#one day I’ll learn how to draw cowboy hats

[sobselpop]

So yeah I binge-watched the new Fallout series and fell in love with a cowboy ghoul 🧍‍♀️

[perlelune]

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry | ii.

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

The party’s already in full swing when you arrive at the OKB house. While getting ready, you lost track of time. Putting the finishing touches on your hair and nails took longer than you planned. 

You dodge the bodies swaying to the loud music to make your way to your friends through the swirling blue lights. 

Mindy spots you right away and waves at you. 

"Not bad, freshman," she praises as you twirl in front of her and Mindy to show off your nurse costume decorated with splashes of fake blood.  

They’re both sprawled on the couch, limbs twined. Expectedly, only Anika made the effort to don anything resembling a costume, a pumpkin-colored hat with a bloody knife poking out of it sitting atop her head. 

Mindy even bothering to come considering what happened the last time she attended a frat party is already a huge effort on her part. 

You chat for some time, sharing the latest news regarding your friends. 

 You learn that apparently Tara got into it with her sister…again.

A lot of tension has built between the two of them lately, Sam’s protectiveness clashing with Tara’s craving for independence. 

Maybe Sam’s been overdoing…but who can blame her?

Those two have been through hell and back. 

"Have you guys seen Connor?" 

While you attempt to sound casual, even tossing a shrug, Mindy sees right through you and flashes you a teasing grin. 

"One-track minded, huh?"

Your face warms. "Sorry, I just…I really looked forward to seeing him."

Anika gives your hand an encouraging squeeze. 

"It’s okay, babe. To be young and in love."

"And horny," Mindy adds, dragging a quick eye over your outfit as her smile broadens. 

Her comment sparks more heat in your cheeks. Sure, things between you and Connor are growing steamier. But you don’t want to rush anything. You like him, and you want your first time to be special, romantic.

"I’ll see you guys later."

"Have fun," Mindy says, waving her beer bottle at you.

Your search resumes and you grow nervous, pondering if Connor is even in attendance. Maybe you missed him. Downsides of running late. 

Damn you and your tendency to spend hours dolling yourself up. 

 As you wander across the room, you nearly crash into a familiar broad, muscular back.

An easy smile creeps on your face when your friend turns to face you. 

"Hi."

"Hey, looking good."

"You too, cowboy."

You’re pretty certain Chad’s never looked bad a day in his life. There’s a reason why he’s the most popular player on the team, and one of the most sought-after guys at Blackmore. Well…several, starting with the fact that his hotness is only matched by his unwavering kindness to everybody he meets. 

You suppose if you hadn’t known him for so long, you’d harbor a crush on him too. But you’re too familiar with Chad to see him in that light. You still recall when he insisted on wearing a Pokemon onesie for nearly a year. You used to watch cartoons with him and Mindy as children, play together. He’s even tried to get you into Magic: The Gathering at some point but you couldn’t understand how the game works so he gave up. He’s like the brother you never had. 

"So I hear you've met Ethan. He's cool, right?" He throws his muscular arm around Ethan’s neck affectionately. "A whole snack he is. Look at him." An endearing tinge of red decorates Ethan’s cheeks, his gaze fleeing yours. 

It draws a smile from you. You’re glad they’re getting along. 

You tilt your head, gauging his appearance. Confusion fills you.

You’re not exactly sure what Ethan’s costume is supposed to be. A knight perhaps? Either way, it’s original and it suits him.

"Hey again," you greet. 

He lifts two bashful fingers as a response, returning your smile.

"Yeah. I appreciate him helping me out."

Ethan’s chestnut gaze widens at your words. 

College’s busy enough for everyone. It’s incredible of him to offer some of his free time to help you out when it doesn’t benefit him in any way. 

Ethan opens his mouth as if he were about to say something but, before he can speak, someone taps you on the shoulder, beckoning your attention. 

You pivot in your high heels.

Your chest floods with warmth at the sight welcoming you. 

"Hey, gorgeous," Connor hums, giving you an appreciative onceover that turns your legs into jelly. His voice lowers as he approaches you. "I’ve been looking for you all night. Where have you been?"

Your heart skips a beat at his closeness, the scent of his masculine cologne and his mesmerizing blue eyes overwhelming you. 

"Just ran a bit late," you mumble. 

His hooded gaze takes you in as he suggests, "Well, you’re here now. Wanna go hang out in my car?"

Pursing your mouth, you hesitate. 

"I…I don’t know. Is that safe? Mindy says it’s always best to stay in crowded-"

He halts your explanation with a hand under your chin. Bewildered, you gawk at him. 

His pearly whites shimmer in the dusky blue and green hues saturating the room. 

"Do you trust me, gorgeous?"

You blink up at him, dazed and lost in the sea of his gaze. 

"Y-Yes, I do."

"I’ll keep you safe. I promise. Come on."

His hand engulfs yours as Connor begins to drag you toward the exit.

Chad’s deep, concerned voice interrupts the abrupt getaway. 

"Are you sure?" His forehead creases as he inches closer. "You don’t have to do anything you don’t want. You know that, right?" 

At first, you’re a bit confused. 

Then you remind yourself he’s just being protective. Both he and Mindy share that trait. In fact, her attentive eyes carve a searing dent in your skin from the other side of the room. 

Usually, you adore that about them, how caring they are. But right now, you find it a bit much. 

Connor isn’t a threat. He’s just the guy you like, not a serial killer. 

You place a placating hand on Chad’s arm. 

"It’s fine. I trust him. Catch you later, okay?"

He gives a belated nod, his jaw clenching as he stares Connor down, before letting you walk away. 

You wave Ethan goodbye but are somewhat dejected when he stares at you and doesn’t reply, his blank expression unreadable.

Both you and Connor step outside. 

Moonlight bathes the damp pavement in silvery light as you trail behind him. 

He wastes no time once you’ve reached his expensive sports car, pinning you against the hood and kissing you senseless. 

"Fuck, been dying to do this ever since I saw you in that slutty costume," he purrs against your temple. His hands begin to roam over you, impatient fingers fondling your curves. 

When he sneaks under your short dress and tugs at the waistband of your panties, you push against his chest. 

A sudden tide of discomfort swells inside you. 

"Connor…wait. This is going a little fast for me," you giggle.

Ignoring your protests, he keeps kissing you and even turns things up a notch by grabbing a fistful of your ass. You gasp. 

"Just relax. I won’t hurt you, gorgeous."

His weight presses against you, a sizzling cage of need you can’t escape. Tears prick at your eyes. 

"Connor, please…" you whimper.

Annoyance ripples in his tone as the grip on your rear gets firmer. 

"How you’re gonna be a fucking cocktease then give me blue balls, come on, gorgeous."

His tone is light but your chest is heavy. This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go. You hoped Connor would be gentle and nice. 

This isn’t nice. 

And you’re starting to feel a little scared. As the taut bulge in his crotch rubs at your front, your stomach knots.

But things don’t get to wander any further.

In fact, they hit a sudden stop as Connor stills against you. Your brows knit. 

As he chokes on his own breath, blood gushes from his mouth, painting the front of your costume crimson. 

Your eyes widen as his head lolls before he slumps to the pavement with a heavy thud. 

Time stands still when your gaze lifts. 

Your heart slams against your ribcage.

A tall figure clad in black and donning a Ghostface mask is now standing before you.

The blood rushing in your veins makes your ears ring.

The stranger cocks his head, studying you for a few seconds before pouncing on Connor’s prone form like a starved hyena. 

Horror-struck, you gawk as the stranger rains vicious stab after vicious stab upon Connor's writhing body. Each strike draws a shudder from you, more violent than the last and causing scarlet rivers to flow from every part of Connor. 

The world becomes red. 

A scream bubbles in your throat but remains trapped in it, shock striking you mute. 

When Connor's body stops moving, the sickening squish of the blade twisting out of his mangled flesh reaches you. 

With the knife in his hand still dripping blood, its crimson hue catching the moonlight, the killer rises to his feet. 

His focus travels to you. Your insides coil, deadly anticipation gripping you as tight as a fist. 

A gravelly, distorted voice rises beneath the mask. 

"This is the part where you run, princess."

Right…

It’s what happens in those horror movies Mindy had you watch with her, you think. The characters run away, fighting whatever’s chasing them with all their might. 

It’s the sensible thing to do. 

And you want to move. You should move. But you can't. 

Even breathing is toilsome, stilted whimpers and gasps spilling from your chest instead. 

All you can do is peer into the pupil-less gaze of the mask as you crumble into a quivering, sobbing heap onto the pavement. 

The killer inches closer and it's as if your heart jumps out of your chest. 

His blade kisses the trembling flesh of your throat, right above your racing pulse. 

Languid tears roll down your face as he traces your jugular. 

Cool metal slices past your collarbone, to your rapidly heaving chest. 

The song of the night yields to the symphony of fear echoing in your ears. Every scattered heartbeat. Every uneven breath. Every desperate sob.

A sharp stinging blooms in your delicate flesh as he carves oblong patterns on your breast with his knife. 

His motions are slow and focused, as if your skin’s the canvas and his blade the brush. 

Paralyzed, you don’t move. His cloaked figure bends and blurs in your misty vision, more monster than man in the scarce light provided by the street lamps.

He slants his head when he’s done, admiring his handiwork. 

This must be it, you infer, the moment all of it ends. 

Your eyes quake shut as you wait for the inevitable blow. 

You wait… An eternity it seems. 

For the blood. For the agony. For the darkness. 

Yet nothing comes. 

When you open your eyes, Ghostface is gone, the only nightmarish vision before you being that of Connor's body lying unmoving on the pavement. 

You pay no attention to the chaos around you as you pull the thin blanket closer to your frame.

The lights of the ambulance twinkle in your hazy sight. 

Amidst the chatter of shocked students standing in the street behind the yellow tape, the whispers of reassurance of Mindy and Tara fade to white noise in your ears. 

Numb, you gawk as they drag Connor’s body away on a gurney.

For some silly reason, you keep expecting him to rise again, to not be dead.

Because this cannot be real.

This cannot have happened. 

The police ask you a barrage of questions and you give mechanical answers. None of them help and they grow frustrated with you, sparking a heated argument between your friends and the stubborn cop. 

"I’m just doing my job," he insists, raising his hands when Chad gets in his face.

If it weren’t for Detective Bailey vouching for you, you’re not entirely sure you wouldn’t be sitting in the back of a patrol car right now. 

"Can’t you see the kid’s traumatized. She doesn’t know anything," he berates one his co-worker who seemed unwilling to accept your version of events. 

The one where you froze and Ghostface somehow let you live with only a strangely shaped scar on your chest as a souvenir. The one the medic commented looked a little like a heart. 

Absently, you pat the gauze covering the healing wound. 

It's weird…but it hurts your head to ponder why this occurred. The only emotion you can process is the crippling guilt consuming you. 

You’re alive while Connor's cold body is on its way to the morgue.

Your friends gather around you, their warmth chasing away the night’s chill. While Tara and Mindy sit next to you on the pavement, Chad stands protectively in front of you. 

"I-I didn’t do anything, Tara. I just let him…" Your voice cracks, withering into a sob. 

The arm around your shoulder gets tighter.

"Hey, don’t talk like that. It’s not your fault," she feverishly responds.

You open your mouth to argue but close it once it dawns on you that all the energy’s been drained from your body. There is none left in you.

Still, you can’t help but disagree. If it were Tara, her sister, or even Mindy, you bet they’d have fought tooth and nail instead of shrinking and crying like you did. 

You’re the weak link in your group. Not smart enough, or strong enough. 

The thought makes you sob harder. 

Mindy rubs circles on your back. 

You cast a quick glance around before your tearful gaze finds hers. 

"Where’s Anika?"

"She went home. She’s not great with blood. She sends her love though."

You nod at that. If you could, you’d be home too, hugging your stuffed bear and trying your best to forget this awful night ever happened. 

Chad’s irate tone startles you out of your fog. 

"Speaking of people not being here… where the hell is Ethan?" 

You blink up at him, confused as he and Mindy trade a pointed, heavy look.

You don’t get it. 

Sure, Ethan’s new to the group, and the twins are slow to give their trust. You know that. But Ethan? He’s entirely too sweet and kind to have anything to do with this…Right?

Ethan wouldn’t. You’re sure of it. 

~

[thatoneandlonelyemo2005]

gimme ur javey headcanons or i’ll make your kneecaps into soup <333

-🦡

do it you wont-

jk anyways

uuhhhh, so werid thing but not bc there the same people (kinda) I mostly ship Javid bc 1992sies is my life rn, and ONES JUST AN ARTIST AND THE OTHER IS A COWBOY

so if everything seems weird or anything, stab me

1992sies-

David finds Jack extra cute with his cowboy hat on

Their first kiss happened on David's fire escape while Jack was walking him home

Sarah saw it happen while she was looking for David to see if he was close to home

Sarah is so happy for them and gossip to Blink and Spot about this they lowkey girlboss and have tea parties

David is a blushing mess when coming in and Sarah smiles at him

Les asked if David was alright and all David could do was blush harder

When they have birthdays Jack always gets David a book or a new shirt (BECAUSE THIS BITCH WILL SAVE EVERY PENNY)

David would get him more dime novels and even a well-illustrated poster of cowboys (Sarah and Les chipped in even if David didn't want them too)

On a snowy day in New York everyone is playing but David is there looking at each Newsie UNTIL JACK CHUCKS A SNOWBALL AT DAVID and they have a snowball fight

Tumbler looks to Skittery and says " Skits, mom and dad are fighting again"

It's now like a playful civil war, UNTIL SPOT COLON COMES IN AND HELPS RACE WHO IS ON DAVIDS SIDE, JACK TEAM DIES

Jack learns about Hanukkah and ask questions

David's mom and Sarah all make the Newsies quilts each with something resembling the newsie its given too

All the newsies try to find something for them, they all pitch in to get Sarah and Ester a new dress, Myer a new razor, and Les a stuffed dog

Jack and David stay up all night talking while the windows open, either in the lodge or at David's house

On thanksgiving the whole Jacobs family makes a meal for all them AND the Newsies

David sometimes has to stay at home while his parents take Les to see their grandparents so he invites Jack over while Sarah goes spend time with Katherine

If his parents are out more than 1 day Sarah and him each get a day for the house all to themselves with their partners

OK NOW FOR JAVEY BC IDK WHAT IM DOING

Jack ofc draws Davey all the time

He even drew the whole family once

Sometimes they skip an hour or two to walk in the park

Once Jack dared Davey to climb a tree and he did,,,but he fell after word

Jack wouldn't stop apologizing Davey just kissed him to shut him up

Jack would invite Davey to see Medda and drink tea with her

Davey would discuss different scenes that Jack could paint while at this

They first kissed up on Jacks penthouse

Crutchie walked/climbed in on them the first time and called to Race who owed him a quarter because he was right to bet that Davey would kiss first

Jack found out how to make flower crowns

Davey was taught by Sarah how to press them in a notebook

He looks at said notebook when he misses Jack (mostly at night when he can't sleep)

Davey tries to teach Jack how to dance

He fails a lot but at least he can dip Davey and kiss him

He also tries to teach Jack how to read better

Well he dose to most of the Newsies but like Albert and Elmer they need extra time to learn

Jack has many issues so dose Davey so they both help each other

And they have new ways to help each other all the time

[helpimhyperfixating]

Masterlist :3

This art 👆 and my header were both made by @simpingandprocrastinating go check her out she’s so talented and makes awesome content!!!

I’m also active in the CoD fandom. John Price focused blog: @hihhasotherfixations :3

Ko-Fi! https://ko-fi.com/helpimhyperfixating

Requests: Closed :((

Commissions: 1/3 Open

Do’s: I’ll write anything ranging from fluff, oneshots, prompts, imagines, drabbles, s p i c y, crossovers, and AU’s (I love those muhaha)! Female or gn reader mostly. If you don’t specify I’ll automatically revert to female reader! ^^

Some things I won’t do: Stand romance or smut (separate from User), Age gap, Incest, rejection and stuff like that, cheating, extreme Yandere (murder, hurting darling, etc.), degradation, angst with no fluff to balance it out (like, I do love me some angst, but not Yin without its Yang, y’know?), Non-con.

Minors do not interact with any Yandere or nsfw 18+ content (block the ‘hih’s hôrni works’ tag)

Links beneath the cut!

P3=anytime before, during or after (college) SDC, P4=anytime during his late 20’s and DIU, P5=anytime during Golden Wind and early 30’s, P6=anytime during late 30’s, SO and everything after. AU=any alternate universes of course ;}

Oneshots:

P4 - Hat

P4 - Sick

P3 - Spilled Tea

P4 - Mother’s Day

P3 - Jotaro Comforts You

P3 - A Writer’s Trouble

P3 - Help with the Horde

AU - Pokémon professor Jotaro au

P4 - Join Me

AU - Captive Together - Mer! Jotaro x Mer! Reader au / Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4

P4 - Blood Test

P4 - Sneak Attack In Morioh

AU - Surprise visit - Mer! Jotaro x Human! Reader

P6 - You Are - Jotaro x Trans! Reader

P3 - Owned - Yan! Jotaro x Reader

AU - Photos and Crushes - Cowboy AU / Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

AU - Stay - Mer! Jotaro x Human! Reader

AU - Dad - A short Mer AU fic

AU - Risk - A short Mer AU fic

P3 - Woes of the Past

P3 - Change

P4 - Silk Ribbon - Yan! Jotaro x Reader

P6 - Forgotten Lunch

P4 - Help! / part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4

P4 - Sledding

P4 - The Grumpy Dolphin

AU - Rekindled Meetings - Mer! Jotaro x Reader

AU - Fishnet Cuts - Pirate!Jotaro x Mer!Reader

AU - Found - Neko!Jotaro x Reader / Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

P4 - Vacation

EVENT REQUEST MASTERLIST :D (many drabbles and some oneshots)

-

Smuts 🔞:

P3 - Kotatsu

AU - Captive Together / Part 3

P3 - College party

AU - Dream Walker - Sorcerer!Jotaro x Reader

AU - White Lie - Incubus!Jotaro x Reader / Part 1

Kinktober 2023 - Masterlist

-

Harry Potter x JJBA AU with @simpingandprocrastinating :

House sorting!

House sorting 2!

House sorting 3!

A Photograph

CHAPTER 1

Side drabble 1 - Angst

-

Drabbles and au’s of the au:

AU - Mer dadtaro au (read the ‘Dad’ short Mer AU fic first)

Yandere Jotaro x reader drabble

AU - Jotaro brings home a tuna for you to eat.

P4 - Heavy petting session 🔞

P4 - Stubble 🔞

AU - Baby merlyne learns how to crawl

-

Headcannons: (Sort of? I dunno how to do these, lol)

SDC and other Jojo’s as Mer

Joot Sneeze

Milk cartons

Yandere Jotaro

Garbage can

With a Merman by the fire

Yandere werewolf Joot and dragon Joot finding injured darling

Some dadtaro with Jolyne thoughts

Jotaro headcannons

-

Memes/miscellaneous: 

Mermaid AU asks and lore - Mini Masterlist

Important talk

Das a lot of words

Life Problems? Easy Fix

I made a mistake 

Protect him at all costs

Fixed 6taro png / Fixed Jolyne screenshot

Jotaro sings to you

H i m? / ✨ H i m ✨ / The sad follow-up / The long awaited sequel

The three stages of me writing

Dadtaro got me

A forever dilemma

Me when Jotaro / Me when Jotaro 2

Writing ideas

-

Wait you draw?: 

Poké Joot 

Poké Kak

-

✨ Upcoming: ✨

Photos and Crushes - Cowboy AU! Jotaro x Reader / P3 (I genuinely love this one and am very excited to start posting it) [Bit delayed too as I frantically try to rewrite it]

Android AU that was an ask that is getting a bit out of hand because I don’t know when to stop - Android!Jotaro x Reader / P? I dunno how many parts [Delayed cause I lost it all]

Werewolf!Jotaro x Reader

Medieval AU - Knight! Jotaro x Reader

[joshstambourine]

Greta Van Fleet and Their Kid’s First Day of School

Y’all seemed to love my GVF as Dad’s head canon so I thought I’d continue on the same line with something else cute~ I’ve had this idea since I mentioned it in a fic I recently wrote (A Girl Named Ivy) so I thought I might as well throw a head canon together for it as well... SO I STOP THINKING ABOUT IT LMAO.

Taglist: @anditsmywholeheart @babydxll​

Josh

He strikes me one of those dads who is actually really excited for his kid to start school. Not that he doesn't want them around, or that he doesn't realize its the mark of the beginning of the end... but because he knows this is a part of growing up.

Josh can tell while they are out shopping for new school clothes that his kid is excited. They are beginning to feel grown up, even if its just in a small way --- and Josh is proud of them for that.

I just can't imagine him being the kind of parent that struggles with letting them go, instead I see him being the kind of parent that just wants to nurture their growth in everyway.

"What about this shirt for your first day? You know what we should get you?? A set of wheelies!"

"Josh they don't allow those in schools anymore..."

*Whispers* "We'll get you some wheelies, just don't tell mom."

He'd make sure he goes through the checklist the school had sent out multiple times, trying to make sure they have everything they could possibly need.

When the big day finally comes, he would be talking with his little one all morning making sure they know they are going to have a great time and make lots of friends.

He would want to help make their lunch but instead just spends all his time drawing a picture of a rabbit with a cowboy hat riding on a goats back to put in instead.

Josh wouldn't be able to stop himself from looking in the rearview every few minutes to look over the little ones face. Trying to make sure they didn't look nervous at any point. If they do he'd find a way to reassure them.

"You remember that nice lady that gave you that cool cat sticker a few weeks ago? She's going to be there all day today! She's actually your teacher, isn't that cool?" Josh would just want to do everything in his power to keep them feeling relaxed.

"You give 'em hell today, okay?" Josh would say when they stood outside of the classroom, watching the little one nod. "Before you know it I'll be here to pick you up."

"You promise?"

"Of course I promise... I need someone to go get ice cream with!" He would say as he'd move to give them a tight hug.

"I love you."

"I love you too Dad."

As soon as the classroom door shuts, Josh won't be able to stop smiling the rest of the walk back to the car. He would be just so proud that he raised such a fearless kid.

The first thing Josh would ask when he picks them up at the end of the day,

"So? Did you learn how to move things with your mind yet?"

"No but did you know squares have four sides...?!"

Jake

Oh god.

Jake is going to be having such a tough time.

He wants to be a big strong man about this. "It's so silly... why would I be sad about them going to school?! That's ridiculous."

He would pretend like he didn't care.

Anytime his little one asks about what school is going to be like, he gives very quick pointed answers so he doesn't have to think about them being grown up enough to go.

"Is it too late to home school them...?"

"Yes Jake it's too late to home school them."

Jake just wants to hold hands the whole time they are school shopping. He doesn’t want to let them go.

"Jake, you have to let them go so they can pick out what they want."

"They can bring me where ever they want to be. I can help them reach what they need.”

The moment his kid puts their backpack on their shoulders, even just to test it out, he’s going to need to take a moment. When did his baby get so grown up?!

He thought that was bad but then the school assessment kills him.

Jake wants to be the one to make their lunch for their first day, its a special day, this little one deserves something special. He'd hide candies and other treats at the bottom so Mom won't see.

There is no way Jake isn’t driving his kid on their first day of school. He’s going to talk with them all the way to class with their hand clasped in his.

I think despite how well he covers it over, his kid can probably tell that he’s having a hard time letting them go.

“Dad?”

“Yeah...?” 

“I’ll be okay.”

Hearing them say that would make him smile, trying so hard not to cry. Jake would lean down and immediately give them a huge hug. “I know.” He’d tell them.

“I’m just going to miss you lots.”

“I’ll miss you too.” They’d say, “But. Mom says that I’ll have time to draw pictures probably. Would you like a picture Dad?”

“I’d love a picture.”

As soon as Jake gets back to the car he’s a sobbing mess. He’s so proud but its so hard to see your baby grow up.

Sam

Sort of like Josh I think that Sam is excited for his little one to start school. He has so much confidence in his kids abilities.

Sam would just assume that whatever task is sent his little ones way will be accomplished with all of their effort.

