.”

A mellow afternoon follows Jack’s disgruntled exit to the fractional post office, stealing a rushed kiss in the corner of the parlour for the mere seconds you were alone together, giddy glances spared through the window on his walk to work. You spend a small segment of your time concocting tea for Mrs. Adler who pours over the payment book, thanking you as she slides a list across the bar; it’s full of all things you know to do without the help of paper and pencil.

“How about that Mr. Daniels?”

Spluttering, you swivel on your heel, unsure of the intention of her question, your eyes mistakenly blowing wide with no answer to fill the subsequent silence. She must know, you worry, she must.

“What about him?” You query, looking down at your apron in no need of smoothing, yet your hands fiddle with the pockets, and her amused scoff scrapes through your uneasy stance.

“My, you’d better sleep well tonight... that man whipped those fools down in a second,” she laughs, flipping the page of the large notebook and scribbling something down with a spotted, shaky hand.

“He did.” Wiping your face, you conceal a sliver of a smile under your hand when you think of him— ease and cockiness burned down to his big pleading eyes looking up at you for permission. “Thought you disliked him.”

“Well, I could admit we need someone like that around here more often,” she croaks as you pretend to look over the list of laundry, sweeping, cooking, cleaning. The sentiment lands somewhere uncomfortable in your chest— you no more than agree with her and you could never tell her why or how.

“Oh, and dear, the sheriff came by this morning,” she adds, relaying his spiel of reports.

Only the most notable happenings make it over from town to town, lawlessness rendering crime nothing more than irrelevant. It takes a mass robbery, or a mammoth fire, or an offense so deeply doused and coloured red in rage to make the rounds of neighbouring settlements, so when Mrs. Adler shares the spreading news of heightened gang exploits a little ways north, your heart sinks and adopts a painfully heavy sensation.

“He advises to be extra careful,” she finishes with a stern look, “they could be coming here for all we know. Those Statesman men are horrible…”

“Statesman?” you echo her words, scouring the back of your mind to place the familiarity of that name, but she smiles in return to soften your worried brow. Statesmen, a Statesman. You’d read it somewhere, embellished into leather or stitched into the label of a visitor’s coat while tidying.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. If anything, girl, that Daniels boy should be of use.”

A challenge not to snicker, she gives you, when she tells you not to fuss, as if you’ve got the liberty to enjoy the outdoors where a vigilant attitude is required— but Jack is the remedy, you think, eyeing the stray strands of her brittle grey hair twisted up, scrunching your nose.

“Alright, Mrs. Adler,” you agree, passing her through to the laundry closet.

The air is stuffy inside the small, shelved room, where pleasing, cooling, tiny splashes pepper your forearms as you pour the water bucket into one of the tubs, then grabbing the soap, you flump onto the short stool and drag the laundry basket to your side. The first sheet on the pile is the last one you’d taken— Jack’s— carrying his heady and wood-fiery scent now mingled with yours. With a vibration of anticipation up your spine, your thoughts twirl upon your admittedly cruel handling of his need— tonight, you’re surely in for it.

The usual, slowly passing and hot hours fill with inescapable reveries toeing the line of unrealistic: a cloudy day in bed, a sunny evening at the river, clothes discarded to the side. Shaking those heart string-stretching thoughts and trading for a better focus, you hang the wringed sheets on the line as the last blazes of the sun spread over the field, and take a moment to rest your elbows on the log fence at the back of the yard overlooking the vast, lush area.

Something heavy, once more, tugs at your weary limbs, watching the calm breeze push along the beige blades of plant-life, and you think of Sylvie— her bright mane and soothing demeanor, the rush of riding with her and him. The thrill no longer chased, waiting for you still. There must be a few months worth left of him, two at the least, perhaps enough to soothe your aching heart in seeking more vibrant days. But before too long, you set back on your course of chores, trekking up to tidy the bathing rooms for those coming back from a dirty day.

Jack finds you there an hour later in the open door, kneeling on the floor by the bathing tub, scrubbing away at its already-shiny exterior, and he smiles under the sticky and sweaty clothes, watching the way your body jostles with movement.

“Hey, cruel woman.”

Halting, your head briefly hangs between your shoulders before you sit back on your heels and grin up at him, his weary feet leading him towards you, a set of clean clothes hanging off his arm. His shirt is sheer in some places more than others, namely his chest, damp with muscular effort.

“Did you have a hard day, Jack?” You question, making big eyes at him from your low spot compared to his tall height, and his face grows slightly stern.

“Oh, darlin’, you know I did,” he kneels, takes your chin in his hand and you find yourself leaning up into his face, mere inches from his lips, entranced by their pouty curve. But he doesn’t kiss you. He pinches your chin harder, a deep pressure as he looks over you, taking in the way you indulgently advance until you’re on hands and knees, caged by his own, staring at him with none of the power you held this morning.

“You oughta continue what you started…” he whispers almost on your lips, never close enough to touch, your eyelids heavily drooping as you look down his torso, leading to his cock.

“Oh,” you sigh, slick pooling where he can’t see or feel it, “Jack, I can…”

You crawl forward between his spread legs until your nose nudges the material of his pants, resting your weight back on your knees when you reach out for him, but his face is a sinister, knowing grin when steadily rises back up to stand, rocking into his heels.

“Not now, though,” he coos, swiping a damp thumb over your lip, “off you go, little lady.”

“Why—”

Whining involuntarily, you watch while he shrugs off his suspenders and closes his eyes, fluttering back open with a smirk at Mrs. Adler’s distant call for you to prepare dinner.

“That’s why.”

Your mouth hanging open, you roll your eyes, taking his calloused hand as he aids you upward from the hard floor, though he finally gives you a greeting of a peck on the cheek, “Later, angel, you can show me what you’ve been thinkin’ about all day.”

Nudging your body, he sends you off to your chores in a frazzled state and shuts the door with a wink, settling in to wash himself off from the dust and dirt.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so needy, it nearly feels stupid to still have the crushing weight of wanting Jack as you chop ingredients, peek into cupboards, fill plates. It’s even worse when he sits at the table, clean and fresh and irresistibly smooth, chatting in easy conversation with Mrs. Crockett who enjoys his company dearly as she tells him uninteresting stories of her husband.

He watches your back as you turn about the steps, as you pass along plates to each person, and he brushes his fingers purposely along yours when you arrive at his spot, a gesture to offer his silent token of appreciation. Your breath catches, and his wink sets it free again through a quiet sigh, smiling sweetly for him. He tries not to laugh, you notice, and you stop yourself from touching his shoulder here in front of everyone— namely Mrs. Crockett, who has also made a poor reputation of gossip and a budding friendship with Mrs. Adler who is closest to her in age. The last thing you can manage is a rumour about your little life; by that point you’d be begging Jack to take you with him even before the post office is built, even with so much left to explore with him.

As the chitter-chatter diminishes down to an empty table with empty plates, and the visitors disperse into corners or run off to different buildings— they always come back for dinner to get their money’s worth— you sort out the dried laundry, slipping into the ladies’ rooms to aid with corsets, all with distant thoughts in a place where they shouldn’t be. They never ask about your day so much as they speak of theirs, whether time spent with their sweetheart, telling you how they prefer their things folded, or muttering how much they liked dinner. The last one you take lightly, thanking the ladies in whispers. Now, though, it doesn’t cause as much of an ache in your heart when you listen to their free and happy memories— you think of doing the same with Jack, of asking him and receiving his sweet smile in return, ready if you are.

When you finally sit at your simple vanity, it’s with a powerful sigh that you remove your boots, step out of your clothes, and trade them for your nightgown. You pull the threaded pink ribbon taut into a bow, and look over yourself in the mirror, giddy in your stomach for when the time comes to slip into Jack’s room. Judging by the clock, another half hour would do to be sure everyone has settled in so you can sneak in complete privacy, and it feels less daunting now than it ever did before.

Folding your petticoat to lay the soft cotton on the tabletop, you hear the handle click and turn and you gasp fiercely in response, rising from the chair as Jack all but barrels in, haphazardly shutting the door before swooping you into his arms.

“Oh, my—” you squeal, cut off by a rough kiss that you eagerly return, bombarded with the scent of his soap and shaving cream. You only urge him off with your hands sneaking between your bodies to press on his chest and ask a burning question, his lips not wanting to part from you. It’s a tiny struggle but he eventually gives way, fondly looking down at you as you speak. “Did anyone see you?”

“Hall was empty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ of you… lost my damn patience,” he croons, plushy lips open on your neck, leaving kisses that bloom into pleasant flourishes of need like ink dipped into water. It’s a new spot that you allow him to explore, bringing your hands up his wide shoulders as you turn around the room together, stepping at random. “Had to keep from touchin’ myself and dreamin’ of you…”

You wrap your arms around his neck, reeling him in closer for a whisper against the shell of his ear.

“You don’t have to dream, Jack, I’m here.”

His breath stutters uncharacteristically and it must be your chance to keep him like this, his pleasure dependent on what you decide to do with him— so you pin your front to his and he grunts, giving a miniscule, testing rut back.

“No more teasin’?” he asks hopefully, sweet brown eyes glowing in the low light of your little lamp. “You weren’t so nice this morning…”

“Oh, Jack, I’m not so sure about that.”

In a mirror of the morning, you slip your hand lower to find his cock hard again, splaying your fingers over its thick length and rubbing over the fabric. He squeezes your waist, digging his thumbs in helplessly as he staves off a groan in a bid to keep what willpower is still left with him, then loses it all when you place a simple kiss to his collarbone, not open or rough or wet— just plain, pressed lips to his skin, and he asks you for more.

“Will you let me touch you this time?” you murmur, urging him backward onto the bed. He slumps over the mattress, eyes trained on your face as he places himself further up with his legs spread, palms sinking into the covers. He swallows thickly when he takes you in: standing over him in the sheer, light fabric of your nightgown, its lace edges bordering the slopes of your body.

“I want you in my mouth,” you continue, lowering yourself to your knees, hands over his own as he shuts his eyes and breathes deep, long breaths, grunting when he feels your fingers working at his buttons. “Think I’ve earned it.”

“You could ask me for anything you want, darlin’... shit—” His thighs tense under your ministrations as you reach in and pull his cock out, the tip of it shining in his own, generous arousal. He looks down from himself to your sparkling eyes, and cups your cheek in his large hand, its smoothness traveling down the curve of your face. “Anything you want.”

His lip twitches, mouth falling delicately open and his eyes shutting once more as you place your tongue flat at the base, licking upward, circling around the head while you watch his face strain and pull, his neck sticking out prominently. He’s gorgeous when you touch him like this, still so fresh and clean from the bath. The warm drips of precum glide slowly on your tongue as you hold it out, then wrap your lips around him, whining when he fists through your hair and cramps his fingers.

“That mouth is just about gonna kill me already,” he rasps, bucking his hips up a smidge to perch himself deeper in your mouth, your hand rising to cover his at the base of your neck. Its heat is dangerous yet satisfying in its revelation of just how affected he is, a tiny spot of sweat swiping from his palm onto your neck.

Blinking up at him, you pull off, wetly sliding over half the length of him before moving back down to take more, feeling it brush against the back of your throat. You keep him there as he squeezes you harder, his spine curling over you and the new sound he makes is just begging to be heard, but he smothers it with a bite of his own lip to quiet it.

“Like that…” he sighs, carefully canting his hips forward as you wrap your fingers around his base, enveloping him and spreading the wetness of your mouth over his entire length.

He glistens like that, shimmering in the low and golden light, fisting at the blanket and your hair, puffing focused breaths every time you take him deeper, longer, sucking him harder.

Up and down, you keep your lips wrapped snugly around his cock, its throbbing heft a pleasurable weight on your tongue, the satisfying hit of the head at your throat.

“Where have you fuckin’ been,” he nearly laughs in disbelief that you’re even here, much less on your knees, much less with your mouth around him.

Pulling off for a deep breath, you trace the edges of your nightgown, eyeing him and his debauched, handsome face as you bring the lacy straps off your arms, leading them from your wrists. “I’ve always been here.”

The fabric gathers at your waist in a soft pool of cotton and ribbon, your chest bare and level with his cock.

“Do you like that, Jack?” you preen, settling closer to him this time over the hard and truthfully painful floor— you don’t notice it as much when you feel him hitting that spot all the way down your throat.

“You know I do,” he smiles breathlessly, crinkles and that little dimple creasing in his content face. He leans down for a kiss, its nature unlike the urgency of your own mouth wetting his cock— it’s always sweet like he is to you in every other way, lingering there before you lean into the space between his legs, eager.