He feels like the kind of parent to hype up school any chance he gets for his kid. He wouldn’t want his kid to be nervous, so he’d say just about anything to keep them from being scared.

When Sam brings his kid in for the assessment he is just going to be absolutely beaming with joy.

He’s just such a proud dad. Getting to see his kid answer questions and have so much fun is going to have him over the moon.

“Buddy you did so good with those shapes! When did you learn those??”

Sam would be on the ball for school shopping. Everything that’s on the school given list and then some.

“Sam... they don’t need a dictionary --- they can’t even read yet.”

“Just incase! You never know!”

*Insert Sam looking for dirty words and snickering to himself*

He’d also want to practice so much with his kid before the big day comes. Going over their numbers and ABC’s so they feel nice and prepared.

When the big day does come around he is immediately going to have his camera out, ready to take some nice first day at school pictures. Whether they are waiting for the bus or he’s driving them to the school.

There are going to be like a million pictures. 

So many.

“You’ve got your crayons?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?! I just want to make sure. Oh and you’ve got your lunch box?? Mom made you such a good lunch.”

“Yup! I’ve got everything!”

“Excellent work~” He’d hum, “You're going to have an awesome first day!”

Danny

Danny I could imagine feeling a little nervous for his little one to start school

He would never tell his kid this of course; I feel like he would understand how well attuned kids can be to feelings, especially nervous feelings.

So he tries to bury his worried feelings.

They’d come out a little every time his baby shows any concerns about school. But he will stuff them down and try to be as reassuring as he can.

“You’re going to make so many friends, buddy! You aren’t even going to notice Mom and Dad aren’t there, y’know? They also have lots of cool toys.”

Danny seems like the kind of Dad that would want them to feel confident. So if that meant lots of new clothes, or cool school supplies. He’d get it for them. Above everything he just doesn’t want them at any point to have a hard time in this process.

In all honesty though he’s the one having the hard time.

His kid is probably hella excited.

Danny sort of strikes me as a parent who would pack a really nice lunch for his kid. Like. This kid isn’t just going to have a ham sandwich like the rest of the loser kids in their class.

#AestheticLunch

The scene I sort of keep running in my head is with Danny standing at the end of the driveway holding his kids hand, they're both just leaning out waiting for the school bus to come around the corner.

“Hey dad?”

“Yeah?”

“...I’m sorta scared.”

“Buddy, it’s okay to be scared. This is a new thing for you. It’s totally okay to be worried about it.”

“I know...”

“Is there something that’s scaring you a lot though?”

The kid would nod, “...I’m going to miss you.”

Danny’s heart would just melt, and he’d pull them up into his arms for a huge hug. “I’m going to miss you lots too! But. As soon as you get home we can play as much as you want, okay?”

Watching his kid get onto the bus is going to be such a scary thing, but he knows it’ll all work out.

I feel like he would plan something fun for afterwards. Whether it be like going to get ice cream, or taking them out to a movie. Just something to celebrate!

Well that’s all of those! Sorry they’re a little bit more briskly written I sort of wanted to get those out of my head so I can focus on the next part of What Friends Do. As always if you guys want an actual full fic written for one of these, let me know~ 

Fun note! My first day of school was proceeded by going to an amusement park on the Friday. Going to a friends house and dislocating my elbow on the Saturday. Having major surgery on the Sunday. And then sobbing my whole first day, the Tuesday.

[agentwhiskeysdarlin]

The Kiss

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female!OC (written in second person)

Rating:NC-17

Warnings: lots of sexual tension, use of a knife, slight violence, sexy times at the end, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), Jack being himself cause that comes with a warning, I think that’s all

Word Count: 2,606

Author’s Note: Welp I am still alive and do remember how to write! Its been so long and I am so sorry about that! I hope to get back to posting more regularly and catching up on request and doing a few new things soon. Cross your fingers, manifest, pray, whatever you do I need all the help I can get! I hope you all enjoy this little fic with the cowboy! Feedback is always always welcome and encouraged! Happy Valentine’s Day y’all!! As always a big thank you to @clint-aww-no-barton​ and my Jate’kara clan both for emotional support and putting up with my ass and my meltdowns 

ao3 link for story

    “Ginger I don’t know about this.”

   Your voice held a slight tremble which made you curse yourself mentally. You looked over yourself in the mirror before letting your gaze fall on the woman behind you. 

  “Henley you look absolutely incredible. Jack won’t know what hit him. Plus this is honestly a very calm mission for it to be your first,” she gave you a smirk as she finished the last of the lace up on the back of the dress. 

  It was a breath-taking dress. It was a deep red and it had a beautiful skirt with a slit up to about your mid thigh just enough not to show off too much and a corset top that had a heart shaped neckline which was super fitting for the occasion. 

  Statesman, a secret agency you worked for had learned of a couple selling Top Secret government information. They were using art of all things as a front to do so and tonight they were holding a large gala at the capital as a celebration of the day. Valentine’s Day and the art was all to be focused around love. Statesman finest senior agent, Agent Whiskey, or Jack was set to take the couple down but him showing up alone to an event such as this one was far too risky so here you were. You worked tech along with Ginger and one of the two women who held jobs at Statesman. You never minded a dress and heels, something Ginger curled her nose up at, plus you had all the proper training so you accepted the offer to hang off Jack’s arm. 

  That thought alone was what made you tremble. Not the mission in itself. Not the knife that sat cool against your thigh. No it was pretending to be Jack’s girlfriend for the night. You wanted so badly for it not to be pretend. 

  “Henley?! You ready?” 

  Ginger’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you turned to her and gave her a nod. 

  “I’m ready as I’ll ever be.” 

  “Hey you never know this may lead to something,” Ginger finished the sentence in a sing song voice and you felt the small hope blossom in your gut. 

  You had already promised yourself you wouldn’t get your hopes too high but with every single step you took down the hall to the conference room it seems to grow. You pushed the door open and walked into the room. Champ, Tequila and Jack all stood around, their heads turning your way and all of them wore a look of pure shock. Tequila let out a whistle before smirking and glancing at Jack. He stood there his eyes raking over you several times before they met yours. The two of you shared a look that could only be sexual tension. 

  “What? The senior agent doesn’t have a line for once?” You smirked as you walked closer to Jack. 

  A crooked smirk spread across his face and he took your hand, kissed it and then twirled you around. 

  “I have to say darlin’ you are the first woman to ever render me speechless,” you couldn’t help the blush that rose on your face. 

  “You two better get going,” Ginger spoke as she glanced from her tablet to the tv in the room. 

  “We will follow you and be at the rendezvous point just in case you need backup. Get them in custody and get them back here,” Champ gave you both a nod which you returned. 

  “We got this boss. You ready darlin’?” Jack held his arm out for you and you took it. 

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” you gave him a nervous smile and the two of you headed out of headquarters. 

  Your nerves had built up to an almost shaking manner by the time Jack and yourself walked into the building. There were more people than you thought there would be, couples bustling about and Jack’s cologne was starting to make you dizzy. You had to focus. There was a job to do and you had to push your feelings for the man on your arm aside. 

  “I think with all these people it’s going to make this a lot easier on us,” Jack whispered in your ear.

  “I sure hope you are right.”

  The two of you wondered around glancing at the art that scattered the walls. People talked about details on the artist and their work, champagne in their hands. You glanced around catching the sight of the best dressed couple in the whole place and something in your gut knew. You gave Jack a small nudge and nodded your head over in their direction.

  “That has to be them,” you whispered as you looked up meeting his eyes for the first time that night. 

  “You ready to do this darlin’?”

  You gave Jack a simple nod and a smirk to lift your confidence. As you walked away you felt Jack’s hand on your wrist stopping you in your tracks before pulling you to him and wrapping his hand around the back of your neck. His lips crashed against yours and your shock only lasted seconds before you kissed him back. The entire world around you fell away and so did your trembling nerves. When he pulled apart the two of you seemed to share the same tension filled look as you did earlier in the conference room before you broke off and went your separate ways. You glided now, with your head held high as you stepped up the stairs. You knew that the room they were secretly meeting clients in was mere steps from the stairs and you knew it would draw the woman’s attention to follow you. You sent your senses into overdrive feeling another presence behind you and hearing the sound of heels trying to be quiet.

  “What are you doing up here?” Her voice was sticky sweet with an edge to it.

  You spun around with a smile to match. The next few moments seemed to move in slow motion but all so fast. 

  “Oh just looking for that room there,” you pointed with a smirk as the both of you seemed to break into action.

  She was too slow for you and the second she charged at you, you dodged before slamming her against the nearest wall your knife just inches from your throat and her body pinning her to wall.

  “Selling Top Secret government information will get all the right peoples attention honey. You only thought ya’ll were being slick, hate to break it to you but you ain’t,” you spun her around spitting the words as you took at the handcuffs that had been rested by your knife and slamming them shut around her wrist.

  You walked her down the stairs and saw that the room was a bit of a mess and her partner was lassoed on the ground seething in anger. Jack walked to you with a smirk of pride on his face. He jerked the man up and the two of you started to walk out of the place. Jack tipped his hat at a few people in the room with apologies.

  “Well done darlin’.”

  “Thank you Jack. I had such a rush I didn’t even hear all that happening. I wouldn’t expect any less from you though,” you smirked throwing him a wink.

  You loaded up the couple, blind folding them and then heading back to Statesman headquarters. The debriefing was short and simple. You could finally breathe again or so you thought.

  “I don’t think we should let such a dress go to waste. Let me take you somewhere,” Jack spoke as he leaned on the table looking down at you.

  “Well then let’s go cowboy,” you reached out your hand and he took it with a smile.

    The restaurant was probably the nicest you had ever been in. Even in the dress you still felt like you didn’t belong. A piano player skillfully played on a small stage not far from your table but it was low enough that Jack and yourself could carry on a decent conversation. The two of you discussed your side of things during the mission, laughing in all the right places and took bites of food in between. Jack took the last bite of his food and he gave you this look for a moment that you caught. You raised your eyebrows at him which soon gathered together in confusion when he stood up.

  “May I have this dance darlin’?”

  “Jack people will stare.”

  “As they should you are the most beautiful woman in the room, hell in the world,” a smirk crossed his features and you blushed.

  You took his hand and he pulled you to the empty place next to the stage. He pulled you close and began to sway with you. Your eyes met with his and the two of you shared that look once again.

  “What was that all about?” You suddenly asked.

  “Might need to refresh my memory darlin’. I ain't got a clue what you are talking about,” the smirk on his face told you differently but you rolled your eyes and blushed a deep red again.

  “The kiss back at the gala. What was that?”

  “Darlin’ I think we both know the answer to that,” he pulled you closer his forehead touching yours.

  “I need to know for sure Jack. I’ve wanted this for far too long and I-.”

  His lips were on your suddenly but this kiss was different. It held a different hunger but it was softer, more gentle. When he pulled away you couldn't help but let out a whimper you wondered if he could hear.

  “I’ve wanted this for far too long too darlin’ and if you’ll have me I would want nothing more.”

  The smile that spread across your face could have lit the entire world up.

  “Of course I’ll have you Jack.”

  The two fo you shared another quick kiss full of laughter and smiles as the song finished up.

  “Why don’t we get out of here and head back to my place,” Jack whispered in your ear and you simply gave him a nod.

  You stopped by the table, Jack leaving a large enough amount of money to cover both the bill and the tip and the two of you practically ran out of the building. 

    Hands were everywhere as you both struggled into the door of Jack’s home. You couldn't even make yourself stop long enough to look around. All that mattered in this moment was the man who’s lips were attached to yours. Jack suddenly reached down and picked you up from under your knees and you let out a giggle as he did before reattaching your lips to his. You threw his cowboy hat off and discarded it somewhere along the way to the bedroom before lacing your fingers into his hair. It earned a grunt from him before he deepened the kiss. You felt soft sheets suddenly as Jack laid you down across his bed. He hovered over you finally detaching himself from you. Both of you panted with swollen lips for only a few seconds before Jack’s lips began to pepper across your skin. He left a trail of them across every last bit of visible skin before he dropped to his knees over the edge of the bed. You sat up, sitting back on your hands to watch him. He removed your heels slowly as he kissed along your legs you pulling you bottom lip in between your teeth at the sight. His lips made their way up your legs alternating between the two and moving your dress when need be until he came upon where your knife still sat strapped to your thigh. He threw you a smirk before his fingers brushed across your skin to unfasten it and remove it carefully. Then his lips followed causing you to let out the first moan of the night. He eyed your clothed center before moving your panties aside and without much more of a warning dove in. You jumped and let out a gasp that feel into a moan before grasping at his brown locks and pulling at them. His hand snaked up and pushed lightly on your stomach to make you lie down before his arms wrapped around your thighs. You were a mess at this mans mercy and my god had you dreamed about this too many times to count. For a few seconds you almost thought that’s all this was, a dream. That was until your first orgasm rocked through you and you were thankful for Jack’s arms or you might had suffocated him between them. He came up smiling and licking his lips. You pulled him up and kissed him again moaning when you tasted yourself. 

  “Jack I want you now,” you almost whimpered in desperation.

  “Oh darlin’ I know. I want you too. First gotta get you out of this dress,” you couldn't help the laugh as he pulled you up.

  You spun around for him and he gently started to unlace your dress, his lips falling along your shoulder and what was exposed of your back and neck as he went. You let your eyes flutter closed and took in the moment you were in and how real it finally felt. This was happening and you couldn't believe it but it was. Finally the dress pooled at your feet and you turned to help Jack out of his clothes letting them join yours on the floor. The two of you fell back into bed finally burning skin on burning skin.

  “Jack please,” you whined again giving him a begging look.

  “I got you darlin’,” he kissed you on the nose before he lined himself up with you.

  He buried himself inside of you and it was the most wonderful feeling you had ever felt. The two of you seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces so perfect and carved out just for one another. He moved first at a slow pace before you were begging for more. Your nails making soft scratches along his back as he rocked into you. His lips left marks in places only the two fo you would know about.

  “Faster Jack please,” you moaned out loudly.

  He obliged moving his hips quicker and harder. You were so close again and you grasped at him like a lifesaver. Your head flew back and without warning you let go. Your pussy squeezed around him and your entire body shook. Jack was soon behind you burying his head into your neck as he moaned and whimpered. He kept a slow pace until the both of you came down. He pulled out of you and rolled over pulling you with him. He held you there, both of you panting before it seemed the two of you let out a smile and looked at each other. 

  “That was…”

  “Amazing,” you finished his sentence in hopes you were correct.

  “It was better than that. Everything I have always thought it would be and more.”

  “Wait you have thought about us together?” You sat up and looked down at him.

  “Well hell yeah darlin’ of course I have.”

  The smile that spread across your face almost hurt but you couldn't seem to care. He pulled you back to him the two of you becoming intertwined in each other. He laid a kiss sweetly on your forehead and you closed your eyes. In that moment you finally felt safe and loved and you never wanted that feeling to end.

Tagged: @jimmythegirl​ @arcadianempress​ @discogrrl​ @immundusspiritu​ @someplace-darker​ @thisis-theway​ @ohpedromypedros-main​ @scribbledghost​ @on-the-razor-crest​ @fioccodineveautunnale​ @spookyold-saintjm​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @princess-and-pedro​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @littlevodka​ @all-hallows-evie​ @mack4676​ @perropascal​ @prettyboyskywalker​

[p-artsypants]

I’ll Handle This (12)

In Which Lila Learns about Skyrim

Ao3 | FF.net

Sorry for taking a bit with this chapter. It isn’t even very long. But I was in the hospital recovering from surgery. We’re coming up close to the end of the story, but there’s maybe two more chapters after this. 

(Psst this chapter has hints to the next story I’ll publish after this one...as long as my ideas don’t change lol)

--

Lila was fired. It was immediate when they found out. Everyone sat in class, the lecture normal and lulling everyone into a soft state of sedation. 

Then Lila screamed. The scream was the worst thing Marinette had ever heard. Immediately, everyone turned to look at her in horror. 

She started bawling. Huge gasping sobs of someone who’d been shot. 

“Lila?!” Miss Bustier gasped in shock and concern. “Are you okay?!” 

“I’m so sorry, Miss Bustier!” She wailed. “I just wanted to peek at my email and—and—Mr. Agreste fired me!” 

Plagg had to bite his tongue. He knew she was going to twist this somehow, but her sobbing was so beautiful to see. 

“Oh Lila, I’m so sorry. It hurts a lot to lose a job. Especially when they don’t tell you to your face. That’s no fair.” 

“He-he-he said that Marinette told him that I was making Adrien uncomfortable! She got me fired!” 

Gasps, all around. 

“What?!” Barked Marinette. “I had nothing to do with this!” Not exactly the truth...

“But that’s what Mr. Agreste said!” 

Plagg stood, placing his foot on the seat, the spurs on his cowboy boots ringing with the motion. He put his cowboy hat back on (since Mrs. Bustier had asked him to remove it for violating dress code...again.) “well now. Sounds like we got ourselves in a gosh darn pickle.” 

Nino snorted. 

“Adrien! You never said I made you uncomfortable! Marinette must have lied to your father!” 

He flicked the rim of his hat. “Now slow your roll there, Buckeroo. I know my old man, and even if Marinette was mentioned in his email, it’s likely that he just wanted to place the blame on someone else.” 

Yes, throw the old man under the bus. He still deserves it, even with whole hearted apologies. 

“But you know, I do feel awfully bad for you, Lila. Losing yer job and all. How’s about I make it up to ya? I’ll come sit by you for a while. Keep ya company and cheer you up. Cain’t have gettin’ all akumatized up in here, you reckon?” 

Not that Lila getting akumatized was even a concern anymore. But the world wouldn’t know about Hawkmoth’s surrender until Emilie’s fate was resolved. Adrien’s family deserved that much at least. 

“Oh Adrien!” Lila cried. “You really are such a wonderful friend. But I couldn’t bear to make you move on my behalf. You need to focus on your work.” 

“A cowboy needs to be exceptional at multitasking. That is, as long as Mrs. Brassiere is okay with it.” 

Miss Bustier pinched the bridge of her nose. Usually, she was a very calm and level-headed teacher, compassionate and understanding. But Adrien’s antics were stressing her out massively. “Yes, Adrien, I suppose it’s fine if you move to—what did you call me?”

“Much obliged, Madam. If’en you’ll excuse me...” 

Marinette watched with fascination as Plagg gathered up his materials and moved to the back of the class to sit next to Lila. Then she glanced in her purse, where Tikki and Adrien were hanging out. They both shrugged. 

Due to the retirement of Hawkmoth, Adrien was now allowed to spend time away from the Miraculous without consequence. Plagg assured him that once the final condition was met, no matter where he was, his soul would return to his body. 

So he spent the school day with Tikki, and the evenings with Marinette. It was a sweet deal, and it really gave Adrien the time to bond with her without school or akumas in the way. 

He had even spent the night with her the night before, curled up next to her on her pillow, and purring every time Marinette’s hand glanced his fur. 

Nino leaned back in his seat. “Do you know what he’s up to this time?” 

“No idea...but I am eager to see where this goes.” 

Nino shook his head with a shrug. Two nights ago, when Plagg was arrested, Nino gathered all the money in his savings and went down to the jail to bail him out. 

Only to find out he was already let go. 

So he went back home, and called Adrien’s phone relentlessly, hoping for an answer. 

Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, Chat Noir returned and explained that he was going home now, thanks for having him, he had to watch the mansion because his sort of repentant father was going to Tibet to resurrect his dead wife. 

Nino gave up on logic and understanding, and just made sure Plagg had everything he had brought. 

Now he would wait until the whole situation blew over, and hopefully Adrien himself, in his own body, would explain it all to him. Plagg seemed to oversimplify everything to the point it became vague. 

Marinette, on the other hand, was very curious to see where this was all going. After all, Adrien’s previous tactic of being nice to Lila hadn’t worked. So what was Plagg hoping to gain from the same approach?

Wrassle her with his randomly appointed cowboy charm? 

In science, two classes later, Plagg had elected to sit next to Lila still, despite her protests. 

Marinette was close enough now to hear what Plagg’s master plan was. 

“So there’s like several types of Mer, right? But not like mermaids. This has nothing to do with mermaids. These are mostly elves, but not all. So there’s Dunmer, right? Those are dark elves. And Bosmer, wood elves, and Altmer, high elves. The Falmer are snow elves, but they’re all twisted and savage, because of the Dwemer, which are dwarves!” 

Marinette snorted a bit too loudly, drawing attention from the teacher. 

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, is something funny?” 

“No ma’am, I had a tickle in my sinuses.” 

“Ah, I see. Anyways, as I was saying...” 

Lila always sat in the back of the class, despite her many alleged disabilities. This was probably to get away with the fact that she rarely paid attention during class. 

It was the ideal place for Plagg to harass her and not get caught. 

Poetry in motion. 

“So you get to pick what race you want to be, but you’re always the Dragonborn. Despite the description, you don’t look any different. So a Dragonborn is someone that can devour the souls of dragons so they don’t get resurrected by Alduin. Let me back up, Alduin is an evil dragon that used to rule the world, and he’s resurrecting dragons so he can take over. There’s another dragon though, named Paarthanax, and he’s a good guy. He helps out the Tongues on the Throat of the World. Or the greybeards. Some call them Tongues, but in the game they’re called Graybeards. And the tongues are the monks that teach you to shout. And different shouts teach you different things, right? The dragonborn and the tongues are the only ones that are supposed to know how to shout, but there’s this other dude named Ulfric Stormcloak, and he knows Unrelenting Force, that’s the Fus Ro Da shout I was talking about earlier? He used it to kill high king Torygg to start a war. Oh yeah, so there’s nine holds with Jarls, right—“ 

The day ended, and Lila stood quickly. “Well Adrien, thank you so much for keeping me company today. I’m feeling a lot better. You can move back up to your old spot tomorrow.” 

“Well, you shore are welcome, Pardner. But sittin here in the back has been mighty nice. I think I’ll stay! You don’t mind, do ya? It’s awfully fun to have you as company!” 

Lila’s eye twitched, but she was aware that most of the class was watching them. “Yeah. That’d be...great.” 

“Darn tootin’! Well, you look like you’re in a rush, don’t want to hold you up!” 

“See you tomorrow!” She chirped, before hurrying from the room. As she passed Marinette, a dark look came over her face. The look of someone seething with rage and hatred, but trying to hide it. 

Marinette would have been scared, if Lila hadn’t been dealing with Plagg instead. 

Marinette went home, Tikki and Adrien talking to her from her collar. 

“I don’t know. Plagg was successful with the first two tasks, but I don’t know how he’s going to turn Lila over to the good side.” Marinette mused. 

“I don’t know if he has to. The condition is to just get her to leave me alone. He said he was doing some Pavlovian Jedi mind trick on her.” 

“Well, I sure hope it works. Speaking of, where is Plagg?” 

Adrien’s ears flicked. “He left pretty suddenly after class. I didn’t see him go. Hopefully, he went back to the mansion.” 

“Do you want me to call him?” 

“No, I trust him. He’s got things under control.” 

“Glad to hear it! Ready for snack time?” 

“Oh heck yes!” 

—

Lila had to actively stop herself from stomping all the way home. Frustration rolled off of her in waves, and she mildly wondered why she hadn’t been akumatized yet. 

Adrien Agreste was the most annoying person she had ever met. And oblivious too! He never picked up on any of her subtle hints to get him to shut up! She really didn’t want to be rude, because his friendship looked great on her, but wow. No wonder he didn’t have any friends. No wonder Gabriel was so protective of him. If he wasn’t cute...his personality was like a wet sock. 

And he was weird. Weird mannerisms, weird speech pattern, just weird. Hopefully she could either get used to it, or Adrien would get a clue to stop being so obnoxious. 

Finally, she reached her apartment. 

“Home mom!” She called. 

There was laughter in the kitchen. Her mother had a guest. While not uncommon, there was just a hint of dread that hung in the air. 

Lila walked to the kitchen, only to see Adrien sitting at the table, talking to her mother! How?! How did he beat her here?! How did he know where she lived?! What the hell was he doing?!

“Adrien?” Lila gawked. 

He rubbed his head awkwardly. “Sorry for popping in uninvited. I just...I was worried about you! You’ve been akumatized twice, and I didn’t want it to happen again since you were fired.” 

Lila’s face paled as her mother gave her a stern look. 

“I think you’ve got some explaining to do, Missy. I didn’t know you were modeling. And you never told me about being akumatized!” 

Adrien gasped. “Oh no! She didn’t tell you? I’m so sorry! I didn’t know that was a secret! I won’t say anymore!” 

“Any more?” Mrs. Rossi asked. “There’s more?” 

“Adrien.” Lila bit, in warning. 

“Well...I mean, you knew she was meeting with my father right? Something about being his muse?” 

Mrs. Rossi looked horrified. “What! You were talking to a grown adult man?! Were these visits supervised?!” 

Lila opened her mouth to answer, but Plagg beat her to it. “I don’t think so. Father is a very private person.” 

“Lila Giselle Rossi! You are sooo grounded! No offense to your father, Adrien, but meeting up with an adult man, unsupervised? And to what, be his muse? What does that even mean? It sounds gross!” 

“I swear nothing happened! He just wanted my opinion-”

“On what? What reason would he have to ask a 14 year old’s opinion?”

Plagg winced and looked at Lila. “I’m so sorry, Lila. I came here to help, but...” 

Lila shook with rage. Her mother was a complete pushover and believed everything she said. Now Adrien had sewn the seeds of distrust in her and she wouldn’t get away with any white lies ever again. 

“You’re dead,” She mouthed at Plagg. 

“Adrien, thank you for coming here and telling me all of this. I’m very grateful. But I think it’s best if you head home now. Lila has some chores to do.” 

“I understand, Madam Rossi. Again, I’m really sorry...I just wanted to help.” 

“Oh don’t worry, you did. This is for Lila’s own good.” 

He sheepishly looked to her. “See you tomorrow?” 

Her eye twitched. “Yeah.” 

And Plagg swiftly walked from the apartment, concealing his evil laughter until he got to the door. 

—

The next day at school, Marinette, along with Tikki and Adrien in her bag, arrived at school just a few minutes before the bell rang. 

Plagg was sitting at the front of the room, wearing a Pikachu onesie, and looking absolutely devastated. Nino sat next to him and had a hand over his face, doing his best to conceal whatever emotion he had. 

Everyone else in the room was avoiding them like they had the plague. 

Alya spotted her and came quickly, looping an arm through hers and escorting them out into the hall. “Girl, big news. I know you love Adrien, so this is going to be a blow. But here’s the thing...Lila told us this morning that Adrien came to her house yesterday and told her mom about her modeling job. Apparently, her mom didn’t want her working, and got upset that Lila lied. Adrien’s been insisting that it wasn’t on purpose, but everyone is kind of pissed at him anyway.” 

Marinette said nothing, but bit her lip. She knew that this absolutely was on purpose. 

“I’ll leave your actions up to you, but people are pretty mad at Adrien. Just letting you know.” 

“Who’s side are you taking?” 

Alya scoffed. “None. I’m staying out of this. Both people are in the right. Obviously Sunshine just wanted to prevent her from being akumatized. He was with her all day yesterday. It’s admirable, really.” 

“It is.” Marinette said with a smile. Though she was smiling for a completely different reason. There were no akumatizations anymore. Everyone was safe now. 

“We better get back in there, class will start soon.” 

So they returned. Miss Bustier was in, and ready to begin the lesson. 

Then Plagg raised his hand. 

“Yes Adrien?” 

“Before we start class, I want to say something.” 

“Go ahead, Adrien. The floor is yours.” 

He stood, and looked to Lila in the back of the room. “Lila, I know I apologized yesterday, but I’m really really sorry about outing you to your mom. I had no idea she didn’t know about your rendezvous with my father. I was just really scared that you were going to become akumatized, and I didn’t want that to happen. My friends are all important to me, and losing you would be like ripping out a piece of my heart. Could you ever forgive me?” 

Marinette glanced Nino’s face, which twitched to hide a smile. Then she looked at Lila, who looked calm, but her hands were balled into fists. 

After many breathless minutes, Lila smiled slightly. “I understand, Adrien. Of course you’re still my friend. I treasure you too! I’m sorry I got so mad.” 

“Hugs?” Plagg raised his arms. 

Lila could pretend to be happy and calm, but the paling of her skin could not be hidden. “Hugs!” 

Plagg brought her in for a squeeze, and the class ‘aww’ed at their make up. 

Except Nino, who let out the tiniest snort. 

Marinette flicked open her purse to look at Adrien. He mimed a gagging gesture back. 

And then Plagg took those last couple steps and joined Lila on her bench. No one tried to stop him. No one spoke up and said, “hey, maybe you should give her some space anyway.” 

They just all let poor, socially awkward Adrien push boundaries and take his seat. Because he had apologized so earnestly for trying to help. And she had forgiven him. So everything was fine now. 

Right?

As the lesson started, Marinette paid attention to the teacher. But occasionally, she’d hear the faintest whispers of Adrien’s voice (Plagg’s voice now). 

“...so it’s commonly believed that the Nord’s came from Atmora with Ysgramor, but they believe that they settled Skyrim, so they’re kind of racist to everyone else. But also, the Empire came in out of nowhere and tried to upheave their way of life, and even told them which Gods they were allowed to worship. High King Torygg was playing cordial with the Aldmeri Dominion, and some of the other Jarl’s didn’t like that. So Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Whiterun shouted him to death. Just like the Dragonborn can. Though it’s never explained why he knows how to do this. So this started a whole civil war…” 

Marinette chanced a glance behind her, and noticed that Lila had her head in her hands, and she looked absolutely miserable.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Klaus Hargreeves x Powered Reader

-Watch and Learn-

Warnings: buffoonery ensues, fun times

This gif is beautiful and represents the reader v well.

Masterlist

Do you realize shoplifting is bad, yes. Are you about to do it on a dare, also yes. You see, Klaus has been up to no good recently, you put it up to his desperation for your complete and undivided attention.

For about a month you were over in Australia visiting an old friend, and your poor Klaus was left all alone to fend for himself, for 30 whole days. You were honestly surprised that your apartment didn’t burn down, or look incredibly trashed with random street cats walking around it.

Amazingly enough, everything was intact, but oh man did Klaus miss you. For the first day he wouldn’t even leave your side. The two of you laying on the couch and Klaus couldn’t keep his hands off of you. Not that you minded, he was needy and very handsy that night. So let’s just say, no movie watching was happening.

But back to your current situation, here you are outside a high end clothing store, and you’ve never been more ready in your whole life.

“Remember the goal Y/N, some shiny bracelets, sunglasses, a pricy pricy shirt, and something special for, muah.” Klaus purred sweetly in your ear trying to throw you off, but you remain unflinching and determined.

“Piece of cake, this will be a record haul.” You tell him with a mischievous smirk as he grins back at you.

The two of you casually walk into the store, you’ve put on your long blonde wig and dark sunglasses to better conceal your identity if things did in fact go south. Klaus didn’t try much to disguise himself as he walked in looking like some carefree wanderer, but then again, he’s the distraction.

He walks to the nearest group of employees and begins an over dramatic display of fascination for a certain hat that is laying a top a mannequins head. You make a beeline for the jewelry, finding your prize and nonchalantly sliding them into your inner jacket pocket. Easy money. Next you practically glide over to the sunglasses, looks around you before snatching your favorite pair, ripping off the tag and placing them casually into your coats inner pocket. Yours now.

You scan the store for the shirt isle, easily enough your eyes land down an isle to your left where you let out muffled snort. Klaus now has dark glassed Harry Potter looking specs as well as a fancy cowboy type hat. All in all he looks relatively good, like a sexy desert traveler who’s about to steal some hearts. A smile forms onto your face as you briefly watch him keep up his dramatic act of being the best shoplifting distraction you could have asked for.

Turning back to the pricy isle of shirts that altogether probably cost more then your car, well that is if you actually payed for it. You continue forward, your eyes scanning over the silk and leather fabrics, over ones encrusted with jewels and animal fur that you’re hoping is just fux fur. Your keen eyesight finally stills onto a gorgeous Gucci sweater that practically screams take me. You glance up and find where the nearest security cameras are, spotting them, you pull your attention back to the task at hand. You run your hands down the sleeves and swiftly tug, the sweater comes off the rack and makes a quick descent towards the polished tiled ground.

As sly as a fox you kneel onto the tiled floor, picking it up and sliding it into your coat where it’s completely hidden from any prying eyes that might not be minding their own business. With a smirk you stand up, taking the empty rack and calmly sliding on a new sweater that you found at the local thrift store, that’s been patiently waiting for its next clothing rack. You turn down the isle watching Klaus sweet talk an employee who seems to be under his little spell. You can’t help it when your jaw clenches in subconscious jealousy, you know it’s all for show but still, only you get that adorable smile and emerald eyes that at least they can’t see due to his current fashion statement.

Shaking those thoughts away, you ground yourself again to what you and Klaus actually came here for. Now to find something special for your man, scanning over the brightly lit store your eyes widen in excitement at the beautiful jewel encrusted golden snake necklace that only queens of Egypt should be allowed to possess. You coolly walk over to the necklace, your nerves racing in a bustle of excitement as you make it to the glass case that surrounds it. You shift your eyes once to the left and then once to the right, surveying the area for any intruders. No ones in the nearest proximity due to Klaus’ amazing ability to draw in a crowd practically anywhere.

“Oh and look at you, Klaus is gonna love you, not as much as me but hmm you are one beautiful snake.” You whisper to the glimmering metal hiding behind the stores attempt at a security precaution. Reaching out your hand you simply use your power and defy the laws of what humans should be able to do. Your hand phases through the see through glass where you promptly pick up the dazzling trinkets made for royalty. You silently stick it into your bra and turn around, making your way down the isle and towards Klaus and his crowd of high end retail workers.

You walk past him and give him a wink, he takes the subtle hint, says his goodbyes and trails after you towards the doors. You slow down your pace so he can catch up, a sudden arm slings over your shoulders as he kisses the side of your cheek.

“My dear you would not believe what a bunch of kiss-asses those guys are. Enough to match Luther honestly.”

“Well you seemed to be handling them just fine from what I could see.”

“Huh yeah, they thought my tattoos where interesting.”

“They did, didn’t they.”

“Ohhh were you...were you, gettin a lil jealous Y/N?”

“What? Jealous of a couple of blonde bimbos, you need your eyes checked babe.” Klaus lets out a laugh as he opens the stores door for you. You avoid eye contact, your frustration slowly building until he reaches for your open hand. The contact and the way that he leans into your side instantly calming your agitation once again.

“Alright fine. That was admittedly mean and unnecessary, and yeah okay I was a tad bit jealous...but come on Klaus. You make me feel things.”

“Aww Y/N you’re so cute, my little thief. So watcha get?”

“Oh some of this some of that. I’ll show you when we get back to the apartment. I’m gonna have to come back later and destroy the security footage.”

“Oh right, that silly thing those pricey stores like to do. Security cameras.”

“Ruining fun for burglers since they were invented by some paranoid prick.”

“Eh they have their uses.” Suddenly his attention snaps over to a hotdog vendor further down the sidewalk, “Oh hey, you want a street sausage...and I’m not talking about mine..ah Jesus Y/N I was kidding don’t hit me.”

“Klaus.”

“You have a strong arm. It was a serious question before you assaulted me.”

“Babe we have stuff that’s worth more then the building we live in. We should just go home, we have leftover Thai in the fridge.” Klaus abruptly halts the both of you, shifting your body so he can rest his hands on either side of your shoulders as he looks deeply into your eyes, his face shifting into a pleading expression.

“But my tum tum is grumbling...listen to it Y/N...it says feed me or I’ll die of hunger.”

“Wow I didn’t realize you could speak stomach. Klaus you are truly full of surprises.” You deadpan with lack of facial movement but a low sigh coming from your parted lips.

“Do not antagonize me woman this is serious.” He gives you the biggest and most adorable puppy eyes, trying with all of his might to sway you to the dark side. You roll your eyes as a smirk tugs at the corner of your lips. His eyes go wide in excitement, knowing he’s won you over with his usual Klaus charm.

“My lovely lady, you are a gem among the city sewage.”

“Thanks Klaus. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

“That’s what I do babes.” Replies Klaus with a quick kiss to your lips before he drags you over to the vendor, that admittedly smells quit delicious if you’re being honest. He orders a simple dog for the both of you, actually paying for it himself to your great astonishment. Then he slathers his in toppings as you select a few of your own, then it’s through the city park to reach your apartment. The two of you and your concealed stolen goods, walking casually down the parks walking trail as you both happily munch on your hotdogs.

“Maybe I have too much on mine.” You have a look at Klaus who’s face is smeared with ketchup and mustard as he fumbles with is already messy napkin while you take another bite from your own hotdog in an attempt at concealing your laughter. “Seriously Y/N, it’s all over my face now, I’m a mess.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Ben don’t laugh..” Whines Klaus with a pout as he glances over at you who’s definitely losing your shit. “Okay fine, it was pretty funny.”

“You walked right into it. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Well Ben’s about to pee himself if you’d like to know so good job at that.”

“Thank you thank you I’ll be here all night.” You bow to no one in particular as Klaus finishes off the last bit of his hotdog. You hand him your napkin as you throw your dirty ones in the nearby trash can. Klaus doing the same, now looking much less of a mess, both on his face and hands. He swiftly catches up to you and practically throws himself onto you. You stagger to the side as his full weight begins dragging you downward towards the wet pavement, oh no you are not about to have his lanky ass get you all dirty. As a witches cackle escapes from your mouth you use your phasing abilities and a second later your idiot boyfriend has fallen onto the cold cement. He lets out a yelp as his hands reach out to catch his fall, he does a little tumble before sitting on the ground, a annoyed huff leaving his lips.

“Eww Y/N I was in you.” Whines Klaus as he picks himself up once again, you cross your arms and bite your lip in amusement.

“You didn’t think so this morning.”

“That was very different.”

“Yeah well your fatass was about to send me into the dirt. I happen to like this coat and would prefer to keep it looking snazzy.”

“Your snazzy can kiss my buns, I’m going home and then I can be in you...but not in that way.” He quickly adds as he reaches out for your hand, you gladly accept his appealing invitation and just like that the two of you make your way out of the park and towards the apartment building where some fun times await.

[jmeelee]

Except at Waffle House

A Sterek AU inspired by that ridiculous Reddit post about the girl who’s BF keeps fighting the cook at Waffle House.

As far as boyfriend’s went, Braeden hit the jackpot when she met Derek Hale. She hadn’t been looking for a partner when she’d stepped into the first class of her Master’s program, but there he’d been, sitting dead-center of the third row in the cavernous lecture hall.  Derek was… different.  Intelligent, well-read, handsome, driven; he’d weathered tragedy and trauma with elegance, emerging on the other side with a soft-spoken grace.  He made Braeden laugh with a wit so dry it kindled a fire in her belly.  To other women, Derek’s obscene good looks—chiseled jawline, soft hair the color of midnight, ass you could bounce quarters off of—might have been his biggest draw, but for Braeden, it was Derek’s hard-won composure.  When she decided to drop out of the Federal Marshall program and pursue her own independent career, Derek never batted an eye.  When she came home from dangerous missions sporting cuts, scrapes and bruises, he didn’t rage over her playing fast and loose with her own welfare.  He simply said, “I’m glad you’re home safe.”  Derek never yelled, never lost his temper, never fought.  He was a dream come true.

Except at Waffle House.

Truth be told, Braeden didn’t love Waffle House, but food was food and a girl’s gotta eat. Derek, however, had some deep-seated appreciation of the greasy chain that stretched back into his childhood, before his parents and older sister died. So while she preferred to eat elsewhere, Braeden found herself at Waffle House a few times a week, feeding Derek’s desire to reconnect with fond adolescent memories.

“Service might be a bit slower today,” said their usual waitress, who’s bright yellow name tag read Erica.  She plopped an iced-tea in front of Braeden, and a steaming cup of black coffee before Derek.  Erica snapped her bubblegum, pulled a tiny notepad from the pocket of her black apron, and snatched a stubby pencil out of her perky blonde ponytail.  “Boyd’s training a new cook.  What’re y’all having?”

Sure enough Boyd, the owner of the franchise, stood at the grill, patiently pointing at burners and griddles while the long-fingered hands of the tall, thin guy next to him flew around like drunk hummingbirds.  Braeden figured the new cook was replacing Scott, who had quit the line to attend Veterinary school.  When you spent several days a week eating there, the Waffle House family became your family.

Braeden was known to make her way through the various menu items.  Some people had their tried and true staples, but she preferred to throw tradition to the wind. One day it was pecan waffles, the next, chili smothered hash browns.  Today, a cheese steak omelet.  Derek however was a creature of habit.  “I’ll have the--”

“Steak and eggs,” Erica interrupted, graphite scratching over the paper.  “Steak medium-rare and egg yolks slightly runny.  Whole wheat toast, well done.”

“You got it,” Derek said agreeably, handing over his flimsy laminated menu.  “Thanks, Erica.”

They filled the void between placing their order and receiving their food with anecdotes from work and a fast and furious game of hangman on the back of their paper placemats.  Waffle House may be lacking in sophistication, but it’s service was always speedy.        

“Here ya go.” Erica plunked plates in front of them and topped off Derek’s coffee.  “Let me know if you need anything else.” But the call bell rang in the kitchen and she bustled away, already half-way down the aisle.

Three forkfuls of cheesy goodness passed her lips before Braeden realized Derek was poking at yellow lumps on his platter with a stiff triangle of toast, watching the yolks crumble like a house of sand.  She finished chewing, swallowed.  “Derek?  Is something wrong?”

“It’s my eggs,” he lamented.  “They’re super hard.  Not runny at all.”

Had she known the repercussions of her next words, Braeden might have given them more thought.  But unbeknownst to her, she was about to score red on the Waffle House Index of how prepared she was to weather the coming shit storm.   

“Just call Erica back,” Braeden suggested, waving her fork in the air.  “The kitchen can whip up another batch. No big deal.”  

Famous last words.  

Erica flounced over, ponytail swinging behind her.  “Sorry about that, honey,” she chirped.  “The new cook is still finding his groove.  I’ll be right back with the correct order.”

Derek thanked her again but watched with hazel eagle eyes as she brought the plate back to the open kitchen, speaking to the mole-speckled guy at the grill whose bed head hair was barely contained under his dorky paper hat.  Derek squirmed in his seat.

Braeden’s eyebrows furrowed.  “That’s a really complex call-in system these employees need to learn.  And all that crazy code with the jelly and mayo packets?  They’re bound to make mistakes sometimes.”

Derek grunted, watching Erica return with a heaping plate of eggs.  This time they were scrambled.  “These are scrambled,” he said stupidly, blinking at the fluffy little clouds.

Looking down, Erica seemed to see them for the first time.  She rolled her eyes and groaned.  “Ugh.  Stiles.”

“Yeah, it’s a style of eggs, just not the one I ordered.”

“No,” Erica shook her head.  “S-T-I-L-E-S.  Stiles is our new cook.  I promise I’ll be back with the correct eggs in a few.”

But ten minutes later a plate of thinly sliced hard-boiled eggs laid out in a flower pattern was placed in front of Derek.  Braeden couldn’t help it, she threw back her head and laughed.  “At this point, I think the cook’s fucking with you,” she told him.

But Derek wasn’t in on the joke.  He pushed the plate away and threw money down on the table.  “Hopefully both his cooking and his comedy routine improves,” Derek grumbled, pulling on his leather jacket.

Maybe now they could finally eat at some different restaurants.

----------

Three days later, they were back at Waffle House.

“There are over 1,500 other Waffle Houses in America,” Braeden said for the millionth time, waving her map app in Derek’s face.  “Look, there’s one twelve miles away.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Derek scowled, sending his second plate of eggs back to the kitchen.  First, they were poached, then they were part of a bacon egg and cheese sandwich.

The third time a single slice of toast sat on a wide white plate, a perfect circle cut from the center.  Inside the circle was an egg.  Cooked over-hard.  

Braeden took a fortifying breath of humid maple-scented air.

“Okay I’ve had enough,” Derek yelled, standing up from the booth.  “You,” he pointed at Stiles the cook, who stared back with a wide insolent mouth and tricky amber eyes.  “Take this garbage back and cook my eggs the right way.” 

Stiles slowly pulled a dirty apron over his neck, dislodging his ridiculous hat, and sauntered around the counter on long legs to stand in front of Derek, crowding into his personal space.  Toe to toe, there was barely any difference in height between the two men, though their body types varied greatly.  Derek was built like a brick shithouse, Stiles like a twink.  

“Is there a problem, dude?” Stiles asked coolly, with the poker face of an Easter Island head. The only crack in his stone facade was the tiny quirk at the edge of his pert lips.    

“Yeah,” Derek growled, pushing a finger into Stiles’ thin chest, “my problem is you and your shitty egg cooking skills.”

“Shitty?” The quirk blossomed into a fully grown smirk.  “I’ve made you several plates of superb eggs, dude.  It’s not my fault you won’t even try them.”

“Quit calling me dude.”

“Sure thing, buddy.” Stiles winked and stared Derek down like a cowboy in a duel with nothing left to live for.  Where had Boyd found this sadist cook?

“My name is Derek. Not buddy. Not dude.  Derek.” The words leaked out between Derek’s clenched teeth. Braeden could slice American cheese off his jaw right now.

Stiles smiled like he’d won the lottery, angling his body slightly away from Derek, but never breaking eye contact.  “Hey Waffle House, Derek here thinks my eggs suck.  Do all of you fine, upstanding people think my eggs are good?”  Stiles got several thumbs-up, two enthusiastic whistles, and one wrinkled middle finger from a white-haired man hunched over at the service counter.  Stiles gave the guy a thumbs up. “Thanks for your honesty mister.  It’s much appreciated.”

“What the hell was that?  What are you trying to do?” Derek was snarling, and the look between both men was lethal. Eyes sparked.  Lips wetted.  Fingers twitched. Braeden held her breath, sure fists would start flying at any second.  Derek made muted sounds of rage worthy of an aspiring ventriloquist. They were too close, puffed out chests a hair's-breadth apart. 

Stiles shrugged.  “My Waffle House, my rules.  Rule number one, pull that stick out of your ass, Derek.”

Derek took Stiles by the surprisingly broad shoulders and backed him into the coat rack.  “Next time I’m here, you’re gonna make me my food the way I order it.”

As quick as it started, the altercation was over.  Derek backed out of the overcoats, and Stiles came stumbling after like two teenagers emerging from a closet after seven minutes in heaven.  Derek made a beeline for the exit.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles yelled at Derek’s retreating back.  “I'll show you sunny side up!”

The whole thing was made even more ridiculous by the merrily tinkling overhead bell as Derek slammed outside.

_______

“Feeling up for trying Schwarma tonight?” Braeden asked when they pulled into the lot and parked next to Stiles’ run down blue Jeep.

“Not a chance,” Derek replied, practically backflipping out of the Camaro.

----------

“Derek, NO!” she said.

DEREK, YES he heard, and Derek, her Derek, the pinnacle of poise, yeeted himself over the counter, grabbing the yellow crossover uniform tie around Stiles’ neck.

----------

“At least Stiles didn’t spike Derek’s drink with meth,” Erica shrugged.  Today the two men were rolling around on the greasy tile floor.  

“Are you being ironic?” Braeden asked, taken aback by the seriousness of Erica’s tone.

“Waffle House is an irony-free zone,” Boyd informed her with a straight face. “I’m just thankful there’s no AR-15s or nudity today.”

“Yet,” Erica leered.

What the hell happened at Waffle House?!

----------

“I’ll have an Angus patty melt, and a slice of Aunt Maggie’s Triple Chocolate pie, please,” Braeden ordered as chaos descended around her.  “It’s like when I have food in front of me, everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.”

“That’s the magic of Waffle House,” Erica said sagely.

“It’s something,” Braeden replied. 

----------

She was scattered, smothered, covered in food debris, collateral damage from Stiles and Derek’s ongoing war.

“Don’t worry, Hunny,” a friendly woman in the adjacent booth told her.  “Throw a tide pod in with that shirt and the stains will come right out!  Just don’t eat it like those crazy kids are doing these days.”

“Who in their right mind would eat a tide pod?” Braeden asked.