“I wanted you all day,” you coo, running a thumb over his tip, a saturated kiss placed there before you put him in your mouth for a brief suck, managing to keep him inside for a few short seconds. “I should have felt so tired after what you did to me, but all I could think of was this.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, he then lets it go in a gravelly sigh as he holds your bobbing head in his hands, spanning the sides of your face. Your forehead brushes his soft stomach as you push down, hollowed cheeks hugging every inch of him and he jolts, driving himself the smallest bit further, moaning at the tight and wet sensation of you. You pump him, looking so falsely innocent between his legs, your chest and shoulders bare for him to admire, peeking out of the fine gown.

“Keep goin’ darlin’, I’m gonna fill that pretty mouth up... know you want it down your throat, bet you thought about havin’ my cum drippin’ from your mouth all day, too, hm?”

Licking the tip and rubbing him faster, you nod fervently, opening wide in a stretch to finish him off with firm squeezes and strokes, his breaths now raggedly rough from above you every time he hits that spot. Your mouth is hot on his skin and he warns you he’s going to cum soon, he’s going to fill your mouth up nice and good, and you shut your eyes tight in concentration, focused on the thick feel of him sliding in and out between your lips.

“Wanna see you when I fill you baby doll, c’mere n’ look at me.” Jack’s fingers brush the underside of your chin, and you strain to look upward before you slide your hand over his slick cock. He tenses up by another degree, his chest and forehead damp, throat straining as he swallows thickly.

A final squeeze and he cums all over your extended tongue, the milky liquid sliding off and onto your chest as he moans through gritted teeth, dazed as you are as you both watch it drip all over your exposed half. You swallow what remains in your mouth, letting your jaw drop to show him your now clean slate.

Bending into you and still panting, he smiles, streaking his thumb down your chin to gather up what’s left, guiding it into your open mouth. Heart racing, you take it in, your enthusiastic glow causing his face to soften.

His gaze drifts south to linger on your glimmering chest, pressing his palm flat and firm into the slight pool of it. He paints you with it, spreading his cum all over each breast with a clear sheen from the separation, special attention granted to each nipple with a flick of his wet thumb. Its initial warmth has cooled and with it lingers a soothing cover over your front as you lay your cheek over his knee, toying with the worn laces of his boots.

“Now… how to thank my darlin’ girl and her perfect fuckin’ mouth…” Jack wonders aloud as he cups your cheeks in his hands and puts a contrasting, innocent kiss to your forehead.

Grinning up at him and placing your hands over his, you tell him that’s all you wanted to give him, all you needed was to finally feel him in your mouth.

“Well,” he whispers, “I wanna show you what I was thinkin’ about all day long.”

The spark in your eyes must be a blinding one, his hands gliding over the slope of your body as you work yourself back onto your feet, your knees throbbing and sore. Wincing, you balance yourself on his broad shoulders, glancing down to notice his eyes not relieved of their dark hunger.

“Jack, you’re…”

“Not done, angel,” he finishes for you, and that’s when you feel it, the slick dripping past your core to spread slightly down your squeezing thighs. He pushes his sleeves up as the corner of his lip tugs upward too, straight teeth glinting the same as his eyes.

“Your turn, then,” you murmur, parting his hair through your fingers. It falls back into place, his pillowy and gentle lips finding yours as he stands with you, always chasing you, waltzing you backward until your ass bumps against the thick windowsill.

“I was choppin’ wood, thinkin’ of settin’ you right here,” he confesses lowly, ensuring the curtains are drawn completely open with a quick swipe of his hands over the gauzy lengths previously covering the glass, “thinkin’ of fuckin’ you on my fingers like this.”

You situate yourself properly on the sill and he steps back, taking a comically focused once-over of your seated body, but the desire is still so thick it doesn’t even bring you to laugh when he hurriedly comes back to you. He spreads your thighs wide, his palms a fiery heat that couldn’t be further from where you want it.

Tugging at his collar, you reel him in to place an open kiss just under his ear. “Give it to me how you want.”

The glass cools the staggering temperature on your skin as he knocks you into it, your back sticking to its chilly surface in the midst of his swirling breaths, ghosting the edges of your shoulders before he hikes your thighs up higher to his waist.

“You ready for me?” he murmurs with a husky voice, and it’s a powerful shock from your head to your toes, seeing how easily he’s worked back up to needing you as he lowers a hand to your core. His fingers part you, a slick and effortless slip through your folds to your entrance. “Darlin’... you’re soakin’ my hand already. Did suckin’ my cock do all this to your sweet little cunt?”

A hushed, restrained sound tears from you and is quieted by his mouth covering yours when he rubs his calloused fingers over your clit, rasping those low words sweetly into you, nipping your bottom lip between his teeth as the digits travel lower. The arousal dripping from your cunt makes that first slide so easy, Jack bottoming out to his knuckles with a soft sigh. His stomach nearly touches your own still covered by the bunched nightgown and he pauses there, a reassuring squeeze to your side and then a smooth gracing of his free hand to hold your thigh tight to himself.

“This is where I’ve wanted to be,” he confesses, his nose drawing a line from your shoulder, delicately down to your chest as he bends and swipes his tongue broadly over your sensitive nipple. The signals from your brain to your muscles are jumbled now, feeling the heat of his wet tongue tasting the cum on your chest— it’s out of your control when you arch your back into him and whine, when your fingers tangle into his hair and tug.

He responds in a groan, licking across your skin to your unattended nipple which he suckles on gently, lapping at it. Jack curls his two thick fingers before straightening out to kiss you fleetingly on your lips; he parts and watches your eyes intently, a stray curl falling to hang between his brows.

“So full already, hm?” he teases, his thumb swiping slow patterns on your clit, and you lean further back into the glass with a pant, its surface no longer able to cool you down.

“Yes,” you manage to respond in a gasp as he grants a second, deeper hit, a slight slapping sound causing you both to hug each other tighter and chuckle.

“Tight, sweet thing,” he groans, extended curls and strokes stretching you wholly around his hand, “take my fingers just right. Is that it, darlin’, were you made for me to fill you?”

“Mm,” you suck in sharp breaths, “mhm, you fill me up, Jack, you fill me up so good.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, and his chin hooks onto your shoulder, digging into it hard as he holds you with one toned arm snaking around your waist. Like this, your damp chest brushes his, his fingers pump and work you open another smidge wider as he pushes in, grinds his palm against your clit, pulls his fingers out a fraction of the way. The motions of his hips against his own wrist are gentle, unhurried for now, having already cum into your slack mouth.

With the flat of his free palm caressing your back through soft strokes, he draws his lips back and forth over the curve of your neck.

“You know what I see?” he asks, urging his knuckles deeper in the hardest plunge he's given you tonight, an agonizingly fiery touch to your clit. “Men, walkin’ around all dumb— could see me fuckin’ you right here on my hand if they’d just look up— shit, they got no clue I’m feelin’ the wettest little pussy, huh?”

“Fuck, Jack,” your nails dig into the lean and muscular bulge of his biceps as he keeps you upright against the glass, your thighs squeezing him so close he can hardly fuck you anymore— he just rubs and grinds his hand against you while remaining far inside your aching pussy, soaking his already drenched fingers with more slick.

“And only I’m gonna watch you cum,” he adds in a grunt, working himself into you with every last drop of energy he’s saved, his soft moans and sharp teeth spurring you closer to coming all over his perfect fingers. You might have gone longer if not for the irreversible, desperate need for him that sucking his cock had instilled in you— had you nearly dripping onto the floor, your body left unimaginably sensitive that each time he brushes up against you now, you dig deeper into his skin. He likes it though, and it makes him move with a crazed edge, his moans transforming into snarls.

“Only you…” you echo, starting to grind with him yourself, rolling into and meeting his short, fast thrusts, every muscle tensing and straining and it’s so close, almost there—

“There you go, doll, can feel you squeezin’ me so tight… cum on my hand, fuckin’ soak me, c’mon…”

“Jack, Jack I’m gonna—” Urgently, you tap at his shoulder with wide eyes and worried brows as you feel it start to happen, knowing how close you are to crying— your nails dig into his shoulders so intensely when you cum, jaw dropped and eyes shut and he makes a wincing yet completely pleased noise into your mouth; it’s cruel. You manage not to make a peep at the cost of losing large breaths, and it makes your orgasm all the more intense: light headed, woozy, and tingling numbness reaching the length of your body.

“Sweeter than fuckin’ honey when you do that,” he smiles widely, until his mouth drops fully open at the way you hug his hand inside from coming so hard around him. Your slick gathers between your thighs and you still can’t breathe, his face buried into the spot under your jaw as he pulls them out of you, dragging the pads up to your clit while the rest of it spreads throughout your folds. He stares down at it, at the wetness dripping and glistening from your core, and he groans again, blinking slowly.

Placing his palms on the sill by either side of your trembling figure, he hums, your smile against his skin buzzing at his insatiable drive, how he’d fucked your mouth and your pussy with such short rest, feeling the damp hair at the back of his neck. He drops his head down as an offering and you take him in a gentle cradle, kissing his forehead as he’d done to you while he nestles. He looks up and back down, waiting for another, your fingers smoothing the unruly hair from his face.

“Hell, if I don’t wanna fuck that pretty pussy every night till I die,” he exhales, another glance at his wet fingers, dropping a kiss to your collarbone.

“Oh, Jack,” you laugh, your heels hitting the wall underneath you, “if only you were here for that long.”

His face scrunches a little in confusion before his lips curve, “How many times do I have to remind you I ain’t leavin’ so soon?”

“As many times as it takes,” you whisper, fingers scratching down his arms, his own dipping into your cunt again without a warning, “fuck—”

“Yeah, baby doll,” he croons, “I got somethin’ to prove to you still?”

You nod with a greedy smirk and he retracts his fingers, taking them into his mouth after drawing a line between your breasts to taste your mingled releases, moaning in your ear. “Go n’ get on the bed. You’re gonna ride my face.”

A shiver chills your spine, mainly at the way his voice has dropped a miraculous third time, his hand landing a light swat on your ass when you pass him, shaky legs taking you toward the mattress. He follows to lay on his back, perpetually pleased with himself, arms outstretched and beckoning you forward. You crawl up to him and you can feel your own cum streaking your thighs as you move, soon beside his large body, and he raises his brows impatiently, “Well go on, sugar, I wanna taste some more of that.”

Stretching his neck every which way, his eyes crinkle as he grins between your thighs while you throw one over his shoulder and his arms fall behind him, fingers searching for yours until he laces them together, squeezing.

“You’re not tired yet, old cowboy?” you tease lightly, the force of it lost when he gives a broad swipe of his tongue and moans yet another time, indulgently, swallowing the remnants of your previous release.

“I ain’t ever gonna tire of this,” he replies, another lick from your entrance to your clit, such an easy slip of the muscle, your sensitivity dialed up too many extra notches. His brows knit together in effort, rough cheeks pleasantly scratching on your skin when he moves his head side to side, tongue hanging out of his mouth and edging with a perfect pressure all over your sensitive bud.

“I’d hope not,” you exhale, grinding your hips over his wet mouth until his grip moves to your thighs to prevent you from moving. His eyes look up at you keenly as he closes his lips around your clit and sucks, your head tipping in silent rapture as you take it all for him without the relief of motion.

“We go real nice together,” he grumbles into your slick center. Tightening the hold of your thighs, he laves his tongue all over you in focused circles, faster, with just enough force for your legs to start shaking around his handsome face, for another gush of arousal to spread over his swollen lips. All that’s left for you to handle it is to scream it out, how good he makes you feel, how precious, but the house is so silent and only you can hear the slick sounds of his mouth on your clit— he won’t even let you rub yourself over him. You can only bite your lip and hold your breath, yet little puffs and moans sneak out when he does something unforeseen, like a single bite on your thigh or a gentle nip to challenge you— it’s all on purpose and easily noticed by his gratified face.

He tugs your clit a short, miniscule distance and lets it go, shaking his head when you mope over the loss of contact.

“Are you tryin’ for me, sugar?”

“You’re being tough on me,” you whine, shimmying further up his body to regain his lips that are brightly shining.

“If I ain’t tough then it ain’t right,” he whispers, “stay still and quiet for me and I’ll take you out again.”

He tips his head down and forward, swiping his prominent nose to spread you further open, but you don’t even consider the promise of a gift, your focus on the return of his soaked tongue to your throbbing core, biting hard on your lip to quell the need to cry.

“Is my darlin’ gonna come? You gonna cum all over my face? Gimme another one, dolly.” His mouth latches back onto your clit and you can’t think, much less form an answer in your blank head where all you see is white, or maybe blinding stars, or just plain nothingness as you let go, his moustache wet with you, his lips dripping.