  The answer was a serious side-eye.  “Who in their right mind would keep returning to a restaurant to tussle with the cook?”

Touche.

----------

Waffle House had a special Valentine’s Day candlelight dinner, which Braeden could have happily gone her whole life not knowing about or participating in.  

Erica sat them right next to the fancy new digital touchscreen jukebox.  Stiles came out, fed the machine twenty dollars, and set it to play “I Touch Myself” by Divinyls two-hundred and forty times on repeat.

Braeden wasn’t sure if Derek touched himself that night, but any guy who took her on a Valentine date to Waffle House and proceeded to fist-fight the cook certainly wasn’t going to be touching her.

__________

Braeden parked down the road and walked to Waffle House, unsurprised to find Derek’s car in the parking lot.  She’d quit going with him two weeks ago. To so many hungry, lost, and seriously hammered people, Waffle House’s warm yellow glow was a beacon of salvation.  For Braeden, who watched from the peaceful vantage point of the parking lot as her boyfriend grappled the skinny cook into a headlock and proceeded to give him a vicious noogie, it would forever be a reminder that Derek was the perfect guy for her, except when it came to Stiles.  Once upon a time, Braeden appreciated the fact that women everywhere were always looking at her man. He turned heads, but none of them ever seemed to turn his.  Except at Waffle House, and it wasn’t a woman.

Derek walked out of the restaurant twenty minutes later to find her sitting on the hood of his black Camaro.  “You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” he asked, monotone. She wondered at Drek’s equanimity, which has always seemed so inviting to her before.  Maybe Braeden just didn’t inspire passion in Derek, the way Stiles obviously did.  

She nodded.

“Is there anything I can say to change your mind?”

She shook her head.  “Not unless you can tell me what this is really about. Not unless you can tell me who you are.  Because this person isn’t the Derek I thought I knew.”

Lately, she’d been thinking a lot about a proverb her mother used to recite when she was younger.  Briseann an dúchais trí shúile an chait. The true nature of someone’s character is revealed through their eyes.  Derek’s head swiveled between Braeden and the view through the glass window, where Erica was helping Stiles off the floor, and Boyd was mopping up spilled chocolate milk, and several patrons were still surreptitiously filming the whole ordeal on their cellphones. Derek’s eyes followed Stiles like a wolf stalking prey.  “Shit, I—”

“Derek,” she said, sliding down the hood and coming to stand before him, “you were an amazing boyfriend and a great guy.”  Braeden sighed. “Except at Waffle House.” 

Derek shoved his fists into the front pockets of his too-tight jeans, scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the brick facade of the restaurant.  “Yeah,” he relented.  “I’m really sorry.”

“Me too, Derek.”  She gently patted his stubbled cheek.  “Good luck with-” she gestured toward the golden fluorescent lights, the black and yellow signage, at Stiles standing stock still and Bambi-eyed behind the counter, holding a chunk of frozen bacon to the top of his head- “whatever the hell this is.  I’ll see you around.”

She waved good-bye to Stiles through the window, who raised a hesitant hand back to her, and walked out of the parking lot.

Roughly a year and a half later, Braeden thumbed through a used newspaper while she waited at her local coffee shop for the barista to call her name.  She flipped from business to sports, passing the society section on her way, when a pithy headline caught her attention.  

Waffle Brawls lead to Wedding Bells.

Huh.  So that’s what all the fighting was really about.

Underneath the catchy title was a byline: “Groom learned sixteen new ways to cook eggs during fearsome flirtation.”

“Caramel Macchiato for Braeden!” 

Braeden tossed the paper onto the tabletop, leaving it open to Stiles and Derek’s wedding announcement, and left the coffee shop with a laugh on her lips.  

You couldn’t make this shit up.  Except at Waffle House.

__________

As per usual tumblr won’t let me link to anything so the Reddit post that inspired this story so you can find that in the notes!  Thanks for reading hope it made you laugh.

[tahitianmangoes]

Absolution - Chapter 2

Pairing: Micah x Arthur Summary:  Micah often felt like he and Arthur were two sides of the same coin. Whether or not Artur shared that sentiment Micah didn’t know but ever since an encounter out west, inexplicably they keep finding themselves pulled back to one and other. NSF W | Not canon compliant Also on AO3 Chapter One 

Chapter Two -  You Scratch My Back, I’ll Scratch Yours

The new camp was called Horseshoe Overlook, Hosea said he’d been this way before a while ago. It was further east than Dutch had ever wanted to go but right now, it didn’t matter what direction they were going as long as it was the opposite of any Pinkertons still on their tail.

It was a nice camp, away from prying eyes in the Heartlands. Micah himself hadn’t been too far this way before, maybe a couple of years ago with some people he used to run with but he hadn't seen them in a long time… Last time he heard, they were stuck in Sisika penitentiary.

However, the Heartlands it seemed, was infested with O’Driscolls; spilling out of the local saloon, camping out in the fields between where they were and right to the border with Lemoyne. Not ideal but nothing they couldn’t handle, the O’Driscolls were small fry in comparison to what had happened on that boat in Blackwater.

Arthur hadn't said a word since the cabin. Micah didn't know what to say either. Arthur had curled up by the fireplace and slept after their encounter. Micah spent all night staring into the flames until his eyes smarted and the sun rose.

Micah had left Arthur asleep and ridden back to Colter with the supplies he’d found. When asked about Arthur he shrugged. Dutch seemed concerned but he also seemed to recognise that he shouldn’t question the matter.

Since moving to Horseshoe Overlook, there hadn’t been much time to talk to anyone, let alone Arthur. Maybe Arthur was right, they were even now and that was the end of the matter… So why did Micah keep thinking about it, playing it in his mind over and over like one of those flickery, moving pictures that people went to see?

If anything, that night in the cabin had made it worse. He could kid himself that at Gaptooth Ridge, it had been a one off, maybe they’d both just been frustrated - god knows it’s hard enough to get five minutes privacy to take care of yourself when you’re in a gang of twenty other people who always want something from you… But the way Arthur had pushed him flush to the wall and looked at him with intent in that cabin, like there was more to it than just having Micah suck his cock… But Micah didn’t know what and almost didn’t dare ask.

 ***

 "Mr Morgan!" Susan Grimshaw's voice was piercing as she called Arthur from across the camp. Micah looked up from the table where he sat by Pearson's wagon playing solitaire. "One of the girls said she saw your friend Miss Gillis around Valentine..." "Mary?!" Arthur repeated.

Micah’s hat hid his face so they couldn’t see him looking up from his card game. Arthur had been busy since they got to the new camp, everyone had been really, all working to make back the money they lost in Blackwater. But it was rare for Arthur to be in camp during the day. If Micah had meant more to Arthur, he might have thought that the younger man was avoiding him. But he knew that wasn’t the case.

He absentmindedly touched his neck where he now wore a neckerchief to hide the bruises Arthur had left from that night in the cabin, biting and sucking at his skin.

Micah could see Arthur quite clearly from where he sat; he’d changed out of his winter clothes now and wore a sky blue button down shirt that matched his eyes and dark denim pants that fit him well.

Never had Micah heard Arthur's voice so excited, seen his eyes light up so as he said Mary’s name.

"Yes…" Miss Grimshaw said and her tone didn't go unnoticed by Micah, disapproving, which wasn't exactly unusual for Miss Grimshaw - a more sour faced dragon if Micah had met one. "Never did like that girl. Anyway, there's a letter for you by your tent from her." Arthur was about to turn and go to his tent when Miss Grimshaw lay an uncharacteristically gentle hand on his chest, "be careful with her, Arthur. That girl's nothing but trouble."

Arthur didn't humour her with a response. Micah watched him go to his tent and tear open the letter like a present on Christmas morning. He read it eagerly. Soon afterwards he left the camp.

Micah felt his chest tighten and didn't understand why.

 A little while later, Micah found Dutch. Dutch was unlike any man Micah had ever met before. He was intriguing, magnetic and left Micah in awe. Despite being only five or six years Micah’s senior, he saw Dutch as an almost fatherly figure.

Micah’s father had not possessed any of the skills or qualities of Dutch Van Der Linde, instead he had been what Micah had soon learned to be a bottomless evil. Nothing Micah, his brother or mother did could change that. He resented his brother, Amos, for leaving when he did but only because he had wanted to go, too… He had just been too afraid.

Micah vowed, when he left his father, that he would never be afraid of a person ever again. People would only ever fear him.

He wasn’t afraid of Dutch, more afraid that maybe he would lose favour with him now because of this ferry business. Sure, no one could have predicted what was going to happen but this was Dutch and Micah’s job and Micah had let him down, in a way. People got hurt and that sort of thing didn’t sit well with Dutch.

Dutch was around the side of his tent reading. Molly O’Shea was inside the tent, she looked annoyed to see Micah come around but truth be told, she looked annoyed whenever anyone took Dutch’s attention off of her, which Micah noticed seemed to be more often than not these days.

They had robbed a train out by Granite Pass before coming down from the mountains. He had seemed pleased with the take but it wasn’t enough. He spent a lot of is time brooding and looking anxious around the camp now.

“Dutch, can I talk to you a minute?” Micah asked. He tried to talk softly to Dutch. He wasn’t afraid of him but… One wrong word could send Dutch into a fury, he’d seen it before when Davey has spoken out of line - it was startling to see Dutch’s face turn dark, eyes completely black, drawing himself up to his full and impressive height, Micah’s never noticed how tall he was until that time, how he was muscular, too. Dutch had bellowed so loudly that his voice echoed. He never lost his cool like that, not in the six months that Micah had been with the gang and Micah didn’t fancy having that same fate.

Dutch looked up from his book, amber eyes narrowed at Micah, “what is it?” He sounded a little annoyed. “Listen… I think… I want to go back to Blackwater and get the money.” “Out of the question,” Dutch said bluntly and turned his gaze back to his book but Micah saw that his eyes didn’t move, he wasn’t reading.

Negotiating with Dutch was almost like a dance - you just have to know the steps.

“Maybe I ain’t makin’ myself clear…” Micah said carefully, “I ain’t tryin’ to rob you. You know me better than that.” Dutch closed his book now with a sigh. “Just what are you trying to do, Micah?” He asked, still sounding impatient.

The topic of the Blackwater money was a sensitive one; while everyone else had scrambled to get out of there, Dutch and Hosea had hidden the money. They had thought that it was too risky to try to get out of Blackwater with it. Micah thought that sounded a little off but who was he to argue with Dutch? Only Dutch and Hosea knew where that money was stashed, Micah didn’t even think Arthur knew - Arthur trusted Dutch wholeheartedly and would never question it. Micah trusted Dutch too, in as much as Micah could trust anyone… But it seemed a little unfair how everyone’s money was hidden and only Dutch and Hosea knew where.

“I’m tryin’ to save you. Save everybody. I’ll go to Blackwater and get the money then meet you all some place… And we’ll be home free! That’s it.”

Dutch’s brow furrowed. Micah watched him intently. He was a well dressed man, and despite being down on their luck, that hadn’t changed about him. His crimson silk vest contrasted with his crisp white shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled to the elbow. The ribbon of his hat mated the vest. Dutch removed the hat to run a hand through the dark tresses of his hair while he thought over what Micah had said.

“Just… Just think about it, boss. That’s all I’m sayin’. The way I see it, we gotta try.” Micah knew full well that Dutch probably didn’t give two shits the way Micah saw it. But it was all part of the dance.

“I…” Dutch started, turning his gaze back up to Micah. He seemed a little at a loss for words momentarily. “I’ll think about it.” he said finally.

Micah let a smile break out on his face, ��thank you.” He said, not forgetting that he was still beneath Dutch in all senses of the word and he was definitely not adverse to grovelling if that’s what it took for Dutch to see sense, to let him help and who knows, take over from where Hosea so obviously wanted to leave…

 ****

 Later that night, when everyone else had gone to sleep, Micah sat by the campfire sharpening his knife. From where he sat, he had a perfect view of Arthur’s tent which was, as usual, empty.

Micah let his thoughts wander back to that morning. He wondered who this Mary woman was and how had he never heard of her until now? Was she an old flame? As long as he had known Arthur Morgan, Arthur had never had a romantic relationship, not even an unromantic one - he turned down whores in the saloons, ignored women who complimented him or gave him discount in stores on account of how handsome he was and continued with his sullen cowboy act. Micah had begun to doubt whether it was an act at all…

Just then he heard hooves approaching. Micah couldn't see who it was but he heard Bill who was on guard duty ask: “who goes there?” “Arthur, you dumbass.” Came the reply.

Micah couldn’t help feel his chest tighten again, his heart ripple. Why was he like this?

When Arthur came into view, he had a bottle of whiskey in one hand that he must have taken from the box by Hosea’s tent. As he approached the fire, he smelled like he had already been drinking. Micah didn’t look up but he could see Arthur out of the corner of his eye, hovering around the fire, watching Micah continue to sharpen his knife as if he hadn’t noticed the younger outlaw arrive. Micah didn’t look up or speak because he had no idea what to say to Arthur. Part of him thought that maybe Arthur had been right up in the cabin, maybe there was nothing to talk about.

To Micah’s surprise, Arthur sat down beside him at the fireside. Micah could see that there was something in Arthur’s other hand. A piece of paper. The letter from that morning.

Arthur was the first to speak. “You’re up late.” Micah shrugged, “so are you.”

“I… I was with someone in town… Someone I… Uh…” Arthur trailed off. It looked like it pained him to think about it, let alone say it. “Someone I was courtin’ a long time ago.” Micah let himself smirk. “What happened? She kick you out for the night once you were done?” “No.” Arthur replied, almost hotly, “It ain’t like that. She ain’t like that.”

Arthur’s voice wavered slightly. Micah had never heard him speak so earnestly or even speak this long, he usually spoke to Micah in short grunts like some farmyard animal.

Arthur continued, “she… Well, she was never really right for me. Too good for me. I proposed a long time ago. She turned me down o’ course. We was just kids really.”

Micah didn't say anything, he got the feeling that Arthur didn’t really want his input but rather just needed someone to listen to him.

“Anyway, her daddy didn’t like me.” Micah scoffed, “what do daddies know?” Arthur smiled weakly and drank from his whiskey bottle before continuing. “Maybe he was right. She weren’t made for this life. Sometimes I wonder if anyone really is…”

Arthur stared into the fire. Micah stared at Arthur.

“Anyway. She left a letter for me and o’ course, I went rushin’ over to her like the prize idiot I am… Knew she’s married now but, well, he’s gone. Pneumonia or somethin’; bad business. So she’s a widow now. Some stupid part o’ me thought maybe this was her givin’ me another chance now we’re both older.”

He stared into the fire sadly and took another swig from the bottle.

“Turns out she just wanted an errand boy, someone to do her dirty work for her… She knew I was fool enough to do whatever she wants. Maybe ‘cause part of me thinks we still got a chance even though I know she ain’t about this life and I ain’t exactly the type to buy a ranch and live honestly… Sometimes I wonder if… If I’m the sorta person that can… Be loved…” Arthur let himself trail off. They sat in silence for a few minutes save the crackling of the fire.

Micah had never heard Arthur talk this way, not to anyone. Part of Micah had assumed that Arthur just didn’t have that in him. A big, brawny brute who was emotionally stunted. But now Micah saw the pain on Arthur’s handsome features and he hurt too, in a way.

“You can't go forcin’ somethin’ if it ain’t right.” Micah said, his voice taking on an alien, gentle quality. It took Arthur by surprise, he looked up at him now. The fire reflected in his eyes. Micah had thought he was more drunk than he looked but the way he looked at Micah told him different.

Micah watched the fire dance in those great blue orbs. Neither of them said anything but Micah knew. Micah knew what was going to happen and he was fully prepared to let it despite the fact that they were in the middle of the camp, despite the fact that if Dutch were to come out of his tent, if Javier who was sleeping just a few feet away was to wake, they’d be seen. But Micah let it happen anyway. He was powerless.

Arthur moved his head closer and they kissed. Arthur let the letter tumble from his fingers into the mud as he reached for Micah, one hand on his face the other he lay almost hesitantly on his chest. Micah reciprocated. He let his eyes close, let his lips move on their own, let Arthur’s tongue slip into his mouth and rub gently against his own so he could taste the whiskey he had just drunk. Micah felt his head spinning, like he was drunk too. All he could hear was the fire crackling, feel the warmth of Arthur’s hands on him and smell the musk from the swell of the younger man’s chest. Consuming. Intoxicating. He brought his hands up, running them through Arthur’s soft, fawn hair and Arthur made a sound, a sigh, a moan that Micah echoed back to him.

And before he knew it, Arthur had pulled away but his hands were still on Micah. Still, neither of them spoke. Micah let Arthur stand and guide him away from the main camp, behind Arthur’s own tent and into the treeline.

Micah was eager to kiss again and Arthur allowed him to once they were a suitable distance from the camp. Micah let Arthur grope him through his clothes, let Arthur’s fingers work at the buttons on his pants and slip his hands inside, palming his already semi hard cock. Micah let out a shaky gasp into Arthur’s mouth, the stubble from his beard scratching his skin, the smell of tobacco on his shirt filled up his lungs.

Micah’s fingers were quick to unbutton Arthur’s pants, too and take his cock in hand. He was hard and Micah could feel it pulse beneath his fingertips, the tip leaked with precum and Micah tugged on it making Arthur growl into his mouth. A growl that sent a pang of excitement throughout his body. Arthur reciprocated and the pair jerked each other, kissing hard, Micah pressing his hips against Arthur’s who rocked his back in response, drawing breathy moans from Micah.

Micah wasn't sure if it was the lust or the liquor or maybe both but he wasn’t going to question it. He also wasn’t going to admit that he had wanted this again, so so badly.

Arthur shifted, spitting on his palm before resting his weight on a tree behind him so he could take both of their erections in his hand and stroke them together.

Micah couldn’t stop himself letting out a guttural moan. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. The soft skin of Arthur’s cock against his own, hot and throbbing paired with Arthur’s slicked hand was an unprecedented type of bliss.

Micah’s legs shook and he could barely stand, Arthur let him lean forwards, able to support them both as Micah clung to him, hips fucking into Arthur’s palm as he stifled his moans and swore under his breath each time Arthur’s hand ran the length of his shaft, rough thumb swiped over his slit or reached down to gently tug on his balls.

Arthur kissed him to silence him and soon, Micah found himself rutting erratically, panting into Arthur’s open mouth, unable to concentrate on anything other than chasing his release.

He came in ropes, shuddering against Arthur. Micah’s release served as lubrication as Arthur continued to stroke, his hand in a vice-like grip around both of their lengths, Micah now trembling and whimpering pathetically through overstimulation. Arthur let out a low rumble in his chest as he came too, Micah could feel his cock pulsating against his own as Arthur leant back against the tree, eyes closed, wrapped in euphoria, hips thrusting more shallow now until he stilled.

Arthur let Micah stay leaning against him while they caught their breath. It was definitely the liquor that led Arthur to kissing Micah again, this time almost chastely before he moved away, buttoned his pants up and retired to his cot.

Micah sat on the edge of camp, he could see Arthur curled up asleep on his cot. After the buzz from his orgasm died down, he felt hollow. As much as he had wanted it, he knew he’d made a terrible mistake.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times..?

 ****

 Arthur slept in the next day but Micah had already left by the time he woke. Dutch had approached him after he had eaten breakfast.

“Micah, I know you’re eager to get our money back and I commend you for it, son but it ain’t gonna be that easy.” He said. Micah half shrugged, half nodded. He was exhausted. Dutch didn’t seem to notice, he continued. “I just think… It’s better to chase new opportunities - always more money to be made, this is America after all… I know you got your heart set on the Blackwater money - I did too. But… I just don’t want no one else to get hurt or worse. Y’understand?” “Yes, boss.” Came Micah’s swift reply. “Good,” Dutch said with a hint of a smile. “In that case, I want you to go out scoutin’ west a bit but not too close to Blackwater. See what opportunities you can find. Take young Lenny with you.” “Lenny?” Micah repeated.

 Micah didn’t not like Lenny Summers, he was indifferent at best. Lenny was the youngest member of the gang at just nineteen years of age - just a boy. Micah could almost smell the breast milk on the kid’s breath; he was young and inexperienced. They just didn’t suit each other.

But Micah knew it was best not to argue with Dutch Van Der Linde and so found himself riding out back west way again with young Lenny in tow. Lenny chattered and Micah barely listened, too busy thinking of the night before and Arthur, Arthur, Arthur.

They came across a small place called Strawberry, a dry town with not much going on - a lead that there was a man at the post office willing to pay them to sabotage stagecoaches but it was small fry. They needed to make up for all that money lost in Blackwater, all $150,000 of it. A stagecoach wasn’t going to give them that.

Later that day they found a saloon outside of Strawberry and as with all saloons, they also found trouble. Micah recognised someone there, a man he knew as ‘Skinny’. Skinny had screwed him out of money a while back, just after he lost his other crew to Sisika. Micah was the sort of person to hold grudges and so went to ‘talk’ to Skinny.

Lenny warned him against it, which Micah had shaken off - ”you worry too much, kid.”

But maybe this time, the kid was right. Micah had drank far too much whiskey already in a bid to numb some of the confusion he’d been feeling all day in regards to Arthur and whatever the hell it was they kept doing together…

Had he been sober, there may not have been a fight. Had he been sober, he might have been quick enough to escape the law. Had he been sober, he might not have been arrested and thrown in the Strawberry jail.

 ****

 Micah woke up feeling like he'd been mown down by one of those stagecoaches he thought he was too good to hold up. His head hurt and he didn't remember how, when or why he got there.

Micah had been in jails worse than this before - always managed to get himself out somehow. They hadn’t gotten his name and didn’t know he was part of Dutch’s gang so he was sure he’d be let out sooner or later… There was an O’Driscoll in the cell with him who was as drunk as a skunk and blathered on about a banking stage him and his boys were planning on hitting. Micah ignored him for the most part. He was hung over and he could feel that he had a black eye but he wasn’t sure from where.

He found himself slipping into an uneasy sleep.

He was standing outside of the barn again, staring at the peeling red paint. He knew what would be inside if he went through the doors. He didn’t want to go through the doors. He didn’t want to see it again. There was the voice. It was always here. Always screeching at him. “Prove it! Prove it to me, ya yella bellied son of a bitch! He walked slowly to the barn door, laid his hand on the wood, it was warm from the summer sun. He remembered the heat. Remembered how it made the blood smell…

“Do it now! Prove to me you ain’t a pussy like that no-good brother o’ yours!”

 He jolted awake forgetting where he was. The O'Driscoll snored on the cold floor of the cell beside him. Micah took a breath. He hoped that Lenny had enough brains to go and get help.

And help came, eventually, in the form of Arthur Morgan.

 Micah had been sitting at the window of the jail, leaning his face against the bars which cooled his swollen eye when he spotted Arthur sauntering over to him. He looked like he’d had a haircut and a shave, maybe even a bath. His hair was trimmed now, off of his neck where before it had been longer, his beard also gone. He’d replaced his blue shirt with a black one. He looked good and Micah cursed himself for thinking so.

You can do a lot of thinking in jail and Micah had thought of nothing but their encounter at the camp - what had it meant? Why had Arthur allowed it again if he had said it was nothing before? Micah knew the trail was lonely, men would lay with other men, hell even cattle if that was the only thing available.. But Micah wasn’t the only thing available. Not thirty minutes north was Valentine full of working girls if Arthur wanted to relieve himself. Why did they keep coming back to each other?

“Hello old friend, have a good time, did you?” Arthur asked, smirking as he sidled up to the side of the building. “You gonna get me outta here, Morgan?” Micah asked, a hint of desperation about his tone. Arthur paused before answering, taking the time to put a cigarette between his plump lips, strike a match then light the smoke. “I ain’t decided yet.” “Real funny.” Micah replied, rolling his eyes. “Oh, I ain’t joking, cowpoke.” Arthur replied as he exhaled smoke. “I’ve heard so much bluster outta your mouth the last six months and now I got an opportunity to watch you be silenced.”