By some miracle, the scream you fend off becomes so high pitched in your throat that nothing makes it out of you save for the helpless cry of, “Jack!” as you tremble around his cheeks.

“Yes,” he grunts, and thank goodness it’s muffled by your soaking core; your fingers finally escape his hold to grip at his hair with a fierce, unforgiving tug, and that softer sound fills the room again while your body freezes up and you cum harder this time, covering him, coating him. He grumbles something again, but it’s nothing you could hope to make out in the crushing wave of pleasure that hits you— the light sensation does not leave you, though the shaking eases off as Jack places a tender kiss to your clit, and you jolt at just that velvet brush, his eyes turning sympathetic. You breathe deep, slumping with great exhaustion and the dazed happiness of having him in your room now as you lift your thigh from his body and he leans his head up to grant a quick kiss while it slips away from him.

“Knew you could be quiet,” he smiles under the shine of your second release, resting his arms open over the blanket to welcome you into them.

“As if you don’t make it hard.” Huffing, it’s with a reciprocal smile that you crawl back to him, nearly toppling over on your way with the weakness of his own power against your body, and he chuckles at you, not shying away from his joyous teasing when you throw him a half-glare.

“Did I wear you out again?” he questions, guiding you into his side, turning his body over yours to swipe his tangy tongue over your bottom lip.

Whimpering, it turns into a cheerful giggle as he drops pecks over your nightgown, wrapping his finger around the tail of the ribbon.

“You just keep going, don’t you, Jack?” you cup his face in your hands, and it’s now that he adopts a sheepish expression, turning his eyes away to tilt his neck and kiss your stomach once more.

“Until you ask me to stop, darlin’.” He lends two more kisses, one to each breast, and then gathers the straps of your nightgown from the pooling of fabric underneath your chest, tenderly helping your arms through the holes. You admire him quietly as you sit up to ease the gesture, letting his fingers guide the intricate lace edges back to your shoulders. He pats the cotton down to smooth it, your thumb stroking over his left eyebrow. His hands pry under you to wrap his arms around your middle, his cheek resting over your belly as you scratch through his dark hair.

“I think you’re softer than you realize,” you whisper, twirling a lock around your finger and he peeks up, the apples of his cheeks rising in a twinkling smile.

“I can shoot a gun a million times but I sure don’t like it more than kissin’ you,” Jack coos, tickling up your sides and swatting away your protesting hands until you make an involuntary squeak and his eyes widen, hurriedly covering your mouth with his own. You titter over his smooth lips, his weight pinning you as he opens his mouth, taking more. “I’d think I’d have sold my soul to the devil to end up here with you if I didn’t know any better.”

You let the next bubbling ripple of affection take over you when he whispers that with his gleaming eyes, and you kiss him three more times, each slower than the last.

He rests there for some time, indulging in the carding of your fingers over his scalp, and he ensures you’ve drifted off before he rises in search of a cloth. He finds a green one folded by your petticoat, his fingers briefly dragging across its white lace before he dips the cloth in the small dish of water left beside it. He crawls back up beside you, lazily yet with careful attention guiding it under your slip and over your breasts, relieving you of the stickiness. You stir but don’t wake— his touch is too light, yet still unlike a feather— he cleans you off, sets the cloth back in its spot, and resumes his position, nestled up next to you.

Sneaking into Jack’s room— or him into yours— becomes a habitual routine after the goodnight click of Mrs. Adler’s door, though you often find yourself with an early visitor with eyes too bright and a needy little grin on his face. It follows his giddy lips on your neck hours before in scarce moments of isolation from other guests, or after he’s stared too long across the bar, and to ease the tension, he’ll ride to take Sylvie to stretch her legs, a sympathetic look on his face at the door knowing you can’t join.

And he wears you out. Nightly. A simmering threat to your timeliness in the morning that you can’t let go of. A single time, he’d taken the sheets with him in a rapid roll onto the floor as Mrs. Adler knocked and knocked outside, calling for you to rise, until she barged in and the thump had to be blamed on yourself, standing in your disheveled chemise. Her shifty eyes become less of a fear in your head and more of a laughing stock, though not as much as Jack was in his stupid course of action to thump on the floor behind the side of the mattress, taking the blankets, too.

His dignity is not lost, though, each time you press on him about it— his grip tightens over your thighs as you straddle his lap, feeling the impression of his leather settling into your skin.

A rare clump of clouds settles over town the following week, lingering long enough to darken this evening further and forcing an early lighting of the lamps inside, a cozy glow over the hectic and crazed state of the bar.

“Let’s not slack, dearie,” Mrs. Adler sings in her urgently high-pitched voice as you handle the treacherous beast of the card game hours, handling too many requests for the strongest liquor from the cabinet, working your wrists as you open new bottles and impatient sighs crumble out of overworked throats.

Jack glances at her, a rapid flick of his angry eyes as he sets his glass of whiskey down, furrowing his brows in obvious disagreement with her words.

“She’s doin’ fine,” you hear him grumble, and you don’t have it in you to turn and face him to offer your surely-silencing glare, and without it he continues, “think we could offer a little patience.”

Chest fluttering, you shut your eyes with a bothersome huff, setting your hands flat over the counter as you wait for Mrs. Adler’s response, and the other men waiting at the dining table chat over things well beyond you, another fleeting mention of the Statesmen— but Jack remains silent along with her, and you can already picture the way he must be maintaining a hard stare at the old woman to leave her increasingly frazzled.

“My girl does this every day,” she states primly, blocking his view of your back with her own body after an uncoordinated waddle, “you keep out of it.”

Jack scoffs, soft but pointed, the wood groaning under the slide of his glass as he moves it aside, “If you cared to notice, ma’am—”

Spinning on your boot, away from the assortment of glasses set over the counter in their stage of finishing touches, you raise a hand, his first name almost slipping out until you choke on the unspoken word, widened eyes earning a mirrored expression from Jack, “It’s alright, Mr. Daniels,” you soothe, and his smirk is much too telling in his amusement of your spluttering, that you’d called him the old, proper name.

Mrs. Adler huffs a victorious breath as she checks over the full and heavy tray, granting approval while you giggle at Jack’s silly face made behind her back, followed by a wink of his eye.

He closes his eyes as Mrs. Adler finally limps off into her study— what she achieves in there he does not know— and watches you with affection and a warming dose of admiration in his stomach as you handle the tray, setting down shining crystal glasses on the table, a soft smile on your face as the youngest card player offers his thanks. They rarely ever do.

“You look real nice,” he drawls as you round the counter, his elbows sliding along the surface as he leans in, all sparkling eyes and teeth with his wide grin as he follows your steps. “I think I’d like to get my hands on—”

His words fall away to a whisper as you shake your head in feigned annoyance, the laughter stealing your breath as you lean opposite him, taking in the sly look on his face and the pull of his shirt across his shoulders. His hand reaches for yours, tentatively, and you’re powerless against the sweet touch on your fingers as he traces them out, pulling your palm into a bed of his two hands.

You watch as his eyes set on the random patterns he draws, eyelashes curling against his face every time he blinks, your conscious mind soon oblivious to your placement in relation to the large group at the dining table— but it doesn’t matter. They’re as absorbed in their gambling as you are in his focused touch and feel, your heart an obnoxious flutter when he smiles up at you, a perfect mix of kind and sultry darkness.

“I’d like to get my hands on you,” he murmurs, those repeated words spoken lower this time and with a twinkle, raising the back of your hand to his lips. A gentle press, your eyes locked together in a soft gaze to match, and he gives you back your hand as the spell of slowed-time is broken by a shocking round of cheering from the group behind you both.

With a subdued grin, you ease yourself away from the magnetic pull of your lips to his, “You’ve always got your hands on me.”

“And in,” he huffs, stifling a snicker at the fifth roll of your eyes today, watching the ends of your tied apron’s ribbon swing around over the length of your skirt.

“You’d better find something to do in the meantime, or I’ll be asking Mrs. Adler to send you off herself.”

Jack shudders in a fake paddy of fear, the miniscule shakes of his body diminishing the sooner he realizes the severity of your words, and he merely chuckles. “Why’d you want to get rid of me?”

The pleading pull of his face and the wide and warm eyes he gives are somehow not enough to stop you from gesturing your head towards the pile of dirty dishes from dinner, waiting beside the basin. “You’re distracting.”

“Sweetpea, I’m ‘fraid that’s what you’ve got yourself caught up in,” Jack rests his chin in his palm, eyeing the clearing weather outside, “if you insist on woundin’ me, I think I’ve got a horse who needs to go for a ride, and a little lady who’ll have to join us next time…”

“I’ll see you later, Jack,” you whisper, rounding the edge of his ear with your fingers, easing his hair back into place and he adopts a light blush— softer things always more efficient in pausing his heartbeat than harsher things— and he grabs his hat left to the side of him, placing it over his head and bidding you a caring goodbye, “Miss me, darlin’.”

Once the room has cleared at last, leaving you in that familiar spot with soapy hands, sore feet, and a wandering mind, you arrange the wet dishes to dry, stacking each on top of the other with meticulous attention. You dry your hands on the fabric of your apron, rough cotton soaking up the water, your back leaning into the hard edge of the bar behind you. The strain in your neck grows sharper as you push your head back, groaning, willing away the next few hours until you can put your feet to rest upon Jack’s lap.

And at the thought of him, a whistle from the exterior shoots your stream of mental pictures down as your head whips to look out the window, and there he is— Jack, thighs spread wide over Sylvie’s back as he urges her to stop, his eyes straining to find you through the window. Stomach twisting, you make a speedy trip to the stash of berries hidden away, and you pull a handful of them into your apron’s pocket before sparing the parlour a thorough peek and slipping out the front door.

It’s not loud enough for you to make out, but it must be Jack’s voice in a baby soft tone as he tells Sylvie what sounds like “there she is,” with a pat between her perky ears and a smile towards you.

“Hello,” you grin, stepping to the edge of the porch where you meet the two of them, shamelessly devouring the way he sits tall upon her in the dying sunlight clear of clouds, dark clothes, dark hair, dark eyes, a bandana hugging his neck under his glistening throat. “Back so soon?”

“It was her idea,” Jack pokes, leaning back in the saddle as Sylvie adjusts her hooves into place over the dust and sparse blades of wheatgrass. “Suppose I had to lead her here, though…”

With a hand gliding along her wide neck, you watch his smile only grow in size as he watches you gather the berries from your pocket and throw a quizzical look his way, to which he nods enthusiastically, leaning forward again to watch and guide.

You call her name softly, approaching her from a better angle, and she makes an odd pattern with the movement of her head before she digs into your offered palm of treats, her wide mouth a great tickle on your skin that you try not to flinch at.

“Nice girls,” Jack whispers, swiping his hand over Sylvie’s shoulder, then turning his attention to you. “No more flak from the lady, I’m hopin’?”

“No, haven’t seen her since,” you giggle, “you know, Jack, that was kind what you did, but I am still fine.”

Sylvie chomps down the rest of your stash of berries, licking the leftover juices off your palm as you gasp, retracting your arm, and Jack extends his hand far across to you in a warm beckoning. You give him the dry one and he laughs when he notices, “I ain’t afraid of no horse’s mouth,” steering you around to where he’s sat on the saddle.

“You’re not even afraid of Mrs. Adler,” you say bluntly, resting your laced hands over the meat of his thigh and then your chin on top, and Jack stares down at your widened eyes, his chest stuttering with a slightly choked breath.

“I came here to see you, darlin’, to tell you somethin’.” Running his thumb over your hand, he starts to lean his body down, your own straightening for his lips to meet your ear in a warm breath, sending ice down your spine and a melting heat between your thighs.

He waits for your prompt, his radiating need causing your posture to wither as you slant up and into him, “What is it?”

Whatever upward curve your lips adopted seconds before falls away as your eyes close, that heat between your thighs now wetter, your grip on his leg tight enough to pinch.

“I’m gonna take you out again tonight, gonna lay you in the grass and fuck you dumb, listenin’ to you whine loud as you can.”

He’s utterly pleased with the visible, hitching breath you can no longer take in, your chest pausing in its stunted passing, and he straightens up his back again to look down at you with his face shadowed under his hat. “Ain’t that somethin’ old girl, the little lady is speechless…” Jack coos to the horse and she puffs, followed by another pat of her hoof on the ground, and his grin is a mix of genuine and egotistical happiness.

“Jack,” you purr, all bothered and wobbly-knees, a helpless look in your eye as you tug the looped rope, and he prepares to ride back off. He doesn’t partake in your pleading this time, instead giving a squeeze of his legs over Sylvie’s back.

“Same place, darlin’,” he calls, “I expect you.”

A backward glance and a tip of his hat as courtesy— or to make up for his foolish teasing— and his figure dies off in the gunpowder dust behind him and his girl, his jacket the same one you’d worn your first time away.