Micah’s eyes widened. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought that Arthur was joking. It seemed like such a juxtaposition to the man he had been kissing just a couple of days ago who had sounded so vulnerable and sorrowful.... “You- you gotta do something!” Micah replied. Would Arthur really leave him to languish here? That wasn’t the Arthur Morgan Micah knew at all. “Why?” Arthur asked, his voice low and rumbling. Micah’s pale eyes met Arthur’s. “I… I thought…” He stammered uncharacteristically and shot a glance back at the O’Driscoll who was still asleep. “I thought, well, y’know..?”

Micah looked at Arthur pointedly. Surely, he hadn’t forgotten the other night. Arthur shook his head quickly. “I told ya, I ain’t gonna talk ‘bout that ever again. Y’understand? It was a mistake.” “A mistake that happened three times? Sure, cowpoke.” Micah found himself saying hotly. “You shut your mouth or I will leave you here to rot, Micah, so help me I will.” Arthur looked away from Micah in the jail cell before saying, “don’t be mistaken, I’m only here because Dutch asked me. Nothin’ else.” Micah didn’t say anything. He glared at Arthur. Hated that he was drawn to him when he was such a self righteous prick almost all of the time.

Arthur used dynamite to blast the wall of the jail away. It was a loud and brash technique that suited Arthur. The lawmen up in the jailhouse were alerted immediately and Arthur handed Micah a revolver to protect himself from what was about to come. Micah didn’t know whether it was because of what Arthur had said, acting like nothing had happened but he suddenly saw red as lawmen descended upon them. Micah found himself shooting up the town as if his life depended on it. Arthur followed him, shouting after him, “what the hell are you doing?! Let’s just get out of here!” But Micah felt rage boiling over inside of him, rage because he had let Arthur do as he pleased and he felt used, he felt stupid. And now Arthur was being sent to save him, smirking at him like he was some little bitch. Micah would have preferred anyone coming to his rescue, anyone other than Arthur. “Have you lost your goddamn mind, Micah?!” Arthur was calling after him as Micah made his way through Strawberry firing on anything or anyone who resembled a lawman. “Calm yourself woman,” Micah spat at Arthur, “we’ll be fine.” “You have really lost it this time!” Micah felt a rush of adrenaline in a gunfight. He didn’t know if others did but there was little else that got him excited or made him feel as alive as bullets whistling past him. He got a thrill out of dodging and weaving, out of hunkering down then waiting for an opening to make that perfect headshot. Maybe it was something he’d learned from his daddy - the only times his daddy’d been proud of him was when he was unloading a chamber of bullets into someone’s chest. Together, Arthur and Micah were a force to be reckoned with - both excellent shots and efficient. They made short work of the lawmen and were able to make their escape. There was a lull eventually, Micah stood in the middle of the small town, chest heaving covered in sweat and blood - some his and some not. Arthur stared at him incredulously. “Come on,” Arthur growled at him, marching over to him as he unhitched his horse, a Missouri Foxtrotter like Baylock only Arthur’s was dapple grey. “Get on,” Arthur ordered, “before I shoot you, too.” Micah let himself chuckle. This almost felt normal. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Micah wasn’t worried about Baylock, he was a clever horse who would have returned to camp once Micah didn’t come for him. Arthur mounted up and reached down to pull Micah up too. Micah ignored the sparks he felt at Arthur’s touch.

Arthur spurred the horse onwards and they tore out of Strawberry. There were already reinforcements on their tail; with one hand, Micah held onto Arthur’s waist and with the other he shot at the lawmen. He pushed down all the thoughts he had about holding onto Arthur and being this close to him, close enough to smell him, close enough to press his lips to the nape of Arthur’s neck just to hear him sigh and watch him shiver. “Goddamn maniac,” Arthur snapped at him as they rode past Rigg’s Station, “I shoulda left you to hang.” Micah smirked. That was the Arthur he knew, not the sad drunk at the campfire. “Wouldn’t you get bored without me?” He asked playfully. Arthur grunted but didn’t reply. “That was some good shootin’ back there - gotta hand it to ya, Morgan.” “What was that you pulled back there?!” Arthur called back to him, not letting up on the speed though it seemed like the law was gone now. “Got a bit wild, that’s for sure.” Micah mused, not wanting to have to explain himself. “Wild!?” Arthur repeated, sounding dumbfounded.

Micah didn’t say anything else. He didn’t know what exactly had come over him and he wasn’t about to spill his guts and feelings to Arthur Morgan. Not now, anyway. Maybe if things had been different... If Arthur hadn’t acted like nothing had happened... “You owe Lenny,” Arthur told him sternly, “if he hadn’t found us in time… Well…” “You’ll all be thanked profusely. I promise.” Micah retorted. “You’re lucky Dutch has got your back for some unknown reason.” Arthur said coldly. Arthur slowed his horse down now. Micah still rested his hand on Arthur’s waist, the anger subsided giving way to something else but he didn’t understand it. He felt his chest tighten but different this time. It was dull, it throbbed and ached like he wanted to howl in pain. “Take me back to my camp.” Micah said to Arthur, “it’s at Monto’s Rest.” “You ain’t comin’ back to Horseshoe Overlook?” Arthur asked, surprised. He turned his head to look at Micah over his shoulder. Micah didn’t want to meet his eye. “No. I’ve been a bad boy, Morgan. Dutch ain’t gonna be happy with me. I’ll let him cool off or bring him a peace offering.”

Arthur rode to Monto’s Rest - Micah had set up camp there with Lenny before they went to the saloon. Baylock was waiting for him. Micah slipped off of Arthur’s horse and went to Baylock. There wasn’t much he cared about in life but his horse was one of them. “Hey,” he greeted the Foxtrotter gently and patted him on the muzzle, “what a clever boy you are.”

 Arthur hovered awkwardly, not getting off of his horse but not leaving immediately either. He watched as Micah spoke softly to Baylock and fed him some hay: “you must be hungry, boy. Micah looked back to Arthur, puzzled. He’d half expected Arthur to make him walk back to his camp after that performance in Strawberry and he certainly hadn’t expected Arthur to hang around.

Why was Micah’s heart beating so hard in his chest?

“I…” Arthur started and Micah looked up at him, head to one side, “I’m glad Lenny got to us in time.”

Micah saw the flush play across Arthur’s cheeks and his blue-green eyes looked bright, just like they had done before. What was this? Not half an hour ago, he had said he’d leave Micah in that cell, he’d berated him for shooting his way out of town and now… Now he was saying he was happy that Micah was ok?

“Why…. why don’t you stay?” Micah found himself asking and he hated himself for it. Micah also hated how he had to crane his neck to look up at Arthur on his horse.

The night had drawn in now and Arthur’s features were shrouded by darkness but his eyes shimmered as they settled on Micah’s. Micah thought for a moment that he could see Arthur considering his proposition of staying. Whether it was just for a drink or for the night, Micah wasn't sure if he cared, he just wasn't ready for Arthur to leave just yet. Didn't want to be on his own again.

He hated how he became needy around Arthur. He’d been so angry at him but now he couldn’t be.

“I…” Arthur started, hesitating. “I should get back.” He said, looking away as he spoke.

It was all Micah could do but to bite his lip to stop him calling after Arthur as he turned his horse around to leave; it took all his will to stop him begging Arthur to stay with him.

He already felt his neck flushing with embarrassment. What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t him! Simpering after Morgan out of everyone..!

He hated himself more and more and more.

So he rode into Valentine a short while afterwards, drank too much whiskey and fucked the first whore who spoke to him.

The whore wasn’t the best lay in his life but she wasn't bad either. She wasn't Arthur though.

 ****

Micah woke up in the rented room above the Valentine bar the next morning. Light streamed in through the window and the whore was long gone.

Micah groaned and rolled over. He was naked, still had blood on him from the jailbreak the day before. He didn’t want to think about that or think about Arthur. He cleaned himself up and dressed, going downstairs to the bar. He needed food - he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten anything.

He ordered eggs, flapjacks and coffee. He sat at a table away from the main doors trying to let his pounding head subside. If he closed his eyes he saw Arthur, saw the blood from the lawmen in Strawberry, saw the peeling paint of the barn door…

“Micah Bell..? I never thought I’d see you again, let alone in Valentine of all places..!”

Micah’s head jerked up and his eyes were greeted with the sight of a well dressed man around the same age as him, tall and slender with a shock of red hair and vibrant green eyes that sparkled mischievously with a boyish charm as they met Micah’s.

“Clinton Jones?”

“The very same! How the hell are you!” Clinton asked, pulling up a chair and sitting at the table beside Micah. Micah found himself uncharacteristically lost for words as he stared into those dazzling emerald eyes. Clinton seemed nonplussed at his old friend’s silence. “Let me buy you a drink! It’s been how many years..?” “Too many,” Micah replied rather bluntly. He was taken aback. Hadn’t seen Clinton since he was a boy. Back then, they had been very close but since Micah took off on his own, Micah had pushed those memories down.

“How’s Emily?” Clinton asked Micah. “Amy.” Micah corrected him, a sudden jolt carved through him like a knife. “She… She passed away.” “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Clinton said, though he didn’t sound it at all.

Micah found himself speechless at being presented with his past so suddenly and unexpectedly. A working girl set Micah’s food down before him and he began to eat, a distraction from having to make small talk with a childhood friend.

“What are you doing out this way?” Clinton asked Micah, watching him attentively. Micah shrugged casually, “jus’ this and that. You know how it is, Clint.” Clinton laughed softly, “been years since anyone called me that. It’s Clinton these days… Or Agent Jones.”

Micah didn’t show that a jolt of panic ran through him. He had known Clinton had been interested in joining the law when they were younger - not wanting to follow a life of crime and urging Micah to do the same. But Micah couldn’t, his daddy’d never let him. And then after what happened out in Ohio there was no going back, Clinton knew that.

“I work with the Pinkertons now, Micah.” Clinton said, almost gently as if he wanted to soften the blow. “It’s what you wanted.” Micah replied, not meeting Clinton’s eye now. Clinton moved a little closer to Micah now, dropping his voice as he spoke, “even me just sittin’ here with you is a risk, especially after what happened with your daddy.” Micah’s eyes darted up to Clinton’s. “I never told no one about you, Micah. I swear.”

Micah stopped eating. Had he not been Micah Bell III, his hands might have shook as he held the cutlery and he might have been worried about just how convenient it was that Agent Clinton Jones of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, former close friend of Micah Bell, just happened to have tracked him down to Valentine, especially after all that chaos he had caused in Strawberry.

Perhaps Micah had not been as anonymous as he had thought back in that small, Strawberry jail.

“Thanks.” Micah said. “That’s what friends are for - helpin’ each other.” Clinton said with a smile, “maybe you could help me, Micah..? ‘Parently, there’s a bunch of people out this way - outlaws - just robbed a ferry in Blackwater and then a train owned by Mister Leviticus Cornwall. Maybe you heard about it?”

“Can't say I have.” Micah replied smoothly, picking his knife and fork up again and resuming his breakfast, “you know me, Clint… I ain’t really one for reading the newspaper.”

That wasn’t the answer Clinton had wanted as he moved his head further still, his smile diminished but still playing on his lips like someone who knew they had a royal flush in poker. “Listen, Micah. I don’t wanna be coy. Dutch Van Der Linde is a wanted man and I want to help put him behind bars.” Micah shrugged, slurping at his coffee in a purposefully obnoxious way. “I think think I’ve heard o’ him but… I’m afraid I can’t help you old friend.”

Micah went to stand now and Clinton followed suit. “Micah!” He followed Micah to the doors of the saloon rather desperately now, “Micah, I know you know somethin’. You was seen with Van Der Linde out west. Now I came to you without tellin’ no one because I still… Well… We was close once.”

Micah hesitated as he walked to the hitching post. “We was.” Micah conceded, not looking at Clinton now. “Long time ago now, Clint. Long time ago.” “Don’t mean that it didn’t happen or that it didn’t mean anything.”

Micah let his hat hide the expression on his face. He hadn’t thought about Clinton Jones for twenty years. Many people had come and gone since then.

“Clint…We was kids.” “I don’t wanna have to resort to blackmail. I thought, maybe you’d still have some sort of fondness left… Thought you’d want to help an old friend out - you scratch my back, I scratch yours?” Micah turned back to Clinton now. He searched his face not knowing if he could trust him. When could you ever trust a Pinkerton?

“They’d still be interested in you after what happened in Ohio, you know. They got your daddy but as far as I know, that bounty’s still out on your head.” “Clint-” Micah started, shaking his head. “I won’t tell ‘em a thing, I swear… If you help me, Micah. I can guarantee your freedom. And money, too - Dutch has a pretty price on his head.” Micah’s face stayed stony. Clinton reached into his inside jacket pocket and held out a sheet of paper to Micah. It was Dutch’s bounty poster. Micah took it without looking at it.

“Just think about it, Micah. I’ll be in touch.”

[tloujm]

Part XV: How About Now?

Author’s Notes: Nothing to see here but Joel slowly breaking out his dad jeans and interacting with the fic’s newest character. I hope y’all enjoy this one. It’s a little bit longer than the last two and its a build up to some major fluffy plot development.

Genre: Fluff with a couple drops of angst

Summary: Joel tries to bond with the new girl. He convinces you to go camping with him. The two of you take the relationship to the next level.

Ship: Joel x Reader

Joel’s boots crunched against the wet gravel as he found himself walking toward the daycare center. He knew that you’d be there. This week had been so busy for the two of you, that you’d barely gotten time to see each other. He acknowledged what the feeling was that pulled at his heart strings; he missed you. 

With the intention of pulling you away from your duties, if only for a moment, Joel walked inside and glanced around the play room for you. His eyes fell on something familiar, but it was not you. It was his jacket that he recognized, still wrapped around the shoulders of the new little girl who arrived in Jackson not so long ago. It was as if she had never taken it off. Joel noticed that she was sitting by herself at a table. As he walked closer, he found that she was drawing. His heavy footsteps alerted her, causing her to drop the pencil in her hand and look up at him. With a low grunt, he crouched down until he was eye level with her. 

She shrugged off the jacket and handed it to him. “No, you can keep it, kiddo. I have another.” He waved it away before she placed it on her lap like a blanket. “Let’s see what you’re drawing here. Oh, well now I believe this one is called a Velociraptor. Yep, I learned this from a little known movie that came out back in…’93 I wanna say. Some feisty creatures. They may have been small compared to the rest, but you wouldn’t wanna get on the wrong side of those fellas.” Joel said, filling up the air of the one sided conversation. “You ever seen a dinosaur in real life? S’pose you haven’t. That’s wayyyy before your time.” He attempted to make her laugh. “Technically, I’ve seen them, their bones at least. I used to go to science museums all the time before the outbreak. You’ve probably never been to one, have you?” He genuinely waited for an answer, to which she barely shook her head. “I know of one not too far from here. Maybe me and (Y/N) will take you one day if you’re up to it.” Joel got back up slowly and stretched his legs until his knees popped. He tipped his imaginary cowboy hat as a farewell and continued his search for you. 

Joel eventually found you in the backyard taking down laundry from the line. “Hi, darlin’.”

You put the clip back on the line and threw yourself into his arms. “Hey! I missed you.” Hearing you say that melted his heart.

“Missed you too. You know, I was thinking we should go campin’.”

“That’s random.” You laughed off his suggestion.

“Why? I reckon we can go hiking, fish, cozy up next to a fire, lay under the stars.”

“I don’t even know how to fish.”

“I’ll teach you.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I might be a bit rusty. I mean I haven’t gone fishing since I was a kid, but I’ll get back into the swing of things. But those other things, I know you like.”

“I mean I do, but we can do that here in Jackson.” You countered.

“Yeah, but it’ll be something different.”

“I don’t know, Joel. Ever since we settled here, we haven’t gone beyond the gates unless we had to.”

“C’mon now, don’t tell me you forgot about your birthday. The aquarium, remember?”

You glare at him knowingly. “How can I ever forget. But in my defense, I didn’t know we were going to leave the walls of Jackson. All you said was that it was a surprise and that was it. I just don’t want to run into any hunters or people from a hostile settlement.”

“I thought I was the worrisome one in this relationship.” Joel joked. “Listen, this ain’t our first rodeo. We’ve survived a lot out there and not for nothin’. People or clickers, we’re good at staying alive and even better at it when we’re together.” He placed his hands on your shoulders and rubbed them up and down your arms. “I promise we won’t go far. We’ll pick a patch of land along a recently cleared route. I trust you. You trust me?” You nodded. “Good! We’ll have fun! This is excitin’.”

“You know, I’ve never gone camping before.” You spoke up.

“Really? Not even an RV or cabin?”

You shook your head. “You know I love nature just as much as you, but I’m really just a city girl. I was used to seeing animals on tv or behind a barrier at the zoo. The wildest animal I’d ever seen before the outbreak was a raccoon. Maybe the occasional deer. The closest to hiking I ever did before was at a nature preserve park. It may all be outside, but damn, the actual woods are a whole other story.” He let out a light laugh. “Before the outbreak, I bought all my meat from the store and had a tendency to kill every plant I owned.”

“Well now look at ya, a natural country girl.”

You laughed. “I never chose this life. This life chose me.”

“It chose a lot of folks, but it suits you.”

“You don’t gotta butter me up anymore, I already agreed to go camping with you.” You said while giving him a sly smile.

“I mean it, it does.”

“Why do you wanna go camping anyway? I can see a hike for the afternoon, but everyday out there since the outbreak has felt like one big camping trip.”

“That wasn’t campin’. The difference is that campin’ is fun, you’ll see.” He tried to convince you.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” You said. He looked at you blankly. “Why though! We’ve been in Jackson for years now and you’ve never suggested it before.”

He shrugged. “Now just seems like a good time. Jackson’s in a good place. They won’t miss us for a day or two. Besides, we have some downtime coming up and I feel like I haven’t really gotten to spend time with you in awhile. I just want it to be you and me again for a minute.” He blushed at the last part.

You smiled at his defensive romantic side. “Kind of like a romantic weekend getaway?” You playfully wiggled your eyebrows.

He deepened the tone of his voice. “That’s exactly what it’s gonna be.”

“When should we go?”

“How’s the day after tomorrow sound?” He suggested.

“Sounds perfect.” You replied. The idea of camping was growing on you. The clothes line was now empty and the basket was full of folded linen. Joel followed you as you walked back inside to put them up. 

“Now, onto other business.” He began.

You looked back in confusion. “What else is there?”

“I don’t know if you recall, but I remember a certain someone promising another certain someone that she’d move in with that…certain some...the original someone…wait um...” Joel began stammering over his thoughts. “It’s you. That certain someone was you who promised that if I made you breakfast in bed, you’d live with me again; no more of this back and forth. And if you recall again, I did in fact make you that breakfast.”

“Pancakes and freshly squeezed orange juice? How could a girl forget? They were delicious by the way.”

“For bonus points, I do remember being right as well when I said there wasn’t gonna be any bloaters in that manor.” Joel added on. “So what do you say?” He asked, trying to hide his eagerness.

“Suppose you were right about that, so yeah sure.” You said.

He looked at you for a moment before looking down at his feet. “Don’t make it sound like you’re doing it because you lost a bet or somethin’. If you’re not ready, I have no intention of forcing you, but,” He lets out a sigh. “I guess I don’t understand why you wouldn't want to.”

“Joel, I didn’t mean to say it like that. I love you, you know that.”

“Sounds like a ‘but’ is coming on.”

“It’s just new to me is all. I know we’ve lived together once, but I’ve never had a serious relationship with anyone before you and I sure as hell never lived with a romantic partner before you. The outbreak happened right after I graduated college. I only ever lived with my parents and a couple of roommates. I know it sounds stupid, but I’ve never had my own place before where it was just me doing whatever I wanted, however I wanted, wherever I wanted. I love spending time with you, believe me I do, but there’s something about having your own space, you know. I hate the way in which I got here, me having my own place, but I’ve grown to like it. Does that make me selfish?” You genuinely asked.

He let out a deep sigh. “No, it doesn’t. But, you know It’d be your house too. It won’t be you moving into my house; it’d be you coming back to our house. If you’re comfortable here, I can move in with you or we can find a whole new house altogether.”

“I don’t know, Joel.” You replied.

“Just think about it alright, darlin?” He requested. He stuck his hands in his back pockets and paced the floor around the linen closet. The air fell silent, but he wasn’t done pleading his case. He just had to find the words. “You may account your life experiences, or lack thereof, to being young, but you probably never thought about the fact that I’ve never lived by myself before the outbreak either. I was a teen dad. I went from living with my dad and brother to living with my daughter and her mother. After she left us, it was just me and Sarah all the way up until that day. After me and Tommy fell out, I was on my own for the first time. I...uh...It wasn’t easy; none of it.” He shook his head before looking at you with tired, pleading eyes. “I’m tired of being alone, (Y/N).” He sniffled and then you saw the corner of his mouth twitch up. “I know I’m not much to look at in the morning, but I want nothing more than to wake up next to you everyday. That’s where I stand, (Y/N), but if that’s not where you are, that’s ok ‘cause you’re the only one I’d wait for. I just want you to want this too.”

“Joel, I never...I” You tried to begin. He was right, you never thought about the fact that he always had someone. When you first met him, you grew to know him as a withdrawn, independent man. “I want to wake up next to you too, but not just that. I want to spend the middle of my day and end of my day with you too in our house.” You stood on your tiptoes and rubbed the pad of your thumb against his wrinkles. 

He closed his eyes at your touch. “I need you to mean that.”

“I do.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too!” You smiled up at him.

“How much longer do you have here?” Joel inquired.

“I just have to finish folding the laundry.”

“Meet me at your place when you’re done. I’ll go and find some boxes.”

“Wait, what?”

“What better time than now? The rest of my day is clear and we still have a few more hours of daylight. What do you think, darlin’?” You playfully rolled your eyes at his eagerness, but seriously couldn’t think of a reason not to start today. 

[primroseprime2019]

The Little Girl and The Dinosaurs

On a dark cold December night, there was little four and a half American/Italian girl was coloring on a piece of paper in the carpet near the fire. She has dark brown hair and blue eyes, and slightly tan skin; she was wearing pink nightgown and a silver whistle attached to her neck. Her name was Valentina Rosalina Grady and she was waiting for her parents to come from work. Truth be told, this was no ordinary little girl. She was different from the rest of the kids in her neighborhood. She had unbelievable powers. Ever since she was born, strange things happened. Animals from shape and sizes would come near her and tried to make her smile or laugh. And when she was in the backyard, flowers and plants would grow. It was really strange but her parents accepted her gift but they had to keep it a secret. So her parents decided to keep her home schooled so the kids in her school won't be scared at her.

Speaking of her parents, they were really good people. Her dad was name Oscar Grady. He had light brown hair and adventurous blue eyes. He used to be a Navy soldier but he retired to become a collage history teacher. He loved to teach others to learn but during his free time, he would play with his baby girl and make her smile while teaching her how to do combat to control her powers and even though she was small, she was a fast learner. She was smart for a little girl but her curiosity got the better of her and she would get into a little trouble. Her mom was name Alma. She was a beautiful Italian woman. She has dark brown hair and warm brown eyes. She was a doctor and was very kind to her patients. Every man wanted to marry her but she chose Oscar because he was very funny and smart. Valentina loved her parents with all her heart and soul and would stay by their side no matter what. Well, except when she had to go to the bathroom.

Then a teenage girl with blond hair and chocolate brown eyes; She wore a red sweater, brown pants and cowboy boots. She was about the age of eighteen. She came out from the kitchen. "Val, it's almost past yer bed time." She said in a sweet western accent.

Val looked at her almost pleadingly, "Awww… but Abby, can I stay up fow five mowe minutes? Mommy and Daddy pwomise to wead me a bed time stowy."

Abby smiled at her, "Alright but remember yer ma and pa ain't gonna like it to see their little baby girl still awake and energetic."

Val smiled brightly, "Thanks Abby! You'we the best babysittew evew!"

Abby's real name was Abigail Starious. She lived down the block with her big brother, Joshua or Josh, close to Valentina's home. She and her brother moved from their family ranch to study in the big city to be doctors. Abby worked as a full time babysitter for Valentina also a waitress in a cafe and her brother Joshua worked as a mechanic, for cars. They knew about Valentina's power and would keep it a secret because they took a liking to her.