It’s cool and dark the next time you step out onto the porch, carefully shutting the door behind you, locking it with your key. You rub your hands over the sides of your arms as you creep over the wood, peeking past the pillars before descending the three short steps. Same place, he’d said, so you set off in the direction of the stables, bathed in the soft light of the spaced lamp posts, the same exhilarating rush as the first time bubbling head to toe.

“Ever heard of a sweet little maid ‘round here?” Jack’s happy rumbling sounds just behind you, turning into laughter at the yelp you let out, its sound squeaky and fearful until he catches you by the waist, pulling your back into his chest to sway your body around aimlessly. “Works for a Mrs. Adler, prettiest face you ever saw…”

An endeared giggle falls out of you, mouth covered immediately by your hand when he comes to place his chin on your shoulder, his fingers pressing tightly to your middle. His clothing feels rough by your neck, unlike anything else you’ve felt him wearing against you, but his cheek is soft and freshly shaven, his lips hungrily kissing behind your ear.

“Oh, I’m not so sure I have…” you murmur, allowing yourself to sink backward into his promising support, and his hum is sweet into your skin when you say so, arms squeezing you just enough for your feet to lift from the ground.

“She’s got angel eyes,” he whispers, a finger coming to trail down your cheek as he lets you back down, until his hand cups your chin, turning your head sideways to capture your lips in a deep, swelling kiss. Your own hand rises to mirror his gesture, knees suddenly like water with their wobbly weakness, and the ball of your foot scrapes over the dust as he tugs you even closer, tasting your lips.

“That might ring a bell,” you smile when you finally part, stroking your thumb over his jaw. He likes the way it feels, tilting himself further into your light grip of his face. The world surrounding you will never be the same level of interest when he stands before you— a daydream of an outing only seems as sweet if he’s there. A guidance, of sorts, a protector.

Roaming your eyes over him, a surprised gasp follows that welcoming kiss when you notice his top half covered in a navy blue poncho, its edges finished with white tassels and the wool adorned with white lines making intricate patterns over the length and width of it.

“Where have you been hiding this from me?” you simper, picking up the edge of it to feel the slightly scratchy material. He grins, weight shifting to one foot with a cocked hip, hands resting at the base of his suspenders underneath.

“Hidin’ it?”

“You’ve always got that jacket on,” you murmur, leaning upward, grabbing his face in an internal fit of fondness at seeing him covered in the blanket-like garment, giving him a harsher kiss that surprises him enough to nearly stumble backwards. He gains his balance, beaming against your mouth as he steadies the both of you, the world returning.

“You sure keep me on my toes, little lady,” he breathes, brows raised in bashfulness that you forget he has stored in that cocky brain. “Don’t you stop.”

Humming, your hand falling to rest on his chest as you recall more private contexts to his last words, you notice he wears a cross-body leather satchel underneath the poncho. “What have you got in there?”

“I can’t be full of surprises if you wanna make me spill ‘em all,” he teases, pushing his nose into yours, “come on, just you n’ me tonight.”

With your fingers laced together, Jack leads you through the familiar field to an unfamiliar spot at the top of a climbing hill, large rocks worsening the upward trek under the minimal light.

His hands find the backs of your thighs as he helps you over the last hump and your frustrated huff gets lost in your throat when you realize his hands are helping you up under your skirt instead of over.

“Jack,” you guffaw, using your biceps to push up and over the hard surface and he plays dumb behind you, a deep chortling following as you roll over to the flat space of dry grass above it. Looking ahead you notice a small gathering of wood placed in a circle around the center of the clearing in the trees while Jack rolls up next to you, much more gracefully with what must be years of practice.

He shares a sideways glance with you, “What?”

His pouty lips drag downward in his falsely innocent question, your eyes rolling without annoyance but with affection. He grabs your hand again, tugging you near the woodpile and he reaches into the satchel, revealing a box of matches in his palm.

“Is this what you did earlier?” you ask, a bewildered softness easing over your shoulders, and he nods with a grin.

“Sylvie n’ I came here to get it ready.”

Sliding the box open, he strikes the match against the rough side of the cover sleeve and the spark ignites a smoking, small flame that he holds to a coil of waxed thread under the arranged sticks and wood. It catches on and flourishes upward, sprinkling tiny sparks that rise then fall by Jack as he recoils, standing back up to his feet.

“How’s that?” he looks at you, pulling you into his warm side, your fingers instinctively wrapping around a tassel. You raise your other hand to hover over the fire, its heat so pleasant and lively on your skin and you look back at him with the same fondness as always for his generous gifts, that might not even be considered a gift to anyone else but you.

“Thank you, Jack.” On your tiptoes, you place a kiss on his cheek filled with all the words you can’t think to say— it’s only a campfire, and to you, it holds all his care, burning there.

“There’s more,” he whispers, and his fingers rise to touch where your lips had just been, then he looks to them and you, smiling. “Said you wished you could run,” he starts, pointing to an old, battered tin can sitting atop a tree stump several feet away, “reckon there’s a few things you’ll need to learn first.”

From underneath the wool, he pulls out one of his revolvers and it shines in the flickering fire, freshly polished. He extends his hand, your own hesitantly touching it’s handle, cupping the barrel with the other as you slowly hold it on your own.

“Jack, I really don’t know about—”

“Careful,” he coos, circling back to stand behind you and placing his hands on your hips, he helps you adjust your grip with the beginning of his lesson whispered into your ear, his hands gentle as they cover yours. “Two hands.”

“I’m not sure I’m the gun slinging type,” you whisper nervously, your palms becoming clammy just handling the weapon, and you remember when its silver glint was pointed at Mr Porter, under its power.

“Always assume a gun’s loaded,” he continues, aiding you in extending your arms out, the aim at the can improving as you go. “Feet apart.”

With the toe of his boot on the inside of your ankle, he pushes your feet further apart until shoulder-width, and your shoe slides over the dry grass as you suck in a deep breath at the physical order.

“Hold it tighter,” he whispers next, ensuring your fingers are hugging the grip tightly, your other hand cupping the trigger guard firmly. “Don’t leave your finger on the trigger unless you’re aimed and ready.”

Jack is rasping now, a growing hardness on your ass from watching you handle his own weapon with determination and he pinches your hips, inciting a gasp as you try to keep your arms steady.

“The cylinder's full,” he adds, “you hit the can and I’ll make good on my promise.”

With the shot of arousal that comes after his words and the reminder of his promise to fuck you hard over the grass, it’s too easy to convince yourself that you’ll miss every shot.

“Won’t somebody hear it?” you question, turning your head as far as you can and he hums thoughtfully, pinching you softer.

“It’s luck if you hear a gunshot from a distance,” Jack soothes. And it hits you, that when Mr. Porter and Mr. Bryant started shooting blindly in the house, that those were the closest bullets had ever been to you— and here, you hold them in your palms.

“Go on, sugar, knock it over and I’ll fuck you right by this fire.”

A whine escapes you before you can aim it again, the grip even sweatier than before, the fire merely a glint now as you focus on the target tin.

Locking your grip around the handle, your pointers steadying the direction, you shut one eye, then the other to test the placement, and you pull back the hammer with a stretch of your thumb.

“I’m scared,” you breathe as your arms remain pointed forward, and Jack nods, applying pressure to your shoulders with his palms.

“I’ll keep you steady. S’okay if you miss.” Jack rubs some of the tension away, your arms growing tired from holding them up as you make one last adjustment. The jolt when you pull the trigger is more powerful than you’d expected, and Jack keeps you still as your body reacts to the sharp sound and the full shock of it. The bullet only just skims the side of the can, a tinkling sound following the jarring shot from the barrel.

“Fuck,” Jack breathes, his eyes wide and his smile too, when he looks from your near-shot to your frightened face turning into confidence. He throws his hat to the side, smoothing his hand through his hair before bending slightly behind you, “that was fuckin’ close, darlin’. Go again.”

His tone is pure excitement as you shake off the last lingering threads of apprehension, and you aim again, not a one inch difference from your first shot, pulling the hammer down a second time.

You place your pointer over the solid trigger and Jack’s breath hitches as he waits and watches intently, his hands still supporting your shoulders. This time, when your upper body jostles back from the force, the shot is farther off but still close, hitting the bark where a small explosion of wood chips scatter to the grass and you startle at the cracking noise, casting a worried look to Jack.

“Keep tryin’,” he soothes, cuddling his cheek to the side of your neck as he cozies up, and you’re certain it’s not the best condition for a shooting lesson, the middle of your thighs gathering slick and your palms more nervous sweat. With a deep breath, you stretch your arms out once more, muscles pulling up tight as you adjust your feet, your eyesight on the tin can reflecting the flames of the little campfire.

“That’s it,” Jack whispers as you touch your finger to the hammer, “focus.”

Scoffing, you settle your aim, determined to ignore the way he’s still pressing up against you.

“You’re doin’ great,” his voice scratches just before you pull against the trigger’s resistance and the bullet releases, harder it feels like, and pierces the tin with an incredibly loud metallic pang, sending it fast off the stump. Although you’re not too far from it, you don’t trust it yet; looking back down at the weapon in your hand and then to him, his smile already turns smug. It’s a surprise to hit it at the same time that it’s not— luck or natural talent, you don’t think you’ll ever find out. He shakes his head with pride dripping all over, crushing you into his side with a tense squeeze of his arm, your neck fitting in the bend of his elbow.

“That’s too quick,” you breathe in modesty that Jack tells you to shush away, as your disbelieving eyes fall back on the tree stump, tin can-less. “I wasn’t far away enough.”

“Come on, darlin’.” He disembarks, jogs to the stump, picks up the can behind it. A hole burns through the center on both sides. “Still shot it on the third try.”

When he arrives at your feet again, you peer down at the silver gun in your hold. Struggling to accept your own accuracy, you slowly hand it back to him.

“It'll be harder next time,” he purrs, sliding it back into its holster pocket, “but I think you’ll make the most charmin’ gunfighter in the whole damn world.”

“That’s your title,” you smile, brushing the dark hair from his forehead, curling your fist into the wool draped over him. “And the most handsome, too.”

Jack’s chest puffs out against yours as he preens at your softly-spoken compliment, the tone of his hum pitched in a questioning way to urge you on to continue.

“I’d rather like to learn more about that lasso,” you say instead, fingering where it’s attached to his hip, and he looks at you through his eyelashes, closing his hand around the one fisted in his poncho.

“Hell, if I taught you the ropes I doubt you’d let me out of your room for a whole week, darlin’. We’d better work up to that…”

“Oh well,” you tease, perching yourself up to level your lips with his ear, “you’re too soft on me to be my teacher anyway.”

��Too soft?” He raises his brows, eager to know, causing you to step back as he advances on you.

“Too easy. I ought to shoot that can three more times from ten more feet away just to be sure I’ve learned.”

Jack lays the thick blanket next to the crackling fire after pulling it out of the satchel, motioning for you to come.

“Sugar, I’ll show you rough,” he grumbles, dragging you down to the blanket with him, your chest thumping square on his when you land, a stunted breath into his mouth. His promise, listenin’ to you whine as loud as you can, returns to you now as he holds the back of your neck and opens his lips to brush yours, nipping your lower lip to earn the first wince.

“Don’t disappoint me,” you taunt, landing yourself rolled over and pinned under his heavy weight as he lifts the poncho from his head and drapes it over your bodies, hidden and warm together as you share the fiery heat of yourselves and the physical fire beside you.

“I’d hate nothin’ more than to disappoint you.” He keeps his eyes trained on your face as his fingers creep up your leg, a soft ghosting until he reaches the stark wetness compared to your dry skin everywhere but your core and he’s already groaning at just the sensation of your slick covering his fingers. “Think I could fill you right now, hm? Soakin’ me so fast…”

“I need you to fuck me as hard as you can,” you demand, your head tipping back against the ground underneath the blanket, heat accumulating in your own makeshift tent of the dark poncho. His fingers twitch over your clit as he watches your face twist in effort to get your last coherent thoughts out, “This is where I can cry.”

“Jesus,” his head falls into your shoulder and he rubs his cock on your thigh, covered by his trousers. He’s hard and thick, just as he was watching you shoot his gun, and he lifts your skirt higher, bunching the fabric at your waist. “You always get what you ask for from me.”

Blindly searching with your fingers, you find the buttons of his trousers and pull them open, carefully taking his cock out, the tip leaking generously onto your skin. You spread it for him though it runs out quickly, but your own burning arousal is enough for the two of you as he settles himself closer, his hair flopping out of place. His moustache brushes against your temple when he spreads your legs wider, a soothing slide of your skin over the blanket before you feel his cock running through your slick folds, and it’s enough to start whining. Even the little sounds you let out at the house are suppressed and quietened— here, there is no one but the two of you.

“Give it all to me, baby doll,” he rasps over your throat as he positions himself and pushes past your entrance, slowly stretching you open on his thick cock and your thighs fall open wider, too, your breath heavy and low for him to bask in. “Ain’t that sweet…”

Jack’s eyes carry the glint of the fire beside your bodies as he stays there for some moments, letting you squirm all you need before he flattens you to the ground with his chest, cooing encouraging gentleness to contrast with the untamed way he’s going to fuck you here, on the blanket, again. His cock pushes deeper with the added mass, your whimper not enough when he finally thrusts and hits his hips to your wide-spread thighs and works the wetness of you all over his cock.

“Ja— Jack—” you whine, and his hot hand soon comes to glide over the innermost part of your thigh, rubbing it firmly as if he’s about to—

He spanks your thigh and earns the high-pitch moan he’s been working for all along, drawing himself back to return with a harsh thrust as he keeps his hand on the stinging sensation, groaning out his nose.

“Fu-uuck, there we go, that’s what I wanted,” he grunts through stunted breaths as he sets a new, punishing pace, sliding with ease in and out, hitting deep inside to brush against that satisfying spot that when he slaps the same part of your leg, the pleasure from both makes you cry louder, moan louder.

He draws the wool tighter around his back as he lowers his lips to your mouth, emitting an animalistic groan over your face when you clench around his cock and pull him in closer for another open-mouthed kiss, true and full.

“Oh, god,” you groan, his hand caressing the underside of your thigh, until he draws it up to push your knee on your chest, fitting his hand in the bend of your leg.

“Gimme more, sugar,” he demands, landing a sharp swat to the side of your ass lifted off the ground that gives him your neediest, filthiest sound yet as you fist his hair, taking his brutal pace.

“Jack, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Fuck,” he curses back harder, “I’m gonna steal you every god damn night for this.” Jack hisses through bared teeth on your collarbone, keening when you raise your hips to meet his. The fire rises beside you at the same time a wave of building pressure in your abdomen knocks through your lower half, and you place your hands on his face, sliding them up to meet his hair.

A shaky breath puffs out of you, the sting of his spankings spreading over your leg as you crane your neck and cry out while he buries himself and grinds against your clit, “You just get wetter n’ wetter for me,” he remarks hoarsely, “just can’t help but need me, hm?”

“I... Yes,” you sigh into his heated neck, your limbs softening in their hold of him as he fucks you hard over the blanket, his grip deathly on the side of your thigh.

“I want to hear it, darlin’, say it to me,” he scrapes, his voice at the bottom of his register, and when the words get stuck in your mind and jumbled out of order from the fullness of your core, he draws himself out and rolls you onto your stomach. Mindlessly, empty, you whine with an equal hoarseness to his own, the end of it pushed out prematurely when he flattens his chest over your back, lining his cock back up with your soaking entrance.

“I’ll pull every last pretty sound you got left in you if I have to.”

The words are a terrible blow to your senses, sparking a rapid increase in the sound of rushing blood in your ears as he pushes your thigh up to the side and presses down on it with his palm.

“Please…” you breathe, “I’m so close— fuck me, please fuck me again—”

Shutting your eyes, hoping to feel him push himself back inside you, you instead are met with a final, cracking swat on your leg that sends you wailing as Jack waits for you to scream it, “Tell me, sugar!”

“I need you, Jack— I need you!”

It doesn’t sound like your own voice. Never has it been clouded by so much desire and such a sinful edge to your witless begging, but it’s enough for him. A push forward, and he fills you; his own sounds have grown needier too, reaching far out. He plants a hand by your face and you grab onto his wrist as he shoves his cock repeatedly deeper and at this angle, you could consider the punishing stretch of him painful, but it’s everything you need, causing you to whine a step higher every time his hips hit your ass.

“You’re all I fuckin’ think about, darlin’,” Jack mouths at your earlobe, your bodies turning slick under the poncho and your clothes, “here you are, shootin’ my gun n’ lettin’ me fuck your tight little pussy, beggin’ for me— gonna make me fuckin’ cum.”

Your jaw drops and an involuntary squeal stumbles from your hanging lip, Jack snarling behind you as he plunges again, hooking his hands under your shoulders and splaying his fingers wide over the tops of them.

It’s a taut stretch of your chest when he pulls on you like that, the soft curl of his hair tickling your neck as he nestles his face to yours and muffles his grunts and groans. You pull up tighter around him, squeezing his cock, nearly driving him to collapse over your back when he feels it happen and what is easily his hardest, neediest and wrecked groan tears out and spreads over your limbs with the rumbling breath he takes after.

“Jaaack,” you whisper, his movements heavily weighing on you, your body resting just at the precipice of something overwhelming, “So… full..”

“I’m gonna fuck my cum into that sweet cunt.” Jack fists the blanket with his supporting hand and the next time he rams his hips forward, a full-bodied scream fills the air, and once more, you squeeze him tighter as you cum hard around his cock, your nails starting to dig into his wrist as he fucks you through it.

“Baby doll, you’re too fuckin’ good to me— squeeze me so fuckin’ tight when you cum, keep it comin’—”

“Oh god, oh god, oh god— fuck!” You can’t stop gushing around him as his thrusts lose rhythm, as he focuses more on the sounds you’re making and the grip you have on his cock and it just won’t end, tears beginning to form in your eyes while the movements never cease.

“That is just heavenly,” he says with a strained laugh, “shit, you really did need me, huh? You want my cum inside you too? Want to be spoiled?”

“Yes!” you cry, miraculously raising your ass just a little against his cock as the orgasm finally calms, a growl and a bite on your shoulder at your ceaseless will to beg.

“Take it.” One final, gorgeous moan from his throat and he buries himself, a wet warmth painting your walls, his chest deflating as he settles around your back and rubs your thigh in a soft contrast to what was his stinging swats minutes before. He blows and pants to recuperate, and as he brings himself out, you feel the warmth spreading and dripping down to your clit. For a moment, you share the breaths you’re both trying to catch, but the sensation of his cum sliding over your skin is yet another obstacle to returning to a manageable state of being.

“This…” he whispers, taking his hand back, leaning on his other elbow to support himself as he slides his fingers under your skirt to lead them to your swollen cunt, “is my favourite, darlin’.” He spreads his cum over your folds, milky liquid sliding wherever he traces, and you push back on your knees to raise yourself for him while he guides it back inside you, your throat tired but still whimpering as he pushes his fingers in.

“Keep me inside,” he murmurs on your temple, urging you to lay back down over the plushy blanket, and as you relax, mussed and twinkling by the fire, he drapes the poncho over your body, tucking the fabric under your sides. He strokes your cheek with the dry hand, lifting your head to his lap as he carefully sits by you, your eyes delicately fluttering closed.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks, and without opening your eyes, you shake your head no. Jack makes a purring sound, considering the moans his actions pulled out of you, and he begins to stroke your face some more. “Hope I never do,” he adds softly, studying your peaceful expression under the firelight and stars, “you’re soft.”

The last two words make you blink and smile up at him, finally granting him a peek which he returns with curved lips, and you know that “soft” doesn’t mean “weak” when he says it.

“I got an idea of where to take you next, if you think you can handle it...”

tags for yeehonk idiot:

@filthybookworm @frannyzooey @javier-pena @javierpcna @astroboots @userdindja @pedros-mustache @princessxkenobi @trashcora @writerdee1701 @thelemongeneration @libraryofrecs @fan-of-encouragement @herb-welch @writeforfandoms @queenofthecloudss @leannawithacapitala @the-feckless-wonder @kesskirata @fuck-goes-on @lawfulgranola@apascalrascal @prismaticpizza @xemmaloveskillianx @littlemissoblivious @quica-quica-quica @spideysimpossiblegirl @little-big-mac2 @recklesswit @frankie-catfish-morales

let me know whether you’d like to be added or removed!

#agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #pedro pascal #agent whiskey #pedrostories #userastrid #tuserdaniela #userdindja #xuserannie #userhai #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x you #western au #jack daniels i love you forever #no devil dealings here...

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doctorstethoscope · 4 years ago

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The Right Chapter 3 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Hey gang, I wanted to give y’all another update this week because I know there wasn’t a lot of hotch in the last chapter. This is a long one!

Read previous chapters here!

wordcount: 3.6k

warnings: canon-typical harassment and violence, swearing

tagging: @the-modernmary @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13 @wanniiieeee

It’s closer to the afternoon than the morning when you finally get out of bed the next day. Aaron had set you up in his guest room before going to bed himself, and had dutifully woken you up every two hours. You emerged into the kitchen to see him sitting at the table with his laptop open, surely working even though he was technically out on sick leave.

“Good morning” he says when he sees you appear in the doorway. “The coffee’s still hot, if you want some. I don’t have any RedBull, though.”

You rolled your eyes as you crossed the kitchen to make yourself a cup. “Is it still morning? It feels like I must have slept through the whole day.”

“Well, you needed it. Long night.” He tells you, and you let out a little hum in response. “Hey, uh. Your cell phone is on the counter. It was making a lot of noise and I didn’t want it to wake you.” he admits sheepishly. “I didn’t read anything, but Josh’s name popped up a lot.”

You pouted a little. “I guess I did kind of just disappear. I probably owe him an explanation,” you said, crossing the kitchen and picking your phone up.

“You don’t owe him a god damned thing.” Hotch said a little harshly, but you knew his tone wasn’t aimed towards you.

You powered your phone on-- Hotch must have turned it on after he took it. 13 missed calls and 27 texts, sheesh. Not all of them are from Josh, thankfully. You shoot a quick text back to JJ, Garcia and Emily, who had all individually checked in when you didn’t show up at the office. With a little more trepidation, you opened up your thread with Josh.

“Where are you?”

“You never came to bed last night.”

“Off fucking the boss man?”

“Did I catch you before you got down to anything good?”

“Fucking slut.”

“Couldn’t even finish cleaning the carpet before you left.”

“Fucking answer me.”

“Did I bash your skull so hard that you forgot to pack my lunch before you left?”

“This is ridiculous.’

“So you’re just running away?”

“Don’t be such a baby.”

“You are so in for it when you get home.”

“I should have killed you.”

There’s more, but you’re not sure you can stomach it. You drop your phone to the counter, swallowing back a bit of bile that has risen up from your stomach. Aaron is at your side in an instant.

“Can I look?” He asked quietly. He’s looking you right in the eye but you feel like you can’t see him at all, like he’s not really there. You must have nodded your head, because he picked up your phone and started scrolling, but you have no way of knowing how you even told your body to do that. After a moment, he sets your phone face down on the counter, and turns to face you, placing a gentle hand on each of your upper arms. “We are going to figure it out, okay? You’re not in this alone, and I’m not going to let you get hurt again. You did the right thing. You got out. And now you have help.”

He’s staring into your eyes as he promises to keep you safe, and the dam breaks. All of the emotions that you’ve bottled up for the last ten hours are flooding through you, and you’re sobbing uncontrollably before you have even recognized how upset you really are. Aaron gathers you up in his arms in an instant, and you wrap your arms around him, crying into his old sweatshirt.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. Let it all out,” he whispers in a mantra, rubbing your back.

You realize in this moment that Aaron is truly your best friend-- you’d always known that you were closer to him than anyone else in the office, and the same was true for him, with the possible exception of Dave. What you hadn’t realized, is that somewhere along the way, your college friendships, your academy friendships, your girlfriends, had all faded into the background, and Aaron became the person you wanted to tell good news to, the person you drew comfort from, and the person you called when you realized you couldn’t get the blood out of the carpet. The realization surprises you, enough to let you get a few deep breaths in and calm yourself down, untucking from Aaron’s shoulder and dabbing at your eyes with your shirt sleeve.

“Thank you,” you say through your choked voice, even though it could never be enough.

“How’s your head?” He asked, looking over the top of your head to the clock on the stove to see if it was time for you to have more pain meds.

“Ah, well, I don’t think the crying really helped.” You shrugged, attempting to bring some levity back to the situation as you picked your phone back up.

“What are you doing?” Hotch asked, eyeing you and the phone.

“I’m calling Josh back.” You said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Okay, now I’m sure you hit your head,” he said, swiping the phone out of your hand before you could place a call.

“Hotch--”

“Can you at least tell me why you want to do this?” He said, and you can see the concern etched into his face.

“I’ve got to go back at some point. I’m sure it’ll be easier for him to cool off if I’m not completely ignoring him in the meantime.”