"Ah shucks, yer making me blush." Abby smiled then she noticed Valentina's drawing, "Watcha drawing there Val?"

Val showed Abby a red long neck animal with a crocked drawing of a tree. "It's a Ba-wo-sau-wus." She said trying to say the name correctly. It's correct name was Barosaurus.

"Is it a dinosaur?" Abby asked playfully, knowing the answer. Val loved dinosaurs so much that she had stuffed dinosaur toys in her bed room. She always dreamed of meeting one in Jurassic World but her parents were busy with their jobs so they didn't have time to go there. Not that she was complaining but Val understood her parents and would listen to them always.

"Uh-huh, they awe pwant eatews and they awe weally big!" Val said with a big and bright smile.

"Wow! I bet they can reach the tallest of all trees!" Abby said playfully.

Val nodded, "Yup! But they have to stand on theiw back wegs."

Abby smiled before going to kitchen to make some hot coco. Val went up to the sofa and looks at the window to wait for her parents. Val waited and waited and waited but her parents didn't come home yet. She fell asleep when the clock strikes nine. Abby became worried. Why didn't Mr. and Mrs. Grady come home yet? Abby pickd up Val and puts her to bed. She looked at her phone and sends an e-mail to Mr. Grady.

Mr. Grady, it's me Abby. I was wonderin' why ya aren't home yet with Mrs. Grady. If ya'll have an extra shift in yer work, I'll watch Val till tomorrow.

-Abby

Abby went to the couch and fell asleep as she waited for the text of Oscar. On the next day, Abby woke up and prepared breakfast. It was pancakes for breakfast. She heard little footsteps coming down the stairs. She turned and smiled to see Val holding her stuff honey colored raptor doll named Honey.

"Mornin' Val," Abby gave Val her breakfast. Val sat down and yawned before eating her breakfast. Abby opened the mini TV on top of the counter and let Val watch Disney Junior. Then the news appeared.

"I interrupt this program for this breaking new. Two married couples were killed on a car accident when a truck hit them last night. Police discovered the truck driver was drunk. The two married couples did not survive the crash."

Abby froze. 'Oh God! Please don't tell me!' She thought in fear.

"The married couples have IDs and their names are Oscar Grady and Alma Grady. The drunken driver was survived and his sentenced will be in soon after he recovers."

Abby's eyes widen in horror. She looks at Val and her heart broke at the sight. Val's eyes were wide as she broke down in tears. Abby comforted Val as she and Val would have to visit the police station to inform them about Mr. and Mrs. Grady having a four and a half year old daughter and retrieve their bodies to be buried. The funeral started early morning. It was cold and the snow fall down at them slowly. Val was wearing a black dress and shoes. She was in a graveyard with men and women that were friends with her parents. Abby was there by her side, wearing a black dress and her brother Josh, who had green eyes and blonde hair, was wearing a black clothes as well. Val placed a red rose on her mother and father's coffins as they were buried. Val put her picture in the middle, on her parents' grave, so they can see it in heaven above.

After she did she went to Abby and Josh and started crying, Abby and Josh comforted her. As the funeral was over everyone went home. Val was staying with Abby and Josh for a while until they can find any relatives that Val had. But the problem was that no one knew who was the closest family member.

Val was sitting on a couch, wearing her black dress. She has a red scarf that belongs to her mother; her whistle was buried in it, and her father's black beanie hat. She had dry tear stains on her face as she looked at a picture of her with her parents. Josh and Abby watched her with sympathetic looks.

"Is there any news 'bout her relatives?" Josh asked.

Abby shook her head, "Not yet, I'm still lookin'."

Josh sighed and he looked at Valentina sadly. Val wiped her tears away. "We can't just stand here and do nothin'." He looks at Abby, "We have to find her a family or at least part of her family. Do you remember if Mr. and Mrs. Grady havin' relatives?"

Abby tapped her chin with her index finger before snapping, "That's it! I remember seeing a picture of Mr. Grady with his brother. I think his name was Owen and he works at Jurassic World."

Josh smiled, "That's great! Do you know his number?"

Abby shook her head, "No but I bet Oscar has his number on his phone."

Josh nodded and the two went upstairs in Valentina's temporally room and went to her father's things and grabbed his cell phone before looking for Owen Grady.

"Let's see," Abby looked at the names inside the phone. "Here it is." Abby found the name Owen Grady and she calls him.

In the Isla of Nublar, a man with green eyes and light brown, hair wearing a blue shirt, with a black vest full of pockets, brown pants and shoes. He was in his bungalow fixing his motorbike. Then another man came. "Owen! Still enjoying your afternoon?" he asked with a strong African/French accent.

Owen wipes out a sweat from his forehead, "Yeah, taking a break from the girls, Barry." He throws his wrench in a toolbox.

Then Owen's cell phone rang. He picks it up to see a picture of a man with brown hair and blue eye. "Oscar? Huh, it's been long since I seen him."

"How long you haven't seen him?" Barry asked.

Owen counted his fingers, "I think about sixteen years."

Barry rolled his eyes at him as Owen answered his phone, "Hey Oscar! It's been long time since we spoke."

"Ah…howdy," Abby's voice answered, "Is this Owen Grady?"

"Yeah this is Owen and who are you and how the hell do you know my name and also how did you get my brother's phone?"

"I'm Abigail Starious." She answered, "I know yer brother because I and my brother, Joshua, lived down the blocks close to his house."

"Uh-huh, yeah and why are you calling in me using my brother's phone?" Owen asked.

"Didn't anyone tell you?" Abby asked.

"Tell me what?"

"Owen, your brother Oscar and his wife died in a car accident."

Owen froze, his phone was still in his ear and his mouth was hanging open and his eyes were wide as dinner plates, "When did this happen?"

"A week ago," Abby said, "Look, I know we just met but yer brother has a little four in a half little girl, who needs a family and yer the closest family she's got."

Owen didn't say anything. He and Oscar use to work at the Navy together until Oscar retired to be a history teacher in a university college and married an Italian woman name Alma. He and Oscar rarely talk due to the fact they were very busy in work but now his big brother was dead along with his wife and now his niece- one that he didn't know he had- was now an orphan.

"What's her name?" Owen asked, wanting know his niece's name.

"Her name is Valentina Rosalina." Abby said, "So are you going to take care of her? She's a very sweet girl and well behaves."

Owen thought about it. He is the only family left for his niece and he did took care of raptors, how hard can it be?, "Alright, I'll send her a ferry ticket next week to bring her here in the Isla Nublar."

Owen could hear Abby and Josh cheering happily, "Thank you! Josh and I are gonna get her a passport. She is goin' to be so happy!"

"Alright and thanks for the information." Owen said as he turned off his cell phone.

"What was that all about?" Barry asked.

Owen looked at him before saying, "Oscar and his wife Alma died in a car accident." Barry's eyes widen. "And I have a niece, that I didn't know I had, named Valentina Rosalina." Owen looked at Barry, "I'm the only family member she has left."

Barry's mouth was hanging open in shock, "Owen, you're going to raise a little girl that you barely know while working with Raptors?"

Owen shrugs, "Hey, I raised the girls and I'm still alive." He said, "How hard it is taking care of a little girl?"

Barry was about to answer but Owen quickly raised his right hand and said blankly, "don't say it."

Barry chuckled, "And how are you going to get a ferry ticket?"

"Easy, I'll asked Claire to give me and that doesn't work I could ask Simon Masrani." Owen looked at him, "But first can you help me buy the things that little girls like." Barry rolled his eyes but he decided to help because that little girl might not survive here. Barry and Owen went to the park to buy stuff for Val.

Meanwhile, Abby and Josh told Val everything. Val was shocked, happy, and worried. Shocked that she had an uncle that she didn't know she had, happy that she had an uncle and she wasn't alone and yet worried that her uncle might not like her. Abby helped Val pack her things like clothes, some toys, her Mandora Lute and her pink Ocarina. Val likes to play music. Her mom would teach her during her free time.

Josh bought Val a passport. They were lucky because Oscar used to work in the Navy. Owen was able to make Claire give him a ticket for Val after hearing the event and send it next week. After a few weeks, Josh was driving his car with Abby in the front seat. Valentina was wearing a red t-shirt with gray long sleeves, brown combat pant and orange shoes. She has mother's red scarf and her father's black beanie hat on. Her dark hair was tied into pigtails. As Josh parked the car, they went inside and saying their goodbyes to Val.

Abby was hugging little Val, "Bye sweet pea, I'm gonna miss you so much."

"I'll miss you too." Valentina said then she hugged Josh. "Bye, Josh."

Josh hugged her back before he let her go and he took out a small red box with a ribbon, "Yer Pa wanted to give ya this on yer birthday but since he can't I was wonderin' if ya wanted yer birthday gift a little early."

Val took the box and opened it to reveal a raptor claw fossil necklace. Val smiled and she put it own. She loved raptors as they were her favorite dinosaur. "Thanks Josh."

Josh smiled until the airport voice speaker's announce, "Ladies and Gentlemen the plane will leave in twenty minutes."

"Well, go on, ya don't wanna be late." Abby said with a smile.

"Yeah, yer gonna see many dinosaurs there." Josh then added, "And if somethin' cashes you...run." He whispered the last part, alarming Val.

"Josh!" Abby scolded.

Josh chuckled, "I'm just kiddin'. Jurassic World has tight security; ain't nothing gonna hurt ya."

Val nodded and went in line while she waved at Abby and Josh. Val sat near the window and put on her seat belt when the airplane took off. Val looked at the clouds in the sky. She took out the raptor necklace and held it tight. "Please, please, please, please like me." Val whispers before going to sleep.

[dwaynepride]

the unfortunate case of nonchalance

PART II - BIRDS OF A KIND

summary: while in town, jethro bumps into the endearing lady he met several days ago. and he finds it hard to tell her no.

words: 3,943

warnings: female reader

tags: @fairytale07 @jrenn10 @f4nboi @purplestarsr5 @ladyzombiielove @littlemiss3ma @minikate--24-05 @consultingdoctorwholock @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy @ms-allenbrown @ikbenplant @dylpickles1267 @diaryofafan17 @specialagentlokitty @pageofultron @stanathanxoox​ @kittenlittle24​

author’s note: part 2 of the cowboy!au series. this is a part of meg’s 11k challenge. the prompts are cowboy au and secret relationship trope.

PART I | PART III

February 22th, 1889

It finally feels as if we’re settling down, even just a bit. Nobody likes being this far East - I can see how on edge everyone is. But we’re safe here, for the time being. That’s what matters.

Anthony still hasn’t told me his grand money-making scheme. Says he won’t until he’s worked everything out, but that don’t make me feel any better. There was a time when such promises of a plan would’ve interested me. But now, it only leaves me with a sour gut feeling.

For now, I’ll wait and hope that man has enough sense in his skull not to get us all killed.

At least Doctor Mallard is rescuing me from sitting in camp - he wants to go into town for supplies, and asked if I would accompany him. He says he’ll need help bringing everything back, but I suspect he knows I’ve been idle for too long.

He thinks I’ve been distracted. Thinking about what we left behind in the West.

I’ll let him keeping thinking that.

-

Doctor Mallard brought only one sack to carry the supplies in. And Jethro’s holding that single sack, tucked against the crook of his arm. It only confirmed his suspicions that the older man felt Jethro was spending too much time in camp. As tedious as camp is, though, it’s preferable to walking through town.

A man bumped into Jethro’s shoulder. “Hey!” He snapped, but the man just kept walking without a single apology. And it made Jethro huff. “Rude bastard.”

“The youth today have scarcely any manners, Jethro,” Doctor Mallard muses. He didn’t seem all that bothered by the rude display.

Jethro just gives a small hum, head shaking as he hitches the sack up higher and glances around at the bustling street. People coming in going, paying little attention to two dirty cowboys who are merely making their way back to their horses. Their clothes are spotless, stylish, full of lace and pristine furs - Jethro’s never felt quite so different than he does now.

The sun comes down on them hard. The long brim of his hat keeps the light out of Jethro’s eyes, but the day is long and hot. He’s looking forward to riding out of the stifling town. Feeling the wind and returning to the camp, where everything seems more free. More normal.

They pass the bank. Jethro’s eyes are shielded by his hat; he doesn’t see the person coming out of the building. Barely cares, until he hears her voice say his name in a way he recognizes.

Well, it’s more like his body recognizes it. Because his feet stop, his head comes up, and his eyes peer out from under the shade.

“Mr. Gibbs,” you repeat. Slower, this time. But still high-pitched; obviously pleased to see him away, and Jethro honestly cannot tell if he feels the same. He enjoyed your company, sure. Enjoyed talking to you. Found you amusing and endearing and interesting, all that once.

On the other hand, Doctor Mallard was right there...

“Is this your friend?”

You’re looking to the doctor now, stepping closer and holding out a hand, which he obviously takes. Jethro has to swallow before nodding his head. “This is Donald Mallard. He’s a very good friend of mine,” he answers. And the older doctor may be able to fool strangers, but Jethro was no such fool. When he introduced Mallard to the girl, he gave Jethro a look. So nonchalant - barely there - but he knew its meaning:

She’s quite pretty, isn’t she?

Jethro looked away so his face wouldn’t answer.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Doctor.”

“Believe me, dear. The pleasure is mine.”

“Well, we must be leaving,” Jethro cuts in quickly. You look at him, surprised. But he keeps his eyes away as he puts on hand on Doctor Mallard’s shoulder, trying to steer him away. “Our friends need these supplies...”

“Oh, that’s alright! I was just on my way home, anyway!” You call out after them. And Jethro can’t help feeling relieved. He can only imagine how Doctor Mallard will tease him about this back at camp. Meeting and befriending a pretty lady without mentioning it - scandalous stuff.

But the Doctor stops, and for an old man, his feet are rooted to the ground quite firmly. Despite Jethro’s shoves, he turns back to the woman still standing before the bank. “Jethro, what kind of gentleman are you?” He asks in a scolding voice. “You’re not going to offer to take this nice lady home?”

Jethro sighs, his fingers tight on Doctor Mallard’s shoulder but lets his hand drop away. He knows what the older man is playing at, but he’s also right.

“That’s not necessary,” you pipe up. When Jethro looks over, you’re smiling shyly. Obviously trying to wave off the offer.

And yet, Jethro hands the sack over to Doctor Mallard, who takes it gleefully. “No, it’d be my pleasure,” Jethro says. And he hopes you don’t catch rueful tone of his voice.

“Our horses are hitched right over here, dear.” You and Jethro follow Doctor Mallard in silence. He’s ranting off about the price of canned goods in this town; how they’re impossibly high compared to other towns. Jethro barely listens. He’s focused too much on you - how you’re walking next to him, movements so elegant, it’s alien to a rough cowboy like him. His own spurs clinked against the gravel road, footfalls heavy. A startling contradiction.

Jethro waits silently as the doctor pulls himself onto his old nag. And once he’s settled, Jethro dips his head to him. “Safe ride,” he says simply.

“And you, as well,” Doctor Mallard replies. And there’s a certain edge in his voice, almost teasing without being blatant about it. But Jethro heard the mischief in his voice - it made him scowl and turn to his own horse.

You’re waiting patiently, wearing a soft smile, and he realizes why the good doctor had told him to ride safe.

“You live far?” Jethro asks while pulling himself up. Once he’s in the saddle, he reaches down for your hand. And when you take it, his eyes avert away. The contact was so small and simple but the soft skin of your hand and the light grip you have, it affects him. And he hopes the wide brim of his hat is enough to hide his face as Jethro pulls you up to sit behind him.

“Not very. On the edge of town - it’s the big white house. Just head down the main street-”

“Oh, I’ve seen it,” Jethro cuts in. He pulls the reins and starts heading down the main road. “Big house like that, it’s kinda hard to miss.”

There’s a light laugh from you. Jethro’s grateful his back is turned, face hidden. “Almost too big, in fact. There’s a lot of empty rooms. Sometimes it feels almost....lonely,” you reply.

Feeling lonely in a big ol’ house, that’s not a feeling Jethro was too familiar with. Then again, he knows he owns his own brand of loneliness. The type that lingers, even when he’s surrounded by people. Especially in this town, when the strangers are even more strange to him than usual.

He doesn’t feel that loneliness right now, though.

Jethro clears his throat, head turning a bit to see you in his periphery before looking forward again. “So, what were you doing in that bank?” He asks nonchalantly. Though, he scolds himself; the question was both mundane and prying.

But you didn’t seem bothered, remarkably. “Visiting my father and his associate,” you answer quickly. “He says I should become familiar with how the business is run, since I may be involved running it, one day.”

He hums low while pulling the reins, turning his horse in the direction of your big white house. “Sounds like your father’s got your life all figured out,” Jethro says.

You’re quiet for a moment, and Jethro’s worried that perhaps he’s offended your father. Or worst yet, offended you. “Oh, it’s not like that,” you tell him. “I’m happy to learn. And he’s right, after all.”

Still, Jethro disagrees. But he doesn’t say anything, this time. Doesn’t want to run the risk of angering you. Or give you a reason to stop seeing him in a good light. And Jethro’s well aware that such a thing will happen eventually; just not right now.

There’s a bit of rough terrain on the road. Lots of mud from when it rained the night before, and it has the horse’s hooves sliding. It lets out a little whine, and Jethro pulls on its reins to keep it balanced. But the sudden jolting around must’ve spooked you - your arms are suddenly around his midsection. Holding on tight, afraid to fall. A normal reaction, of course.

But it shocks Jethro. His hands grip the reins even harder, and he’s grateful for the muddy road. Because you can’t feel the way his lungs suck in a deep breath.

What a humiliating response, Jethro chides himself. It’s as if he’s some dumb young man getting squirrelly when a woman touches him. And yet, that’s how he’s feeling. With your arms around his midsection, your front against his back, Jethro can’t think of any words to use to continue the conversation.

He rolls his eyes at himself.

It feels like an eternity to reach your home, riding in silence. But Jethro stops by the end of the fence, lifting his eyes to get a good look at the impressive white house. He imagines it must be even more beautiful inside, and quickly decides it fits you just fine.

“Thank you for the ride home, Mr. Gibbs.”

Your voice draws his attention away from the house. Jethro immediately dips his head, and his hand comes out to help you down from the back of his horse. “Wasn’t a problem,” he replies simply. Once down, your hands run down the length of your dress, straightening it back out.

He’s gotta go.

“Well, you have a good day, miss,” Jethro says. And with another nod of his head, he steers his horse away from the magnificent homestead. He’ll just ride back to camp and lock himself away in his tent for the rest of the day...

“Mr. Gibbs, hold on a moment.”

Despite himself, Jethro stops his horse. Sighs, and turns to look at you. “Yeah?”

You’re nervous, he can tell. Not on your face, but in your hands. How they wring together and keeping running down the fabric of your dress. “Would you like to join me for a drink in the saloon tonight?” You ask.

A drink? Jethro doesn’t know how to respond. He knows his answer should be no. He should make up an excuse for not being able to join you tonight, or any other night. Instead, he says nothing. Just stares.

Still nervous, you continue. “Or perhaps not tonight, if you’re otherwise engaged. I would just like to thank you for bringing me home when you didn’t need to.”

Jethro’s hands are in his lap, absently fiddling with the old leather reins. “A lady like yourself enjoys the company in a saloon?” He asks, tone conveying a teasing disbelief.

Just say no, you old bastard...

Finally, you smile. Jethro doubts he’ll be able to go through with his plans.

“You forget my father, sir.” Your hands come behind your back; more relaxed than you outta be, around him. “No man dares to lay a hand on me, if he knows what’s good for him. Not without my consent, that is.” You add on that last part with haste, and Jethro doesn’t miss it.

In spite of himself, he smiles and shakes his head. Disbelieving that you’re so able to change his mind in a snap, but somehow, not adverse to it. “I think I’ll let you buy me that drink, ma’am. I will meet you there tonight.”

Looking pleased, you dip your head to him and turn to walk up to the house. Jethro watches, just for a few moments. Once the breeze picks up and starts billowing your dress, that’s when he turns and rides toward camp. And he doesn’t see when you look back to him.

The ride back to camp was slower than usual. It gave Jethro a few peaceful moments to think things over. It was just a simple drink, he told himself. A thank you from a nice lady because he rode her home. Not all the women in this town are so snooty and uptight, he reminds himself. A couple glasses of the finest bourbon they have (Jethro’s confident you can afford it), and he’ll be gone.

He’s still in his own head when Jethro comes back into camp. Everyone seems to be doing their own thing; too preoccupied to bother with him. Abigail and Eleanor doing chores. Doctor Mallard going through his medicinal stores. Tim seems to be scolding Jimmy for getting the fishing line in knots again.

Jethro ducks into his tent, going straight for his clothing chest. Surely he has something decent to wear. It won’t be anywhere close to the level of prestige he’s sure you’re used to, but it’ll have to do.

He opens the chest, and instantly spots a pure white cotton shirt. That outta suffice.

“Hey, Boss!”

Instantly, Jethro closes the chest and straightens up when Anthony comes in.

He’s wearing that troubling grin again. Jethro’s mood instantly drops a little; he has a hunch of what the younger man is here for. “What do you want?”

Anthony isn’t turned off from Jethro’s icy question. In fact, it prompts him to step closer. The excitement is nearly palpable from the Italian, and it’s slightly worrying. Anthony’s not-exactly-legal idea to get some cash was something he hadn’t divulge that day in town. He said he wanted to work out a plan first. Wanted to make sure it was full proof.

Evidently, he’s worked it out.

“My plan to get us some money,” Anthony starts off. His grin turns into a proud smile, and he’s standing straight. Jethro’s stomach is suddenly a little tight. “The big bank in town. It’s sure to have a lot of money and valuables in it - you know these rich folk would keep their money in a vault. Tim and Jimmy said they’d come along as extra guns. Even Ellie is going to provide a distraction. I’ve worked it out, and it can’t go wrong. Especially if you’re there with us.”

Perhaps in the past, and Jethro was a little more reckless, he’d agree to the plan. And for what it’s worth, it seemed pretty solid. Anthony’s annoying, but he’s competent. A born thief and this is just flexing his muscles.

But Jethro remembers just this afternoon when you came out of the bank - how much time you must spend in there. Knows that you think him a good man, for whatever reason that he can’t understand.

“No,” he says. And instantly, Anthony’s face falls. Jethro’s head shakes as he takes a step closer to the younger man. “Our plan was to lie low. To not get into trouble while we’re here. Our life is out west, don’t you remember that? A bank robbery would ruin all that.”

“We’re wearing masks. Nobody would know-”

“You have my answer, Anthony,” Jethro snaps out. “I suggest you go tell the others that your plan is off. We’ll find other ways to get money.”

Anthony’s silent. Doesn’t move for a few tense moments, and Jethro wonders if he’ll continue to fight for his plan. But eventually, he huffs and stomps out of the tent. Jethro watches him go, and he hopes he rejected the plan for the right reasons.

-

The music could be heard from outside the saloon. Music, and the rowdy noises of dozens of people inside. Every one of them drunk and that’s what gets Jethro wary. Drunk people are often very stupid.

Still, he knows you’re inside. Waiting to buy him a glass of bourbon, and Jethro’s not known for keeping a lady waiting.

He pushes through the door, and instantly gets more than a few sets of eyes cast on him. And by now, he’s used to it. Being in this town, looking how he looks, he’s accustomed to side glances as these rich people size him up and decide he’s likely lower than dirt.

But while they’re looking at him, Jethro instantly finds you. He notices you’re wearing a finer dress than you were earlier, and new sets of jewelry twinkle in the saloon lights. Jethro’s not really a religious man, but he reckons this is about as close as angels can look. Both ethereal and warm.

His good mood is halted, however, when his eyes finally drift away from you. There’s a man beside you, leaning against the bar on one arm but facing you and judging from the look you’re wearing, this man isn’t wanted. The look, Jethro notes, is more-so the lack of an expression. Because he’s known you to be smiley and friendly with those you like.

There’s not any smile gracing your lips.

The man touches your arm. Not aggressively, granted. A brush of his fingers. But Jethro recalls your words earlier, and his feet are instantly moving. Thudding hard against the wood to bring himself to you.

And you see him approach first. Your eyes lighten up, but there’s still no smile.