“Go back? What are you talking about?” Aaron asked

“I live there, Hotchner. I can’t avoid him forever. Even if I move--”

“You’ll stay here. For as long as necessary. It’s not safe for you to go back there.” He says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Do I get a say in this at all?”

“Not if your only defense is that you don’t want someone else to take care of you. Because right now you need caring for, and I’m not letting you talk your way out of it.” Hotch said resolutely, and you sighed. The silence lingers for a moment before you speak up again, quietly.

“I could use some more pain meds.” You admitted.

“You shouldn’t take these on an empty stomach. Let’s get you some toast, drink your coffee to clear up your sinuses and then you can take your next dose and go back to bed.”

“Hotch, the day’s half over. I can’t go back to bed.” You argued, with significantly less heat behind it, lifting the steaming mug of coffee up to your face at his suggestion.

“It’s a sick day. You’re injured. You’re supposed to rest all day and let your body heal. You won’t be arguing with me once you’ve taken the pills.”

Hotch had tried to get you to take the rest of the week off, but you couldn’t stand the thought of sitting around in his apartment doing nothing. You also knew that an extended absence would catch the attention of your teammates-- and you weren’t sure if you were ready to share all of this with them yet. That was why you were perched in front of the mirror in Hotch’s guest room, liberally applying concealer and powder to your healing black eye. Aaron had made you promise to take it easy, and you already know he’d have eyes on you all day to make sure you weren’t overdoing it. No need to attract any more attention. There’s a soft knock from the hall.

“Come in,” you called.

“Hey,” Hotch said, swinging open the door. “We’ve got to leave in a few minutes.”

“I’ll be ready,” you assured him, dipping your brush into the powder before brushing it over your nose and cheekbone, wincing a little.

“When did you learn to do that?” Hotch asked softly.

“Hotch…” You responded softly.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. You don’t need to answer that.” He apologized, averting his gaze to the floor.

“If I answer, are you going to stop blaming yourself for not noticing?”

“I can’t promise you that.” He shakes his head.

“I wasn’t… I’m not a battered woman, Hotch.”

“Of course you aren’t.” He’s quick to affirm you, to make sure you know he doesn’t see you as a victim.

“No, I mean, this was excessive. Was he rough? Sure. Did he leave marks? Yeah, he did. But I wasn’t getting tossed around and beaten like that. He’s not really like that, normally. He was just drunk, I think.”

“You’re not seriously making excuses for him, are you?” Hotch asked, and suddenly you’re indignant, even though you know he’s right.

“He had a bad night.” You protest weakly.

“He almost killed you!” Aaron raised his voice, just a tad.

“He was just trying to scare me.” You countered.

“He was escalating. I know that you know that,” Hotch said, searching your face, looking for something to profile. You didn’t blame him, you knew your behavior was erratic. You draw a deep breath, your chin quivering as your eyes welled up.

“It worked. I’m scared.” You squeaked out, trying not to let the tears fall and ruin the makeup you’ve worked so hard on. Hotch wrapped you in his arms again and you breathed in deeply, letting his cologne fill your lungs and lull you into a calm.

“You don’t need to be scared. I’ve got your six. I’ve got you.” He reminded you, and you pulled away from him.

“I don’t think I’m ready to share this with the team yet.” You told him, and he nodded.

“Like I said, your pace. When you’re ready, you’ll tell them, and if you want my support, I’ll be there. I’m gonna go make us some coffee, meet me in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

You were silly to think that you could hide anything from a group of profilers-- none of them have guessed it, yet, or if they have, they’re too polite to say anything about it, but they’ve certainly noticed something. They surrounded you with concern and peppered you with questions the second you walked into the office, and Hotch’s devotion to making sure you weren’t pushing yourself too hard certainly wasn’t going unnoticed. It was during one of your Unit-Chief-Mandated-Breaks that you snuck into the kitchen to refill your water bottle. Almost silently, JJ slipped in behind you.

“You know, you can just say the word, and we’ll all stop pestering you.” She says, and you can hear her gentle smile.

“That’s okay. If I call you off, I lose the right to fuss over whoever’s next.” You tried to crack a joke.

“Good point.” She chuckled.

“I really am okay, Jayje.” You assured her.

“No, honey, you aren’t.” She shook her head. “But you’ll tell us when you’re ready, and we’ll support you even if the secret dies with you.” She laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walked out of the kitchen together, sharing a small conspiratorial laugh, your heads thrown back as you pass through the doorway. When the ping of the elevator doors opening grabs your attention, you drop your water bottle in shock.

“You okay?” JJ asks, bending over to pick up your water bottle as he storms through the glass doors of the BAU.

“You whore!” Josh spat out, catching the attention of the whole bullpen. So much for keeping them out of it.

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” Morgan asked, rising from his desk immediately.

“Josh?” Emily says, the first one to recognize him. Your eyes dart around the bullpen, and you spot Reid at his desk phone, no doubt calling security.

“You fucking bitch!” Josh says, still advancing towards you. Your brain is screaming at you to run but you can’t get your legs to move. It’s a literal childhood nightmare, playing out in the flesh.

“Come on, let’s go back into the kitchen” JJ says softly, her tone betraying none of her fear as she practically shoves you back into the kitchen. You stumble into a chair, and the sound is muted because of the door, but you can still see and hear everything through the glass. Josh takes another step into the bullpen, but Morgan’s in front of him.

“Turn around and walk out of here, man, because there’s no other way this ends well for you.” Morgan puffs out his chest, trying to stop Josh from looking over his shoulder and seeing you.

“Not until that slut gives me some fucking answers,” He spits out, and you feel JJ squeeze your hand, but you’re too laser-focused on the scene in front of you to acknowledge her.

“I’m going to give you one more chance to walk away.” Morgan hisses through his teeth, advancing closer to Josh.

“I’d listen to him if I were you.” Hotch said, suddenly appearing on the other side of Josh. You hadn’t seen him come down the stairs.

“Ah, good old boss man.’ Josh jeered. “How’s my sloppy seconds? I hope she’s treating you real good seeing as how you stole her right out from under me in the night.”

Without warning, you watch Hotch’s fist connect with Josh’s face. Josh stumbles away, holding his nose, when security comes in through the elevators.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” He says, raising his hands in surrender. He turns around to face Hotch once more. “This isn’t over.” He says, bringing his hands back to his nose and following the security officer into the elevator.

There’s a stunned sort of silence that hangs over the unit for a few moments before you hear someone break out into a sob. When you feel JJ’s hand start rubbing across your back, you realize that it came from you. The door flies open and you startle, but when you look up, you see a clouded figure of Hotch through your tear-saturated eyes.

You hear JJ and Aaron whisper to each other, but you can’t focus enough to hear what they’re saying. Whatever it is, the conversation ends with JJ slipping out of the kitchen just as quietly as she came, and Aaron sliding into the chair across from you.

“Can I touch you?” He asked, his voice only just loud enough for you to hear over the sound of your own labored breathing. You nodded, unable to verbally respond. He smoothed his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, taking your hands into his own. “You’re okay, he’s gone. Security knows who he is now, he won’t be allowed back in the building.” He tells you, and you nod again.

“I’m okay.” You manage to choke out.

“I need you to take some deep breaths for me, okay? You’re going to make yourself sick.” He asked of you, disarmingly calm, as he modeled the deep cleansing breaths for you. You take a deep, shaky breath in, trying to force the oxygen all the way down into your lungs before letting it back out in a huff. “Good,” he told you. “Good job, sweetheart, keep going.” he encouraged you, tucking a piece of hair that had gotten stuck to your tear-stained cheek behind your ear. When you were finally calm enough to look up at him, you did so. “There you are,” he smiled at you. “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay. Your hand--”

“I’m okay--” He assured you, but you flipped his hand over in your own anyways. It’s swollen.

“You need ice.” You said, standing up and crossing to the freezer.

“You need to sit down before you fall.” Aaron stood up to follow you, shaking his head.

“I took my deep breaths, Hotch. I’m not an eighty year old woman.” You chastised him as you pulled a few ice cubes out of the freezer, putting them in a plastic bag and wrapping a paper towel around it.

“My hand is fine.” He argued with you as you pressed the ice pack to his knuckles.

“You are in absolutely no position to argue with me about letting someone else take care of you, hypocrite.” You fought back, with nothing but concern behind it.

“Okay, fine, but can you sit down, please.” He begged of you.

“Don’t I owe the rest of the team an explanation for all of that?”

“They can wait. Sit down.” He said, and it was no longer a request. You sat down in the seat across from him. “How’s your head?”

‘It’s been better.” You tell him honestly.

“Take a few more deep breaths, please.” He tells you, and you roll your eyes.

“Hotch, I’m--”

“You’re holding your breath. Your shoulders are practically touching your ears. Plus, it would make my hand feel better.” He says, shooting you a grin that would be wholly inappropriate for the situation if it didn’t make you feel so at ease.

You roll your eyes at him in mock-contempt, taking the breaths to appease him and dropping your shoulders. “How is your hand, seriously?”

“I’m fine. I’ve thrown my fair share of punches.” He smirked at you, still trying to distract you, to lighten the mood. “We can just leave. You must need more pain meds, if not a nap. We don’t have to get into all of it today.”

“Well, they all basically know now. We should probably just go to clear the air that I’m not sleeping with you for a promotion.”

“If you’re not up to it, we can--”

“No, Hotch.” You stand up, shaking your head at him through a smile. “Let’s go get it over with.”

The team, of course, didn’t need you to explain that all of what Josh had said was false. Your integrity and the trust shared between all of you was louder than any stupid asshole that could bluster in through those glass doors. You’d cried all of your makeup off, so your black eye was now fully exposed to the team. Aaron left a protective hand on the small of your back the whole time you spoke, never once speaking over you or interrupting. As soon as you finished, you felt silly for ever thinking you needed to hide this from them-- they were supportive without being pitying, and JJ, Emily and Garcia had wrapped you up in hugs just as soon as you finally got it all off your chest.

“We’re going to head out, obviously call us if there’s an urgent case notification.” Aaron explained to the team. “You all should feel free to leave as soon as your paperwork is done.”

“Hotch, I’m really fine,” you tried to insist.

“Are you gonna tell the team they have to keep working?” Aaron quirked an eyebrow at you and you scowled, knowing there was no going back now. “I’m just going to pack some of my stuff up.” He told you, turning back to his office. You followed suit, going to your desk and tidying up.

“Hey, cupcake.” Morgan whistled to get your attention before crossing the bullpen to get to you. “If I had known--if I had seen that bruise on your face before he walked in here -- I would have taken him down myself. Hotchner showed an... impressive amount of restraint.” He told you with a humorless chuckle.

“Thank you, Derek. But he’s not worth it, seriously.” You told him with a smile.

“No, he’s not.” He agreed. “But you are. Don’t you forget that, okay? If you need anything, I’m here.”

Instead of responding verbally, you pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck in a hug. He wrapped his arms around you snugly, crushing you into his chest. It hurt, a little, but the overwhelming security you found with him holding you was far stronger than any pain.

You pulled away and bid your goodnights to the team, following Aaron out to the car taking off towards his apartment.

“You were really brave back there. I’m proud of you. As your friend, not your boss. Or, I guess as your friend and your boss.” He tells you, taking one hand off the steering wheel to squeeze yours briefly.

“I didn’t really have much of a choice,” you rolled your eyes with a small smirk.

“There’s always a choice. You chose to get out, and you chose to let your team in. That’s not nothing.” He told you as he parked the car in front of his place.

“Thank you,” you said, choosing to accept the compliment even though you didn’t believe him. Aaron saw it in your eyes, but he let it slide. You’d see, eventually. At her pace, he reminded himself.

“I was thinking I’d cook tonight. Do you have anything particular in mind?” He asked as you settled into the apartment, hanging up your coats.

“Aaron Hotchner, you can cook?” You laughed, turning around and beaming at him. He couldn’t help but return your smile.

“I’m not Dave, but I manage.” He said coyly.

“I’m sure whatever you make will be delicious.” You told him graciously. “And I’m very excited to try it.”

He tossed you an orange from the bowl of fruit on his counter, and then your pain meds. “Go take a nap.”

“Hotch, I’m---”

“Nope, I don’t want to hear it. I let you spend six hours squinting at screens and paperwork under fluorescents. None of that was good for your head. Go.”

You rolled your eyes at him goodnaturedly before going to the guest room, stripping your work clothes off in favor of a pair of sweats and an FBI Academy t-shirt. Truth be told, everything that had gone down at work had been exhausting, and it wasn’t long before you fell asleep.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you

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artificialcaracal · 2 years ago

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I see that yeah, though the more I look at it the more it just looks like, a teen drama? that sort kitschy deal like riverdale/american horror story where the whole point is to stir up drama and utilize shock to hook and keep people watching? I’m not some huge personal fan of the genre but honestly that just seems to be how it works

I can say at least that there is an overarching mystery, it just takes the whole season to resolve and it doesn’t follow the mystery of the week of the week formula of scooby-doos prior

I dunno I just don’t see it, getting particularly up in arms about a show with characters designed to stir up drama and elicit strong reactions from the audience. I just feel eh about it, like are we really gonna call that worse than scrappy doo? scrappy wasn’t an attempt to rage bait people. scrappy wasn’t meant to intentionally draw ire or controversy for publicity. scrappy doo was attempting to be a beloved addition to the scooby doo cast, and it was bungled so hard that he wound up destroying any and all good will anyone had towards him to the point that he was relegated to the role of villain in the first live action scooby doo film.

like, is the velma show worse than that? could it ever even dream to hit such lows as scrappy doo? is it really worse than the titular “scrappy” character? and if you believe that it honest to god is, then why? what about it is more egregious than scrappy, a character that warped the scooby gang dynamic so hard that he eventually pushed out most of the gang members besides shaggy and scooby while alienating the audience due to sheer overexposure? scrappy legitimately broke fundamental elements of scooby doo shows pushing themselves as traditional scooby doo adventures and I simply can’t say the same for like, the velma show. which is clearly doing its own thing and is about as obvious a spin-off series as you can get. it’s like complaining that “shaggy and scooby get clue” has too much shaggy and scooby and isn’t like its fellow scooby doo shows. like of course it isn’t. it’s not trying to be. there’d be no point in it being a spin-off otherwise.

I just. I just can’t in good conscience agree with the idea that the entire velma show is worse than scrappy doo, and I kind of question anyone who claims it is.

With the conclusion of HBOMax's Velma, I want you all to line up and APOLOGIZE to Scrappy Doo

For the past 30 years you've called him the worst Scooby Doo character, and now there's an ENTIRE SERIES worth of worse ones. You tell him you're sorry.

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fandomsonrequests · 4 years ago

Text

unexpected friend

fandom: ATEEZ

characters: choi san

reader: fem

word count: 5.4k

summary: fate decided to test this decade long feud between you and choi san

notes: enemies to lovers AU, toxic themes, character death, substance abuse (it’s not explicit) such as alcohol and cigarettes, heavy themes, language, violence

You had no idea where it started— you just knew that you hated Choi San with every fiber of your being. And unsurprisingly, the feeling is mutual with you.

Maybe it started in kindergarten when he accidentally pushed you to the ground in the game of tag. You got so mad at him, saying that he meant it when he obviously didn’t, calling him stupid because “all boys are stupid.”. Or maybe it started when you knocked over his tower of building blocks as revenge. Or was it when he dipped your pigtails in paint to get back at you? Or maybe the time he spread rumors that you had cooties causing everyone to avoid you like the plague.

Whatever the reason, it spiraled into a childhood rivalry that continued as you grew older. The endless cycle of cat versus dog, taking revenge on one another, followed into grade school, where you reached your horse phase and he reached his gun dam phase. It was inevitable you’d see him again— you both lived in a fairly small town after all.

Petty actions like drawing on the other’s homework turned into stealing each other’s lunches or setting some sort of prank at each other’s seats— whatever your ten-year-old brains could think of. Your screaming matches grew even worse and at one point, you both started throwing punches. The teachers always had to watch you during breaks because eventually, you’d be on top of each other and pulling at each other’s hair.

San had an advantage of course since he took taekwondo, you always ended up as the loser. But in retaliation, you managed to convince your mother to enroll you in some other martial art to protect yourself. And when you won your first little fistfight— you always made sure to lord it over him.

“Hah, you got beat by a little girl! Not so tough now huh potato-head?”

“Shut up horse-face!”

San saw your kindness and charisma towards others as an act. It was your own way of reeling others in to be on your side, gathering some sort of army to help you gang up against him. You on the other hand managed to convince yourself that his cute little dimples and selflessness for others was a facade, You couldn’t believe how many people he’s managed to fool or turn against you. And you’ve always hated him for that. You let it fester as you go through grade school and towards middle school. That hatred you harbored for him was always lit inside you.

Your parents and his were always apologizing to each other during parent-teacher meetings or school events, having to hold you back from jumping on one another. Your dad had given up on the whole thing so he was totally useless; that left you to run to your mother for comfort. Whatever the situation was, at the end of the day, she was always on your side.

“Things will blow over soon. But please, honey, try to stay out of trouble for me?”

So when she died in your junior year of high school, you couldn’t help but feel alone. Your dad had taken to smoking to cope with the loss, marrying a woman who was in love with alcohol while bringing her two hellish twin daughters with her into your home. Things grew miserable for you at home; your dad became a pathetic pushover, letting his new wife run the household. That made you angry— how could he get over your mother so easily? How could he let himself get walked over like that? How could he ignore the way your older step-sisters trampled all over you?

How could he let all this happen?

San’s endless taunting at school didn’t help either. His harmless pranks grew worse as time passed: spray-painting some nasty words on your locker, or setting a bucket of paint on top of the gym doors since you’re always the last one to head out. You’d heed your mother’s words, always doing your best to ignore him. For a while, it had worked and he pestered you less than usual but your mom’s death and the situation at home had triggered something in you, making you snap back. You’d shove his face down into his food during lunch or knock his books down the stairwell whenever you pass by each other. You had even managed to sneak some of the insects from the lab into his gym clothes, causing him to end up with nasty rashes all over his body for a week.

Your physical fights weren’t frequent but they became more violent, with one or both of you having to go to the nurses, holding an ice pack to your busted lips while a piece of gauze was stuck up his bloodied nose. It took several students or even teachers to pull you apart because most of the time no one wanted to jump in and separate you two; it was always so messy with fists and kicks flying everywhere. There was even one point where you both had to go to the hospital for fractured bones. You were both suspended for a week.

Fortunately, things had toned down now that you both were in your final year of high school with the pressure of college and meeting requirements looming over you. Although, neither of you managed to make up. You’d still exchange some foul words but the stupid pranks and fights had simmered down. That never meant you were on good terms though.

But then fate decided to be a little shit and put you in a situation you never thought you’d find yourself in.

Your new biology teacher didn’t seem to be informed about the decade-long feud between you and San. So when she assigned the both of you as partners, you felt your heart drop to your stomach as a sick feeling crawled over you. You wanted to cry and throw up at the same time- that’s just how much you despised him. You both tried to plead with her to change partners but she was as stubborn as a mule, insisting that you two can “sort out your differences” and finish this project as a team.

And now here you were, avoiding each other’s stares despite being sat next to each other. The proximity between you two was suffocating, it made it hard to focus on the project being explained to you by your cruel teacher. Your skin tingles unpleasantly whenever either of you shifted in your seat, your arms just several centimeters away from touching each other. Many thoughts ran through your head on how you can get out of this. But you knew that you had to find some time to work on the damn thing together or else you’d flunk high school— and being stuck in community college, never being able to leave this town, was not worth hitting San at the back of the head and gloating at him.

“You have the rest of the period to plan with each other. Make sure to have your presentation set and ready for next week.” Your teacher says and sits at her desk.

The room was filled with chatter as the students started conversing with each other. Many pairs threw knowing stares at you, worried that you’d be at each other’s throats. Surprisingly you weren’t… at least not yet anyway.

For a while, neither of you said anything to each other. San simply scrolled through his phone hidden under his desk while you organized your final notes. Minutes tick by and the class slowly comes to an end. With a heavy sigh, you decided to swallow your pride and talk to the guy.

You turn to the boy, roughly shoving his knee with yours and he sends you an irritated glare. “C’mon we need to plan for this.” You deadpan, ignoring the look he gave you.

San returned the sigh and pocketed his phone, shifting to face you. “Alright then. So what’s the plan?”

“That’s what we’re supposed to be talking about, dumbass.” You mutter, growing irritated. You clench your fists together in an attempt to keep your calm before continuing. “Anyway, we’re supposed to make some model of the nerve cells then present it.”

San stays quiet for a moment before speaking up. “My sister has some spare clay and wires from her sculpting hobby. I could ask for some.”

“Great. You work on that while I work on the script.” You conclude before going back to your notes.

“Hold on- you’re gonna leave me with all of the hard work?”

“We have the same workload?? I’m making the script.”

“That’s easy- scripts can be finished within a day or something.” San shot back, finding the arrangement you had set, without his consultation by the way, as unfair.

“Then I’ll help you when I’m done. Quit whining like a bitch.” You sigh, having no energy to continue the argument with him.

“Asshat…” He mumbles under his breath, pulling out his phone to text his sister. He expected some sort of retaliation from you but you simply remained quiet. That was odd- considering that you never missed the chance to have the last word in. Maybe you just weren’t feeling it today.

Nevertheless, he ignored you, deciding that it wasn’t worth pestering you at the moment. The bell rings, signaling the end of the class, and you’re immediately up and out of your seat, stuffing your notebook into your bag and swinging it over your shoulder. It almost hits San’s cheek in the process but you were already walking out the door before he could call you out on it.

“Geez…” He huffs and keeps his own things, glaring after you while hoping that time would fly by fast so that the project was done and over with.

A few days have passed by since the biology class. True enough, you’ve finished writing and even printing the script within the day the project was assigned to you. So now you were stuck helping out San with sculpting the whole model. You two would work together at the back of the library after school. Initially the librarian was hesitant about letting the two of you inside given your reputation and all. But when she saw that neither of you were at each other’s throats, surprisingly, she allowed for you to work on it in the library.

Of course you and San still had some disputes— how it’s supposed to be positioned, what shape it’s supposed to take, yadda yadda. But it had never escalated into a full blown argument because it always ended up with you taking the blow of his harsh words. That alone started to concern the boy, you’d always get back at him. But your resigned silence after every quip he threw at you started to worry him. Sure he hated your guts but San wasn’t a nasty person. He knew something was bothering you. But, he never took the initiative to ask what was bothering you; it wasn’t his problem anyway.

A weekend away from Monday aka the day of your presentation. The model was almost done— it just needed a paint job. Since it was a Saturday afternoon, meaning the school was closed, neither of you were able to work at your usual spot. So San decided to just take the whole thing to your home to finish it. Of course he could finish the whole thing himself but he had a party to attend later in the evening, and he didn’t want to miss out on it.

He arrives at your home, model in one hand and a crate of paints in the other. He takes note of the absence of your dad’s and step-sister’s cars in the driveway and assumed that you were all out. He sighs in frustration, hoping that that wasn’t the case. Jogging up to the porch, the boy sets down the crate and rings the doorbell a couple of times, foot tapping against the wooden floorboards as he waits.

When there was no response after a few minutes he tried again, this time ringing the doorbell a bit more frantically. Before he could turn around and head back home after getting no response, he hears frantic footsteps scurrying inside and steps back as the door swings open. There you were, hair looking like a bird’s nest while your week-old cardigan hung off your shoulders. There were dark circles under your eyes and you looked like a hobo who had the opportunity to clean after themselves. In other words: you were a mess.

“The fuck are you doing here?” You snap the minute your hazy mind registers that San was standing at your door.

The said boy snaps out of his own trance and shoves the model in your face. “We need to finish this.”

You stare at the figure in his hand then to the crate by his foot and then to his face that displayed an expectant expression. You sigh and rub your face. “Couldn’t you have finished it yourself?”

“I’m busy later.”

Another sigh leaves you and you step back to let him in. He enters the house, leaving his shoes by the door as he looks around the place. It was a bit messier than he had expected. There were rumpled coats hanging off of the arm of the couch, a small pack of cigarettes and a few bottles of cheap beer on the coffee table. The wallpaper was starting to fade with a few faint stains here and there.

San stays quiet as he follows you through the house, seeing the small stack of dishes waiting to be washed in the sink. He turns back to look at you, finding your silence as unnerving. You only trudged up the stairs, motioning for you to follow him. He expected to see you turn down the hallway and enter one of the rooms but was quite surprised to see you stop by a frayed rope hanging from the ceiling of the hall. You reach up and tug down on it, revealing the ladder towards the attic.

“Don’t tell me you live up there,” San jabs.

“Yeah and what of it?” You grumble, sending him a tired glare over your shoulder before climbing up the ladder.

He was stunned into silence when he realized that you were serious. He bites his tongue and refrains from jeering at you, handing the box of paints to you before climbing up. Several thoughts ran through his mind— why was your room in an attic? And since when did you start smoking and drinking? Was it even yours?