So Jethro stops beside the man. His clothes are expensive, and his hair (if it weren’t so messy) is expertly cut. He can dress like a gentleman all he wants, but Jethro knows better. “Leave the lady alone, alright? She don’t want your company.”

The drunken man looks to him, only just realizing his presence. And then he pushes off the bar, standing at full height, but Jethro keeps his eyes steady on his. “Excuse me, sir? Don’t believe you were invited in on this conversation,” the man rolls out. His words are slurred and his breath reeks of liquor. Jethro can’t help but wrinkle his nose.

“You ain’t excused,” he replies steely cold. “Go stink up some other poor bastard’s saloon.”

It seems the man is finally catching on that Jethro was antagonizing him. His red eyes narrow, shoulders squaring. Jethro’s hands curl into fists, even after he feels your hand on his arm. A light squeeze, almost desperate. “Let’s just leave him, Mr. Gibbs. It ain’t worth-”

“I’ll show you who’s excused!”

The punch he throws is sloppy. Uncoordinated. Jethro should’ve been able to dodge it. But your hand had been on his arm. He was distracted.

The fist connected with his face, just below his eye - a solid hit, despite a poor swing. Pain exploded against Jethro’s face, and it’s nearly enough to knock him to the floor. But his hands hit the wood first, and he stumbles back up to his feet; Jethro’s not about to let some drunken idiot get on top.

He whirls around, fists up, ready to strike. In the background, he notices the music stop. People are cheering. But Jethro’s attention is only on the man advancing on him, arm cranking back for another punch.

But this time, Jethro’s ready. He dodged the punch easily, even feeling the wind of it brush past his face. And in the next second, his own fist connects with the man’s jaw. A more solid punch than he was given. More power behind it. More pain delivered.

It sent him crumbling to the ground, hitting the wood floor with a solid thump and made the bar patrons all gasp in shock. A few of the drunker, more rowdy ones even cheered. Jethro kept his eyes on the man, now out cold but silently hoping he’d get back up. To give him another reason to deliver another hard punch.

There’s a hand on his arm again. The same soft, lightly gripping touch that Jethro was so quickly becoming familiar with. His head swung around, instantly catching your eyes. They were wide and worried; a bit frightened, but he couldn’t tell why you’d be afraid. He’d just taken care of the problem. “Let’s go, Mr. Gibbs. You should get that cut cleaned up.”

Cut? What cut?

It was then when Jethro remembering the throbbing ache of his cheekbone. And rest assured, when he raised a hand to touch it, his fingers came away red.

You started pulling him away toward the back of the bar before the bartender called out. “Hold on, little lady! Your man just caused a fight - the law’ll want to speak with him!”

With a huff, you turn back around. Jethro wasn’t aware you could look so mean, but the look on your face was nearly enough to make him go running for the hills. “I know you saw that big oaf swing the first punch. If anything, my man was only defending himself - and me! You wanna bother the law about something like this?”

Jethro watches the bartender grapple with his words before sighing and turning away back to his work. That’s when you continued pulling him along to one of the back rooms, grumbling about the no-good idiots in this place, but Jethro was only really focused on how you called him your man.

That drunken bastard must’ve hit him worse than he realized.

He’s silent as he watches you move to the washing basin, soaking a piece of cloth in the water. “Sit on the bed, please,” you tell him. A polite request spoken in a snipped voice, so Jethro doesn’t think twice to obey. And just as he sits, you’re approaching him.

“That was a very stupid thing you did,” you remark sternly. The cloth is cool, at least. It soothes the quickly-swelling bruise. But still, he’s bleeding. Jethro can’t help but wince when you have to rub harder.

You scoff at his wincing, not seeming to care. “I swear, you’re just as much a ruffian as any cowboy I’ve ever met. Are you in the habit of getting into fights over something so trivial?”

Getting into fights? Sure, he’s used to it. But Jethro wouldn’t call defending you to be trivial. Quite the opposite, in fact.

He doesn’t say so. He’s too focused on how gentle you are in cleaning him up. Perhaps gentle in a way he doesn’t deserve - you’re right, he is a no-good bar-fighting ruffian. It’s difficult to understand why you’re this gentle with him.

So Jethro watches your face, screwed up with tight brows and a flat frown. And he can’t help his own lips from quirking up. “Are you busy tomorrow?” He asks.

You stop, and your eyes flicker to meet his. Jethro could’ve sworn he’d seen your face flush. “Don’t change the subject, Mr. Gibbs.”

“I’m not attempting to,” he replies quickly. “In fact, I’m trying to stop something like this from happening again.”

You’re confused. Looking skeptical, but your head shakes slowly. “I’m having brunch with my mother tomorrow at noon. But after that, I’m available. Why do you ask?”

The quirk in his lips grows into a small smile. “Good. Meet me behind the old church on the south side of town after your brunch.”

A small sigh comes from your lungs as your hands fall away from his face. The blood must be cleaned up, but Jethro can’t even feel the throb of his swollen cheek. “Can I ask what for?” You prod on.

“I’m gonna teach you how to shoot a man who can’t keep his hands to himself.”

[sexvimpulse]

River: [Rolls his eyes as he hears her conversation with Rayland, clenching his jaw as he’s been trying to avoid her since their first fuck] I really got a lot of shit to shovel, Jefe. [Shrugs his shoulder] Why not ask Dallas? He’s always happy to do it. [Sticks his tongue in his cheek as she insists]

Veronica: [Pouts at her older cousin as asks for his permission before smiling to herself once he tries to get River to give in. She eyes him heatedly as he looks even more rugged and disheveled from the night they fucked] Because Dallas doesn’t have a lot of experience. I want someone who knows how to ride. [Speaks lowly before giving Rayland and innocent look] Gracias, Primo! [Beams as she gives Rayland a kiss on the cheek] I’ll meet you at the stables, River. I just need to change. [Goes to her bedroom as changes into the chaps that she bought that shows off her thick mounds and a crop top] Hola, vaquero. [Smiles sinfully as she walks up to him, finally having him to herself] Happy to see me?

River: [Hollows his cheeks as he reluctantly agrees to it. He prepares the horses and feeds them, waiting for her to show up at the stable] What are going wearing? [His cheeks are red with irritation as she is already tempting him]

Veronica: [Runs her fingers through her hair as she catches the angered look in his eyes] Por que? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? [Feigns a pout as she looks down her tight body before looking over at her thick ass] Are we taking two horses or just one? [Smiles mischievously as she goes up to the dark one and pets it] I brought beers and some food, Papi. [Bites her lower as moves closer to him, away from view] You look upset. /Didn’t you miss your little girl?/

River: I thought you wanted to learn to ride horses? [Grits his teeth as she’s so frustrating to him as he tries to keep his eyes off of her body. He glances at the food she packed, not having eaten all day] A quick ride. [Grumbles as he takes her and hoists her up on the horse. He holds onto a lead as he rides beside her] Whoa whoa.. [Calms the horses as they ride down the path]

Veronica: Mmm. Muy bien. [Coos with excitement as he gives in. She bites her lip as he helps her mount the horse before pouting as he takes his own horse] Is this going to make me sore, Papi? [Tilts her head at him, her breasts bouncing as the animal begins to move] I was so sore the night that you fucked me.. [Practically moans the words out as her body aches from the memory] Do you remember how hard you were fucking my little pussy? [Asks teasingly, saying whatever she wants since no one is there to stop her or hear them] I wish you’d fuck me like that again pero you want to be a good cowboy. [Pouts as she squeezes her thighs to make the horse move slightly ahead of his, knowing he’s getting a full view of her thick ass]

River: [Shifts his jaw as he tries to focus on the path. His heart races as he hears her growling] Stop! [Yells at her because he’s becoming frustrated both sexually and in general. He’s quiet as they make it to a private clearing. He lays down a blanket and ties the horses to a tree] What did you bring? [Cracks open a beer from her cooler and takes a gulp]

Veronica: [His guttural voice echoes off into the distance as he yells at her—and instead of appearing wounded she smiles to herself, knowing she has cracked through his tough exterior] It’s beautiful here. [Takes in their surroundings before he ties up her horse] Help me down, Papi? [Gazes down at him as she moves her leg over the horse and slides down against his body before pulling away] Mexican rice y carne asada. I made it for you. [Bends over in front of him as she pulls out the plates and food before laying it out on the blanket] Hmm.. you look different today, Papi.. Frustrated.. [Saunters to him as she stands between his legs and takes swig from his beer]

River: [Helps her down and gazes at her with his bright eyes as he tries to dim his attraction] Ha. I don’t believe you made this. [Teases her, but is surprised as he eats it] Mm.. reminds me of home. [Murmurs as he looks up at her] Hey. [Pouts as she takes his beer away, careful not to be too playful with her] This is very good. [Comments as he’s grateful for the meal— having skipped breakfast to do ranch duties]

Veronica: [Pouts as he doesn’t believe she prepared the meal for him] ¿Por que no? I may be spoiled pero I have many skills, Papi. You already know a few of them. [Smiles mischievously before watching him eat. She feels warm inside as his features appear softer for once] Are you lying? [Raises a brow until he takes another bite before leaning over to wipe his lips, naturally doing it] Mmm.. Mi abuela taught me the recipe before I left. [Coos before eating some food from her plate] Your little girl did a good job, didn’t she? [Brings the rim of the beer to her lips as she gives him a dark look] You really do look so tense, Papi.. [Trails off as she sets her plate aside and rubs his inner thighs before pulling away. She knows exactly what she’s doing as she relaxes on the blanket, arching her lower back as she’s directly in front of him] Is mi primo giving you too much work? [Pouts as she moves onto her stomach, giving him a full view of her curvy thick ass while propping up her elbow and resting her head on her hand] Or are you stressed because you want to fuck me but won’t let yourself do it?

River: No, it’s good. [Murmurs, surprised at her tenderness] Veronica.. [Watches her display herself for him like an animal enjoying the sun. He growls under his breath, taking a sip of beer and wiping his lip. He takes off his hat and places it beside him] You.. are so fucking annoying. [Growls as he takes off his jacket and glares hard at her. He moves quickly, mounting the back of her legs as he draws his hunting knife from its sheath and cuts at her shorts and panties, exposing her sex to him] You’re so desperate for this cock. [Tears up the fabric even more] I’m going to rape that little Mexican pussy and teach you a lesson. [Pushes down his jeans and forces himself inside her— not knowing how wet she was going to be] Ugh! [Covers the knife back up but holds it by it’s sheath as he slowly pushes the handle into her tight ass while he fucks her] Scream. No one is going to hear you get raped out here. [Smiles as he rams into her, the knife bouncing as it stays in her ass] I’m going fuck you until it hurts.. all of you.. is that what you fucking want? [Laughs darkly, watching his thick cock tear in and out between her swollen pussy lips] Mm.. tell Papi you’re his little raped Mexican whore?

Veronica: [Watches him carefully as his expression gives nothing away to her words and teasing, almost about to give up on him] You’re only annoyed because it’s the truth, Papi. [Nearly gets up as she feels a bit wounded from being called annoying but he moves before she realizes] /What are you doing..?/ [Furrows her brows as he gets on top of her, her already wet pussy becomes even more soaked until she looks back and sees such a savage look in his eyes while he plucks out a knife] River, stop.. [Her chest heaves as she lets out a gasp as the knife cuts into the fabric] River! [Parts her lips as she’s so shocked by his actions that she can’t process what he’s doing. She tries to push him back but his weight keeps her down as she feels her tanned flesh exposed, knowing he can see how sopping wet she is for him] River, what do you me—Unghhh! [Her swollen pink pussy tears up as he shoves his thick cock inside without warning, making her moan and melt as she lifts her thick ass to make him go deeper. Her muscles coil and tighten, cunt swelling until it’s so plump that he can hardly fit inside again] Papi, no lessons.. just fuck me. [Grinds into him, her eyes closed as she relishes in the second of pleasure until something hard and foreign moves to her tight asshole] Papi..? [Looks over before panic runs through her body as she sees the knife handle. She tenses up so much that it’s a struggle for it to enter before crying out deeply, a genuine sound as it pushes inside of her] River, no mas! Por favor! [Grips the blanket while attempting to push him off—tears stinging her eyes as her insides feel too full to handle his thick cock and the handle. Looking back at him pleadingly, she trembles at his threatening tone] No, no.. Papi.. Mngh! It hurts! [Screams out in vain as she’s tossed between pain and pleasure once he increases his thrusts. She clenches her pussy, still so desperate for his cock but when she does it it makes her feel more of the handle, causing more cries out of her] River, por favor.. I’ll be good! [Lifts her ass up, hearing how she becomes wetter with his thrusts while her tight ass stretches and takes the handle deeper] Dios mio.. I.. I’m his raped Mexican whore.. [Whimpers against the blanket as he violates her cunt and ass, unable to control how wet she is or how she pushes back for more of him and the pain he brings] No more raping me.. Papi, take it out.. [Places her hand on the handle as if to take it out, screaming even louder as she feels like a desperately helpless little slut and ends up trying to cover her cunt] Por favor.. don’t rape your little Mexican whore.. you’re hurting her..

River: [Bites his lip as he forces the knife handle slowly into her tight ass, loving the sounds that escape her] I thought you wanted me to hurt you..? [Smiles darkly as he holds her hips and forces her back down as he pounds into her, shoving the handle deeper] Si, baby.. yes you are. [Rubs her smooth and round ass before slapping it hard, watching the knife bounce] I’ll rape you however I want. [Spits on their sexes and he spreads her legs wide so her pussy lips are spread] Mm.. I’m going to rape you until you take my cum in every hole. [Growls as he forces her head down and drives the handle even deeper, pumping it in and out as he pounds into her sopping pussy]

Veronica: Aghh! Papi! [Whines as he smacks her thick mounds, crying out harshly as her body squirms—her sensitivity is so heightened that her holes clenches in response. She can feel his rigid girth pulsing inside of her while the solid handle stretches out her little asshole. Despite the pain, her cries, and sudden fear of him she becomes wetter with every thrust and every pull—knowing that he wants her as primitively as she wants him] ¡Papi, no mas! It’s too much for me! [Tears run down her cheeks as he pushes her legs apart, feeling the cool air on her exposed swollen pussy while her tighter walls struggles to keep the handle inside of her] Ughhh.. Papi, you’re scaring me.. [Thrashes beneath him as the handle starts to move inside of her ass, features appearing so tormented and lustful, loving how primal he’s being. She can barely breath as she throws her head back, finally submitting herself to the violent assault as she’s forced to take his cock and have her ass abused at the same time] Papi, rape your whore.. do whatever you want to me.. [Screams through gritted teeth as she watches him relentlessly pounding into her sex. Her body starts to shake as it all becomes overwhelming] Dios mio..! [Pushes her mounds into his hips, bouncing up and down on his dick as he drives the object deep that she already feels sore. She fucks him back, giving him what he wants until squirting violently all over his dick] River.. River, por favor! [Moans his name as it’s all she can say as her cunt squeezes him tightly while juices heavily seep out of her cunt, spasming beneath him as she claws at the blanket to try to move away from the all-consuming sensation]

River: [Smiles darkly as she breaks, loving how submissive she is as he dominates her for his own amusement] Oh fuck.. I love when that Mexican pussy squirts for me. [Laughs darkly as he watches her trying to crawl away] Nah uh. I’m not done with you yet. [Speaks in a low growl as he pulls out of her and removes the handle, leaving her asshole spread for him] I want you to bleed for Papi. [The look on his face is wild as he shoves his slick cock into her asshole and crushes her body beneath his weight] Mngh.. I’m going to fill your raped little asshole with my cum. [Coos into her ear as he grips her face] Tell me who owns your little whore body? [Asks as he thrusts violently into her asshole, licking the tears from her face]

Veronica: [More of her slick heat squirts out of her as soon as he leaves the walls of her cunt, pulsating in violent waves before she winces as he takes the handle out of her rawed asshole] Papi, wait.. Por favor, I can’t take it right away.. [Pleads before seeing that deranged look in his eyes as he drags her back to him. Tears fill her eyes as his devilish words ring in her ears. She quickly tries to cover her violated little asshole until his thick cock pushes deep inside of her, drawing out cries from her swollen lips] Riv.. River, dios mio! [Closes her thighs together as her body convulses beneath him, her ass lifting into his hips as his girth manages to cause more discomfort] No.. Por favor, don’t rape me like this.. [Writhes as his weight keeps her pinned down and helpless to his ruthless thrusts. She hears him pounding into her flesh, each movement causes more moans and screams out of her mouth—but she welcomes the pain he brings as she squeezes her walls around him] Papi, you’re scaring me.. [Whimpers against his mouth, shivering as he licks her tears and bucks her full mounds into him. She sticks her tongue out, catching his lips as she craves his taste before biting hard on his lip] You do..! Tuyo, Papi! [Reaches over and grips his hair he crushes her on the ground. She loves the feel of his muscles against her, loves how he abuses and causes so much pain as she knows it brings him pleasure] /You own my whore body.. It’s yours to cum in.. to hurt../ [Cries out her words as his cock hits deep inside of her core—making her feel tight and ruined, almost as if she’s bleeding from how sore she is] I’m just your whore.. Your little Mexican whore.. [Throws her head back against his shoulder as she succumbs to it, juices and a hint of blood seeping between her legs as she stops fighting against him]

River: [Loves the way she grips at his hair and he groans from her submissive words] Mngh.. yes baby.. that’s what I want to fucking hear.. [Growls before he can’t hold it off anymore and fills her ass with his cum. He pulls out, seeing it tinted pink from her blood] Mngh.. [Spits on her ruined ass and pussy before rolling to his side and pulling her weak to him] Fuck. [His chest rises and falls as he hasn’t fucked anyone like that in a long time] You.. okay? [Stares at her]

Veronica: /Rape your little Mexican whore.. cum in her../ [Pushes her ass higher as his flesh pounds into hers. Her tight sex constricts around him before her back arches as a thick pool of his warm cum spreads inside of her. Desperately, she bounces to steal every drop out of him despite how raw she feels] Ughhh! [Cries out as the emptiness makes her whimper before quivering as he degrades her further with his spit. Her thick thighs are shaking as her body is too sensitive and worn out to handle much more. She can’t think or speak as he takes her next to him—cum and her wetness oozes out of her asshole and pussy. Biting her lip, she sees his cock glistening with light pink, knowing that he tore her up] Si.. [Closes her eyes, catching her breath as she kisses his chest while her body throbs from the pain and pleasure—feeling as if she’s been fucked for the first time] You didn’t fuck me like that before.. [Gazes at his features, seeing how dark he is yet it’s all the more alluring to her]

River: [Examines her face and wipes her tears from her cheeks] I told you not to push me.. [Chews on the inside of his cheek] Do you regret it..?

Veronica: And I told you that I never listen.. [Covers up with the edge of the blanket before kissing the pads of his fingers as he makes a rare show of affection] No. [Whispers lowly as her features are lustful even though she feared him, loving every ache and sore on her body] /I love how dark you are../ [Admits to him before rubbing the little cut she made on his bottom lip] I want to see that part of you again..

River: [Kisses her deeply] You’re crazy. I thought for sure you’d tell your cousin and have me killed. [Stares at her] I want to shove my cock in you every day. [Grips her face] I don’t want anyone else to fuck you.

Veronica: [Grips his long hair as he presses his lips to hers, sucking on his lower lip and tasting a hint of blood before giving him such a submissive look] You’re the crazy one.. [Teases lowly as her muscles still feel as if the handle is inside of her. Whimpering as he grips her face, she stares into his piercing eyes, fearing and wanting him all at once] Si, Papi.. You can take your whore whenever you want.. [Speaks submissively as she kisses him before moving closer] Hmm.. or else what?

River: [Rolls atop her sore little body and smiles down at her] I will gut whoever you fuck next. [Grips her face] Comprendes?

Veronica: Mngh! [Whimpers as he handles her so roughly, the weight makes her feel more pressure on her thick mounds—causing her to feel discomfort from being fucked raw] Papi.. [Melts for that twisted smile of his before biting her lip as his rough hand holds her face] Si, entiendo. [Nods as she tries to catch his lips for a kiss before running her hands down his body as she grabs the knife] Is this what you used on me? [Eyes him as it’s as thick as it felt inside of her] You hurt me so much, Papi..

River: Yes.. [Smiles as he watches her with it] It’s also what I’m going to use to kill whoever tries to fuck you. [Pulls down her shirt and sucks at her tits] You’re mine now.

Veronica: [Seeing his devilish smile makes her cunt glisten before she hears his threat, wondering if a part of him is serious] Solo tuyo, Papi.. [Purrs as she finally has what she has desperately wanted—him. Watching him as he devours her full breasts, she pulls his hair and arches her back to feed herself to him] Don’t you think I should clean it? [Places the knife between her breasts, the handle directed towards her mouth as she parts her lips—acting on her devotion and submission]

River: Good.. [Feels possessive of his new plaything— surprised that he hasn’t scared her off] Hm..? [Tilts his head as he watches her but his bright eyes darken] Sucia. [Hisses but he takes the knife and moves it between her lips, watching her mouth] Clean it. [Bites his lip to keep his smile from growing as his eyes practically gleam]

Veronica: [Shivers as he speaks in her native tongue before pushing her tongue out as she welcomed the handle into her mouth] Si, Papi. Anything for you. [Gazes into his eyes as she obeys his command, seeing the pleasure in it as she rolls her skilled tongue all over the handle. She sucks on it passionately, tasting herself as her cheeks hollow while gently bobbing her head to show her eagerness] Was I good whore for taking it up my ass, Papi? And now.. in my mouth? [Kisses the handle as she speaks her filthy words while playing with her breasts]

River: [Holds the sheathed blade as she sucks off the handle. His dick throbs again as he watches her] God.. you’re a filthy little slut.. [Pulls the handle out of her mouth and mounts her again, forcing her legs apart as he forces his cock inside her rawed cunt] God.. [pins her hands above her head as he pounds into her]

Veronica: [The submissive act makes her damp between the legs, seeing his eyes darken as she puts on a show for him] Si, and I’m your filthy little slut. [Lines of spit fall from her lips as he takes the handle out of her mouth. She groans as her legs are spread out, leaving her pussy open for him again] Papi, I’m not ready.. Mnghhh! [Thighs quiver and wrap around him as her sore pussy stretches to his hard cock again. Hands on his shoulders to ease him up from thrusting so hard, she gasps as he holds her down] Dios! You can’t get enough of raping this pussy can you? [Full tits shake as fucks her back into submission, tearing and spreading her out for him. Even with his cock diving in and out of her cunt, her tight ass is still so sensitive that it feels like he’s fucking her there too] /I want to be your raped whore again./ [Parts her lips as she exposes her tongue, desperate to be degraded that she starts to cry]

River: [Groans as she gives him everything he wants. He stares down at her, loving how she cries from desperation] Mngh.. [Leans down and licks her open mouth before spitting on her. He laughs softly] Mhm.. you’re my raped little whore. [Kisses her neck harshly and leaves all the marks he wants while he slaps and grips her tits] Fuck.. [Moans as he watches her disheveled form beneath him and cums inside her pussy, thrusting it deep]

Veronica: [Has a faint smile as she tastes his spit in her mouth, swallowing it back before slipping her tongue between his lips to taste more out of him] Si, I’m just a raped little whore for you to fuck and use until you cum. [Pushes her breasts against his face as she pulls his hair while he growls and nips at her tanned flesh] Mnghhh! Qué rico, Papi! [Moans as his rough actions makes her pussy wetter, gripping him out of need until he busts deep in her] Por favor.. Don’t stop coming in my pussy.. [Grinds her hips into his as she tightens and relaxes her walls rapidly to stimulate him until reaching her own release] Dios.. It’s too good! [Forces him to kiss her as she shatters beneath him again, turning into an animal she can barely recognize. Spreading her legs and trembling, she gazes down at their sexes to see his cock halfway inside of her] I want to see it dripping out of my raped pussy, Papi.. [Looks at him pleadingly as she can already feel it trickling down her sex and onto her little asshole]

River: [Gently pulls out of her so she can see his cum seeping out of her cunt. He rolls beside her, completely spent as he pulls her to him yet again] Fuck.. you are.. filthy. [Bites his lip as he thinks of her filthy words]

Veronica: [Leans up as she spreads her bright pink pussy to him, watching as his thick stream of cum escapes her rawed opening] Dios mio, Papi.. look at how much of your cum my pussy had to take. [Collects it with her fingers before rubbing it all over her soft flesh and then licking it off her digits] Mmm.. you pushed me to this point. [Similarly echoes his words as she kisses him deeply, stroking his tongue with hers—knowing he can taste their essence]

River: [Watches her eat up his cum and he groans before leaning in to kiss her hungrily] You’re nasty. [Growls against her mouth] And you’re mine now. [Hisses, feeling oddly possessive]

Veronica: [Shivers as his growl vibrates on her tongue and lips, making her kiss him even more] As nasty as you. [Whispers as she’s never met anyone that was able to awaken this side of her] Mm, this isn’t just a one time thing? [Gazes into his piercing eyes, melting as he finally takes his claim on her] Tuyo, Papi. Solo tuyo.