His head pokes into the surprisingly clean but small room. Your bed was pressed up near the slanted wall of the roof, several polaroids of you, your few friends, and your mother plastered along it. On the opposite side was your desk and your wardrobe whose paint was starting to chip off. Several boxes, labeled and not labeled, were pushed to the corner of the room, stacked in a way for them to take up less space.

San looks to you rummaging through your desk, probably finding a brush or something. He wordlessly steps into the room and pulls the rope, closing the trapdoor beneath him. He turns to you again and before he could stop himself, he found himself blurting the question that was plaguing his mind: “What the hell happened to you?”

You turn on your heel, almost knocking over the picture frame of you and your mom. Your hand reached out to steady it before answering San. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

“Why do you live up here?” He motioned to the whole attic space with his arm. “Don’t you have a room downstairs?”

“I do.” You simply say and take the crate of paints, pulling out the needed colors and some paper cups for you to place them in.

When you don’t elaborate, San squats down to your level on the ground and tugs the purple paint tube out your hand. “What happened to it?”

“Why do you care?” You snatch the tube back with a hiss, preparing all the things needed. “It’s none of your business…”

The boy sighs, running a hand through his dark locks. He nibbles at his cheeks, carefully going over what he wanted to say. “...look, _____,” he starts, voice surprisingly gentle. “You don’t have to tell me everything but you don’t have to keep everything in.”

You don’t answer him or make any move to acknowledge what he had said. But you were listening; part of you decided to take down your walls for just a moment and hear what he has to say. And San seemed to sense this because he continues.

“I’m not gonna say that ‘I’m here for you’ and all that crap but, there are people who're willing to listen to you. Whatever you’re going through right now, no matter how big or small it is, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Again, you don’t respond. A moment of silence full of high strung tension passed by. It was only a few seconds but it felt longer than that— especially since you both stopped in what you were doing and stared at the ground or at each other’s hands.

You always hated San but you couldn’t help but sense the sincerity in his words. It’s kind of pathetic but at the moment, his genuinity, the softness of the way he spoke was what you were craving for. At that moment, you just wanted assurance that things will be okay and that whatever you were doing in life wasn’t useless. And the guy you seemed to hate most was offering you that.

Tears prick at your eyes and you hastily brush it away with the sleeve of your cardigan, refusing to show any weakness to your nemesis. But it was hard; once the tears started flowing it was difficult for you to stop. You play it off by finishing up in preparing the paints, suppressing any hiccups or sobs that would escape before eventually giving up and bringing your legs up to your chin, crying into your sweats. Fuck it if San sees.

You curled up into yourself, crying into your pants when you felt a gentle but hesitant hand on your shoulder. You jolt at the touch, seeing San back away quickly. His brows were furrowed in concern and his lips were pursed, almost as if he were thinking about what he was going to say.

“G-go on, gloat,” You hiccup, choking on your tears. “I look like a m-mess anyway…”

You were surprised, and a little bit embarrassed, that he didn’t follow with what you said. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small packet of tissues and handing it over to you. He looked up to your desk, seeing your water container on your desk. He stands up to take it, shaking it to check if there was still some water in it, before placing it by your foot.

“I’m not going to lie, you are a mess,” San says before returning to his previous spot on the floor. “But I guess that’s normal when you’re having a shitty day.”

“More like a shitty life…” You mumble. You chug down the rest of your water, managing to stop your tears as you wipe them away with the tissues. You look up at the boy across you and sigh heavily. “It’s my step-mom,” you say.

“I’m sorry?”

“My step-mom. She made me move up here so that her daughters could take my room.” You explain. “My dad didn’t say anything because he’s a pushover, wasting his life away on cigarettes and the alcohol his wife buys…”

San nods slowly in understanding, finally making sense of what he saw in the living room and kitchen. That explained a lot of things: why you would always faintly smell of alcohol or nicotine a few months after your mother had died. It had honestly shocked him to hear that— your dad and step-mom always looked presentable in public. Your step-sisters were a bit more extravagant but neat nonetheless. The way they talked and carried themselves didn’t seem to indicate that they had any substance addiction.

Thinking back on it, it had also explained why you were so irate and moody almost all the time, leading to you losing some friends in high school as you fell back into yourself or into violence. It was a defense mechanism— you didn’t want to seem vulnerable because at home, you were vulnerable enough.

An idea pops into his head and he promptly stands up, momentarily making you jump from his sudden movement. You look up at him, puzzled. “What?”

“Come with me.”

“What???”

“I said get up and come with me.” San says and actually held his hand out to you.

You look at it skeptically before looking up at him, contemplating about any consequences in following him— if there were any. He wiggles his fingers, impatiently coaxing you to join him and you finally make up your mind. Might as well follow him; you had nothing to lose anyway.

You swat his hand away to get up on your own, mumbling something along the lines that you could get up yourself before straightening yourself out and placing your hands on your hips. He gives a satisfied nod and grabs his shoes to put them on. He then kicks open the trapdoor before heading back down for you to follow.

He returns to the living room with you trailing behind, still wondering where exactly he wanted you to go. When you glance at the clock you see that it’s already 5:30 in the afternoon. Your thoughts were interrupted when you felt something land by your feet. You whipped your head around to see San pointing at your shoes which he probably threw at you from the door.

“We’re heading out for a while.” He says as he exits your house. You take a moment to process what was happening when he pops his head in. “Come on slowpoke.” He ushers you.

You hastily throw on your shoes, grabbing the house keys hanging by the coat rack, and hop out of the house. You lock the door behind you and approach San who was sitting upon his notoriously loud motorbike. “Where are we going?” You ask, settling down behind him.

Your arms awkwardly flutter beside you, opting to hold onto whatever space was left on your seat. You jump in surprise when you hear and feel the engine roar to life, eliciting an amused chuckle from the boy in front of you. You glare at the back of his head, smacking his shoulder and settling yourself once more.

“Hold on tight,” San tells you as he revs up the motorbike.

“I am.” You argue and strengthen your grip on the seat, shaking the bike a little to emphasize your point.

“No you aren’t.” You feel heat rise to your face when he tutted in annoyance, taking your arms and placing them around his waist. “There you go. See? No harm done.”

You only grumble something in response, making him chuckle to himself. It was a bit strange to see you tame like this. Sure it kind of boosted his ego considering that he managed to make you flustered with just a few words and a simple action but he actually kind of liked it when you weren’t at each other’s throats. He revved up the engine again before taking off and speeding down the road.

The evening breeze is cool as it whips through your hair and brushes against you, sending small goosebumps running down your skin. A small yelp escapes you when San picks up speed, causing your grip on him to tighten. He glanced back at you for a moment before taking the turn that exits the town and towards the road uphill. It led to the small forest that overlooked the city; it was a popular place in town for hiking or camping. You remember going there to play as a kid.

The air gets chillier as you both reach a higher altitude. You unconsciously nuzzle closer to the boy in front of you in an attempt to seek some body heat. The sky grows darker, turning into a deeper blue shade as the night slowly creeps upon the town. Some stars start to peek and settle themselves in the dark blanket of the sky by the time San slows down to a stop. He had stopped by the edge of the forest, a metal railing along the opposite end to keep people or vehicles from falling off the edge.

“We’re here.” San says and looks back at you. “You can let go if you want now.”

At that, you peel yourself away from him and hop off his bike mumbling something about how cocky he was while walking over to the railings. He joins you soon after, keeping a respectable distance from you. None of you say anything at first, simply taking in the view of the city in front of you. Now know why San took you out here: to breathe and clear your mind of things; something that you didn’t know you needed at the moment.

The spot you were in allowed you to overlook the town, seeing the lights from the roads and houses down below. You could spot the water tower in the distance along with the radio tower next to it. As you survey the scene before you, you make out one house in the distance with a multitude of colored lights flashing around it.

“Looks like someone’s having a party.” You muse, finally breaking the silence.

San hums in acknowledgement. “I hope they aren’t missing me.”

It takes a moment for you to understand what he said, perking up when it made sense to you. “So that’s what you meant when you were ‘busy.’” You say as you lightly punch his arm. “You’re such an ass.”

“What? I wasn’t lying; I would’ve been busy.” He defends himself, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Yeah,” You huff. “Busy shoving your tongue down people’s throats.”

A mischievous hum. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Ew no, gross- I’ll pass.”

You share a small laugh together before settling into silence again. It was… kind of cathartic, being able to actually laugh for a long while-even if it was with your longtime nemesis. It was better than crying yourself to sleep almost every night.

You turn to lean your back against the railing, using your arms to support you as you mull over the forest.

“I used to come here a lot as a kid.” You say, managing to capture San’s attention. “Pretended to gallop along the trees like some sort of princess when I was in my horse phase… I would always come home with scraped knees. I was a clumsy kid.”

“Except when you’d throw punches at me,” San interjected, ghosting a hand over his jaw. “You sure knew how to pack a punch.”

You smile apologetically, a sheepish flush on your cheeks, and look over to him. “Well you did deliver some pretty good kicks- I needed to learn how to defend myself.”

San shrugged in agreement. “I guess,” He muses and offers you a small smile, lapsing into silence again. “You know… it’s actually kind of surprising but you aren’t so bad to talk to.”

You nibble at your lower lip at his confession, unsure of what to make of it. When you look up at him, you see that he had inched a little closer to you. He still kept a reasonable amount of space between you two but it was apparent that he wanted to get closer. He drums his fingers against the cool metal of the railing, brows furrowed as he thinks over his next words carefully.

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out. “I’m sorry for all the times I’ve been an asshole to you. I know that I’ve hurt you, not just physically, but emotionally too. And I want to apologize for that… I know, words are just words. It won’t do anything to reverse or take back what I’ve done to you then, but please, take it as a first step to making it up to you.”

San decided to meet your watery gaze, his chest clenching at the tears you were trying so hard to hold back. He holds his hand out instinctively, wanting to offer some sort of physical comfort. He stops himself midway, opting to just settle it on the rail halfway from you. “You don’t have to make a decision right here and now. You can still hate me all you want, but I promise to leave you alone from now on.”

You whimper pathetically, finally letting the tears flow down your cheeks. You felt guilt consume you at his apology. Why was he taking the blame for everything? It should be you who was saying sorry. After all,you were just as cruel as him. And thinking back on it, this feud had most likely started with you. You raise a sweater paw to wipe at your tears, sobbing into your hand.

God you were a mess.

“Don’t, don’t blame yourself… I should be apologizing too. It takes two to tango right?” You hiccup, managing to give him a shaky smile. “I could’ve chosen to ignore you or direct my anger elsewhere but I still ended up targeting you at the end of the day…”

“_______, it’s okay—“

“No it’s not.” You hiss. “I’m not just talking about what I did in high school. I’m talking about every instance I was cruel to you. It was petty, extremely childish, and just horrible overall. I don’t expect you to forgive me but I want to apologize too. I’ve made part of your life a living hell.”

You glance at his hand on the railing before holding your own out towards him. “Truce?” You offer. “We don’t have to be all buddy-buddy after this but at least we can just end this whole thing.”

San gripped your hand in a gentle but firm handshake. “Truce.” His touch lingered for

just a second before he gave a gentle squeeze and pulled away. He returned it to the previous spot on the railing.

The both of you remain for a while, just overlooking the town and reflecting on what had happened. The quiet atmosphere that you both shared suddenly didn’t seem so awkward anymore. Instead, it was filled with some tension but with a bit of comfort at the same time. It was similar to the feeling of a thorn being plucked out of your side: painful but relief that it was finally out.

You don’t expect that things would go right at once— this wasn’t like the movies or the books where everything was magically solved. You both had left some scars on each other, some that are too hard to forget or too deep to heal easily. But you two were working on it: healing and forgiving each other. It was still a long journey but it was something you were both willing to go on together.

You glance to San, seeing how relaxed he was right now. He didn’t look so annoying or so terrifying anymore. A tiny grin makes its way to your lips; never in a million years did you think you’d find solace in someone you despised so much.

“Hey San,” You call out to him, resting your hand beside his, your pinkies brushing against each other. “...thanks for this. I really needed it.”

He smiles at you, flashing his cute dimples at you. It sends a warm, tingly feeling down your spine and you couldn’t help but feel calm at that. “Glad I could help.” He momentarily pat the back of your hand, engulfing it with his larger one when you didn’t pull away.

It was late when he drove you home to finish the project. Unsurprisingly, your family was still out, probably at an event they forgot to tell you about. But you didn’t mind, you had an unexpected friend with you right now.

You smile to yourself as you wave goodbye to San from the doorway, seeing him speed down the road and into the night. He may have been the bad guy in your life but it turns out, he wasn’t such a bad guy. And you were thankful that you were able to see that because at least you knew you had someone in your corner.

#ficscafe #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez angst #ateez choi san #choi san x reader #ateez san #ateez headcanons

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