River: I guess I’m risking my life. [Shrugs] And you have to keep quiet like a good little raped whore. [Bites his lip as he hears her] Good girl. [Scratches under her chin]

Veronica: [Kisses and gently bites his jaw and neck while running her fingers through his hair. Listening to him, she knows she would do anything to protect him] Si, Papi, I won’t say a word. [Moans under her breath as he shows affection before moving on top of him. She whimpers as she’s still painfully sore but leans down to grip his throat] ¿Y tú? Are you mine? [Licks his lips before brushing lip lips against his, loving the softness of his facial hair]

River: [Looks up at her as he moves his arm behind his head] You want this dirty cowboy to be yours..? [Cocks a brow as he eyes her] What does that mean..? You don’t want me to fuck anyone else? [Hesitates as he doesn’t want her thinking this is more than sex] I’m not going to be your whipped boy if that’s what you’re thinking.

Veronica: [Undoes his buttons as she lays kisses his chest and breathes in his intoxicating scent] Exactamente, Papi. I want you to be my dirty cowboy. Locks eyes with him as she can see the hesitation] You are no boy, Papi. [Smiles deviously as she knows he would never give himself to her in that way] If you want me to be your little whore, then I don’t want anyone else to have this. [Rubs his member before tracing his happy trail with her fingertips]

River: [Shifts his jaw before sticking his tongue in his cheek] I’ll think about it. [Speaks in a drawl as he gazes at her]

Veronica: [Pouts at him as he doesn’t give in right away] What is there to think about? [Tests him as she takes his knife to cut a few buttons off of his shirt, sucking and kissing her way down his chest] /You said that I’m yours now, correct?/ [Licks his happy trail with her tongue before leaving a deep mark on his flesh]

River: I don’t like being told what to do. [Watches as she ruins his shirt, narrowing his eyes at her] You’re mine. Yeah. [Clenches his jaw as he watches her torment him, his cock already twitching. He takes the knife from her and takes the pointed tip to her chin, lifting her face]

Veronica: [Purrs as he says that she belongs to him, loving his possessive claim on her] I want you to be mine too, Papi.. [Gently bites his lower abs as she brushes her fingertips over his length] I want /this/ to be mine. [Whispers lowly, her eyes dark before she parts her lips as he uses the knife to make her look at him] /Let me have you./ [Leans in as she slowly drags her tongue along the flat side of his knife before laying a soft kiss near the tip in an act of devotion]

River: [Watches her, careful not to give his thoughts away] Fuck.. [She knows all the right things to do to tempt him as he tosses the knife aside] What are you doing, little girl?

Veronica: [Lowers her head to hide a sinful little smile as she travels back down his body. She kneads his thighs as she sees his cock, watching it twitch for attention as pre-cum lines the tip] Being a good little slut por mi Papi. [Removes her top as she tosses it away, revealing her soft, full tits before spitting on her flesh] You can do anything you want to me.. [Rolls her nipples between her fingers before moving lower as she slaps his cock against her breast] /And I’ll take it like the whore that you need me to be./ [Coos before placing his length between her breasts, squeezing gently so that he’s trapped in softness and warmth before rising up and down slowly, letting her spit trickle down to get him wet]

River: [His dick is painfully hard now as he’s never has someone as dark as he is] V.. [His broad chest rises and falls beneath his ruined shirt and he watches as his cock tears between her swollen tits] Fuck.. [His eyes roll back and he groans as she uses every inch of her body to bring him pleasure] God.. you’re fucking crazy. [Laughs wryly but he lets her please him]

Veronica: Mmm.. you like it when your little Mexican whore fucks you like this. [Bounces up and down the length of his rigid cock, eyeing him with a half-lidded gaze as she takes pleasure in fucking him with her tits] Si, that’s why I’m so good for you. [Speaks lowly as she frees him from her tits and spits on him roughly. She moans as she wraps her fingers around his girth and pumps his slick cock, hearing how wet it is from her spit] Esta es mía. [Brings his tip between her plump lips without warning as she greets his flesh with her heated tongue. She swirls it over his head and rim, still moving her hands up and down his shaft, while writing out “mine” on his tip] I want to feel your cum everywhere in me. [Has her eyes on his, wanting him to see them water as she tries to relax her throat and lowers her head. Inch by inch, she feels his cock moving past her tongue until he reaches the back of her throat. Eyes roll back as she bobs her head shortly and quickly, truly letting him fuck throat even as she gags and spits flows out] Mmnghh.. [Releases wet, throaty noises as she slurps and sucks his flesh passionately—feeling him bruising her mouth but wanting to show him that she can take it]

River: [His eyes roll back as she absolutely drives him crazy] Shit.. [Lips part as he gazes at her hungrily, his hips bucking to meet her mouth] Oh fuck, baby.. [Grips her hair and fucks her throat until he busts suddenly] Mngh.. holy fuck. [He’s reeling from the high, feeling completely spent] You drained every last drop out of me.. [Groans as he feels numbingly euphoric]

Veronica: [Gags on his cock as he forces his cock deeper and roughly down her throat, taking it obediently as she’s so desperate to taste him again] Mhmmm. [She moans as she feels him releasing himself harshly down her throat—tasting the sweet and salty burn of it as she slurps it up. Pulling out, she adds more pressure around his throbbing cock with her hand to milk more onto her tongue] Mmm que rico, Papi.. [Holds his cum on the bed of her tongue before smearing it over her lips like the filthy girl she is] Mine. [Kisses his tip before licking her lips and moaning even more as she cleans off his remaining essence]

River: [Shivers as she continues to tease him. He groans at her little display] God.. you are something else.. [Bites his lip as he has to pull her away from how sensitive he is] Mngh.. no more.. [Almost whines as he sits up. He zips up his pants and reaches for his jacket, putting it on her and taking his shirt off to cover her ass and pussy] You’re a fucking mess. [Muses with a chuckle as he puts her on his horse in front of him and guides the other horse back to his cabin] Anyone gets within a mile of you they’re gonna smell my cum. [Laughs as he helps her down and ties the horses to the porch. Leading her inside he takes her to his bathroom] I think you’ll just smell like pine. Sorry. [Bites his lip as he kind of likes the idea of her being completely consumed by him. Taking off his clothes he steps into the shower and beckons her to him]

Veronica: [Sighs as he gets up, wondering if he’ll pretend not to know her again when they get back and feeling slightly disappointed that their moment is over] Hmm? Gracias, Papi. [Shows a rare blush as she smiles sweetly as he unexpectedly puts his jacket on her. She can still feel the warmth from it before whimpering as she gets up] You are to blame for it. These were new too. [Teases back as she points to her ruined jeans before his shirt wraps around her waist. She can’t help but find his simple gesture rather sweet] I’m so sore, Papi.. /can we take it slow?/ [Gets on the horse before leaning into his chest, clearly addicted to being close to him as they ride out. She grins at him before turning her head to nip his jaw playfully, loving how he’s laughing and making jokes] Muy bien. They’ll know to keep a distance. I wouldn’t want you to gut them. [Smiles darkly before realizing that he’s taking her to his place. She follows him inside, looking around for signs of others before feeling even more comfortable and possessive] Even better. I want you on my skin. [Watches as he gets undressed, biting her lower lip as the sight of him makes her ache. Obeying him, she removes her ruined clothes and folds his jacket to the side, throwing her shirt and tossing her panties out, before sauntering to him] Mmm.. what have you done to me, Papi? [Drapes her arms over his shoulders, kissing his broad chest as she starts to relax under the warm spray] I’m sore everywhere. [Laughs lowly before pouting as she pulls back to squeeze her full breasts, seeing the marks on them and even on her wrists]

River: [Eyes fall to the bruises on her flesh, loving the sight of them] I warned you. [Murmurs as he takes his natural soap and lathers it against a loofah and washes her body]

Veronica: [Gazes heatedly as he doesn’t apologize for anything, simply owning it—owning her. She runs her fingers through his wet hair, moaning softly as she smells the fresh pine in the air] /You’re everywhere now./ [Purrs as she inhales deeply, only wincing here and there as the loofah glides over tender spots] Do you always fuck like this, Papi? [Turns for him as she moves against the wall for him to wash her back—showing off more bruises on her thick mounds]

River: [Chuckles as he’s surprised about how she doesn’t seem to mind his smell. He washes her little cunt and as she turns around he scrubs her back and ass] Not always. [Muses as he continues his work and rinses her off] You’re doing to smell like a morning in the woods. [Says softly as he uses his shampoo on her hair, feeling nurturing for once]

Veronica: [Furrows her brows, biting hard on her lower lip as she watches him cleaning her pussy—squeezing her little cunt as his touch feels so good] Bien. [Accepts his answer as she hides her smile before a simple appears] Mmm.. Gracias, mi Papi.. that feels so good. [Closes her eyes as she breathes in his scent—truly having all of her senses filled by him while relishing in the attention he gives] Are you being sweet because you raped your little Mexican whore so much today? [Gazes heatedly into his piercing eyes as she pulls him down to kiss her. She eases her tongue into his mouth slowly, wanting to study his taste while taking the soap as she rubs it into his flesh]

River: [Laughs softly] Maybe just a little. [He leans in to kiss her, moaning as she deepens it] Hm.. [She makes his cock twitch but he knows he’s so exhausted] Oh, are you taking care of Papi now?

Veronica: [Nods her head as she soaps up his arms and chest while kissing his neck as she shows her affectionate side] Si, I know how tired you are, Papi.. I drained you of every drop. [Flashes a sultry smile before squeezing the loofah so that water drips onto his cock—gently cleaning him as she resists temptation] I’ll need you to fuck me in here one day. [Purrs as she sets the loofah aside and rinses out his long hair. She combs her fingers through it while gazing at his chiseled features]

River: [Bites his lip as he relaxes under her touch] Mhm.. I’m going to need a nap. I’m an old man. [Eyes her as she takes care of him. He enjoys the attention]

Veronica: [Laughs softly as he genuinely amuses her] Mmm.. Should I call you “Abuelo” instead? [Teases before rinsing the product out of his air, seeing that she likes taking care of him—something she has never really done for others] I think mi primo will be out for the rest of the day.. [Trails off, wondering if he’ll invite her to stay or have her leave]

River: [He listens to her, letting her finish up before stepping out and grabbing a towel. He passes one to her] Is that your way of asking me if you can stay? [Chuckles as he pats his face dry and goes to put on boxers] I guess I ought to get you some clothes. [Plucks a clean shirt for her to wear]

Veronica: [Takes the towel from him as she wipes her sore, tanned flesh before wrapping it around her body as she follows him out] Would you want me to? [Smiles mischievously as she watches him out on some boxers] Shirt off, Papi. [Bites her lower lip as she loves the sight of his chest grinning] Si, unless you want me to prance around here naked. [Eyes him sultrily before finding it endearing as he hands her a shirt. She puts it over her body as it barely covers her thick ass] What do you think?

River: Oh are you demanding me now? [Cocks a brow and smirks] That will do. [Shrugs as he rolls into his large bed and pats the space next to him for her]

Veronica: [Runs her fingers through her hair as she shrugs her shoulder] No, Papi.. Just making a passionate suggestion. [Crawls onto the bed as he invites her to it, moving on top of him as she kisses his chest before reaching his jaw] Mmm.. This is even better than when we fucked in the car. [Purrs, reminding herself not to catch any feelings as she keeps showing affection]

River: [Listens to her and pulls the blanket over them as she rests on his chest] Is that right? [Eyes her, his eyelids heavy as he smiles beneath the mustache] Don’t get too comfy. I’ll kick you out if you annoy me. [Murmurs as he starts to doze off]

Veronica: [Starts to feel the exhaustion wearing her down as her breathing starts to slow] Mmm.. I’ll just bend over and let you fuck me until you’re done feeling annoyed. [Whispers as she steals a kiss before falling asleep to the sound of him]

[seeaddywrite]

overcome by shame, can i ever change?

part 3/6: five times Alex stopped Michael from doing something stupid, & one time Michael returned the favor.

warnings: for this part – grief, allusions to depression, alcohol abuse, self-loathing, abuse of a police officer’s position, the usual. 

you can also read/follow on AO3, if you prefer. (the formatting is 110x better & includes italics where they are supposed to be!) i’m not making any promises about having the next part up tomorrow because this work week may kill me, but i’ll get it up asap. 

Less than a month later, Michael’s slumped against the wall in the Chaves County Sheriff’s station. The view from the cell hasn’t changed since the day Michael and Isobel gave Max hell for healing Liz Ortecho in front of it, and the sight gives Michael a painful expectation of seeing his brother walking through the door at any moment, uniform and disappointed scowl in place, self-righteous lecture at the ready. But that’s not going to happen, so Michael’s swollen eyes are closed. The feeling of loss eases, if only a little, and keeping his eyelids shut helps against the steady throb in his cheek and ribs, too. 

It also allows him to ignore the look burning into him from the desk across the room, where his arresting officer sits. The young man is new, desperate to prove himself -- fuck, it actually looks like he’s shined the badge on the front of his uniform. He’s wet behind the ears, too goddamned eager to show how much better he is than guys like Michael. 

Michael knows that’s why he’s still sitting here. Sheriff Valenti would’ve let him go by now, shaking her head at him in wordless disappointment, just as she had the last few times he’d found himself in here after Max’s death. This guy doesn’t give a shit about Michael’s grief, though. Doesn’t even know about it, since only a few have been told the truth. Kyle’d insisted on bringing his mom into the loop after Caulfield and discovering his father’s role in it, and Michael and Isobel had been too numb to argue for more than a few minutes. 

The sense of those eyes on him starts to chafe, and Michael forces his eyes open to meet the Deputy stare-for-stare. He knows the picture he paints: the black cowboy hat perched haphazardly on his head, the insolent tilt of of his chin and shoulders, the sprawling pose he’d adopted against the wall with his legs crossed in front of him. It’s an image he’s cultivated for the last decade of his life. The rebel. The drunk. The outcast, challenging anyone who dares to get too close. 

Most people never bother to look beyond the facade, and Michael usually prefers it that way. Today, though, it rubs him the wrong way. He’s used to Max being the one to pull him out of the drunk tank in the morning, accustomed to the lectures and the insistence that Michael is worth more than this, more than the booze and the fights and the disappointment in everyone’s gazes when they looked at him. Those damned speeches had always made Michael homicidal; Max never seemed to understand that what they’d done to Rosa had killed any chance of a future for him just as surely as it had killed the girl herself. To Michael, Max had always seemed unaffected, infuriatingly numb to the truth of the crime they committed and immune to the consequences, and his insistence that Michael deserved to move forward, simply because he had, only ever made Michael resent his brother.

Finally, the Deputy seems to have enough of their staring contest. Michael’s eyes flicker open at the scraping of a chair leg on the floor, and he watches with a blank expression as the man strides across the floor with the sort of bow-legged strut used men with more ego than common sense. He tips his chin back to meet the man’s gaze, squinting through the swelling around his eyes, but doesn’t move otherwise, letting the man come at him first, instead.

“So,” he says, and Michael’s eyes dart to the too-shiny badge on his chest. Simmons. The name is vaguely familiar, like all names in a town this small, but Michael doesn’t care enough to try to figure out where he’s heard it before. It’s not like it actually matters. “Your third bar brawl in two weeks. I’d be impressed, except that’s nothing for you, is it?”

The sneer in his words is expected, and Michael only rolls his eyes. “Slow week,” he drawls in reply, ignoring the shooting pain caused by moving his jaw. “I’ll make sure to throw a few more punches next week just for you.” 

Simmons huffs a disdainful laugh, and reaches back to take a stack of paperwork from his desk. “Unlikely,” he says, flipping a page in a file. “I know that you’re used to special treatment, Guerin, but I’m not Valenti. I don’t have a soft-touch for hopeless cases.” 

Michael snorts. “Yeah? You want to go tell her she’s a soft-touch to her face?” He doesn’t think much of the law, never has, but he knows that Michele Valenti is far from gentle. She’s fair, and usually pretty by-the-book, if Max is to be believed, but she’s as tough as nails when needed, and if Simmons hasn’t learned that yet -- well, Michael’s pretty sure the Sheriff will enjoy showing him how wrong he is. Michael can only hope he’s around to see it. 

Apparently, Simmons doesn’t like Michael’s flippancy. His brows draw downward into a pinched, angry expression, and he leans in close, close enough that Michael can see every carefully steamed inch of his impeccable uniform. The image jolts something loose in Michael’s mind, dragging unwanted memories of Max’s first days on the force to the front. 

Isobel had insisted on re-ironing Max’s slacks so they wouldn’t be wrinkled for his first shift. Michael’d been at Max’s for god-knew what reason, since he hadn’t even been able to look at his brother that soon after Rosa’s death -- but Michael had been there as Max put that uniform on for the first time, watched as determination filled his expression and inflated his chest and shoulders. Determination to make up for the wrongs he’d done, to atone for the sins he’d committed by helping others, as if he could somehow undo the horrible thing they’d done with good intentions. 

Michael had burned with fury at Max’s naivete, with jealousy, for his ability to move forward when Michael himself was stuck, suspended in that moment, day after day. 

It’s funny. Michael had always thought that the year after Rosa’s death was rock bottom -- yet here he is, still trapped, still furious and heartbroken, with no one to blame but himself. 

“You’re going down this time, Guerin. Assault, at the very least. That guy you were beating on had broken ribs, and there’s no way he’s going to drop the charges -- and I will personally see to it that someone claps you in cuffs and throws you in a cell to rot.” Simmons slams his hand against the bars, hard enough to make the entire cell rattle, and Michael blinks away the remnants of the memory to look back at Max’s replacement, lips curled in a sneer. Blood trickles from a split that hadn’t quite closed, yet and down his chin, but Michael doesn’t move to wipe it away. 

“That what gets you off? Guys in handcuffs?” he drawls. “I’m flattered, officer, but you’re not really my type.” And that is an understatement. In fact, comparing Simmons to Alex is an actual insult, as far as Michael is concerned -- not that he should be thinking of Alex right now. Or ever. 

Simmons’ face flushes with anger, and Michael allows himself a small, triumphant smirk. He knows he’s signing his own arrest warrant with his behavior, but he’s known that for weeks. Eventually, all of his sins would catch up with him, and he’s done trying to outrun them. 

Much to Michael’s regret, Simmons gets ahold of his temper quickly; his hands clench at his sides, and there’s a vein throbbing visibly beneath his carefully tousled blond bangs, but his voice is calm, almost cloying pleasant, when he speaks again. “Ah, well that explains things, doesn’t it?” he muses, and the knowing tone in his voice makes Michael wants to punch him hard enough to break that Colgate smile. “I knew Evans was disappearing your paperwork - every time someone tried to prosecute you, it would all just vanish, or the plaintiff would just suddenly withdraw all charges. It was obviously Evans -- I just hadn’t been able to figure out why he’d risk his career like that on a nobody like you.”

Michael struggles to make sense of that information, tries to fumble it into the schema of his and Max’s relationship for the last decade, but the pieces don’t fit. Max had always been the goody-two shoes, so by-the-book in dealing with Michael’s indiscretions that it is impossible to believe that he’d literally been tampering with the paperwork to keep him out of jail. Michael had always just thought Max had pulled in favors with Valenti, or used the ‘old friend’ card over and over -- but this? Had Max really gone to such extreme lengths to keep Michael out of jail?

“But if you two were fucking before he skipped town, well. That makes a hell of a lot more sense, doesn’t it?” 

White-hot rage greys out Michael’s vision, and he’s on his feet against the bars before his mind catches up with the instinct. The feeling is senseless; the insane assumption should be something he laughs at, uses to deride Simmons’ detective work, but Michael can’t summon any humor or snark to throw at him. Hearing Max’s name from his asshole replacement is too much, and Michael’s had all he can take. Power builds in his hands where they’re pressed against the cold metal of the bars, humming through him and causing a ringing, metallic buzz to echo through the small room.

He can’t do this. He has to stop, needs to push the power down and keep it hidden, but Michael’s so removed from his own body in that moment that he can practically look down at himself and see the tension turning into a wavering aura of power in the small cell. 

“That’s enough,” a harsh voice snaps, and both Michael and Simmons’ attention shifts immediately to Alex Manes. He’s looming in the open doorway, blocking all view to the administrative section of the office, an air of authority around his camo-covered shoulders that makes Michael’s breath catch in his throat.

In some ways, Alex is as familiar to him as the parts of his truck, or the smooth surface of the ship fragments he spends his nights with, but while he wears that uniform and that particular expression -- the one that not only demands instant obedience but expects it -- Michael can’t help but feel like he’s staring at a stranger. And after years of limited contact and heartbreak, that’s likely how it should be. Michael almost wishes it could be that simple. Instead, he’s fairly certain that despite everything, he could still pick Alex out of a crowd of millions from miles away. Something in his chest always thrills to Alex’s presence, drawing Michael’s gaze to him even when Alex is the last person he wants to see. 

“What the hell are you doing back here, Manes?” Simmons demands, crossing his hands over his chest and straightening his shoulders in an obvious effort to look intimidating. He’s got an inch and several pounds of muscle on Alex, so it should work, but in comparison to Alex’s hard expression and relaxed but ready body language, Simmons is nothing. Alex certainly doesn’t think so; he stares fearlessly back at the Deputy and raises an eyebrow, a challenge inherent in the minuscule movement. 

“That’s Captain Manes, actually,” Alex corrects definitively. “And I’m here because the guy he hit—” Alex nods toward Michael. “— is Air Force. He’s being reassigned effective Monday morning with a black mark for excessive drinking and brawling in public, so he won’t be pressing charges.” 

Alex presents a set of papers to the Deputy with a flourish, a hint of the attitude Michael had fallen in love with a decade ago shining through in the movement. Simmons gives him a long, hard look, then snatches the papers from his hands, all but tearing them with unnecessary force. While he reads, Alex looks around him to Michael, a silent query on his face.

Michael blinks slowly, taking stock of his body and the energy that has receded somewhat at the sight of Alex. He’s sober enough to wonder, this time, if he’ll always have this reaction to the other man -- if he’s doomed to only ever feel calm and safe around someone who’s so tangled up in some of the most negative, traumatic experiences of his life that Michael doesn’t know how to separate Alex’s comforting grip with the vice around his heart when he thinks of Caulfield. Of his mother.

Right now, he can almost convince himself it doesn’t matter. Michael’s too relieved to see Alex, too grateful for his intervention, to feel anything else.Taking a long, slow breath, Michael peels his fingers away from the bars of the cell and takes a step back. The metallic hum in the room stops completely, and as long as Alex gets him out of there without Simmons making any more comments about the kind of man Max was, Michael thinks he can avoid this situation turning into more of a disaster.

“The military doesn’t have any jurisdiction in Roswell,” Simmons says a moment later, his chest once again puffing out in righteous indignation. “Guerin’s been picked up three times in the last two weeks for the same offense. We don’t need your guy to press charges; I’ve got plenty of evidence to keep him in lock-up.” 

Alex’s eyes narrow, and Michael almost feels sorry for Simmons. Almost. 

“Really.” The word is flat, loaded with insinuation. “So this has nothing to do with the fact that you lost out on the  position at this station to Max Evans? And then lost out on the last open position for Evans’ partner because he said he didn’t want to work with you?” Alex’s expression is carefully blank, but Michael can read him well enough to know that he’s ready to go for the throat. 

It shouldn’t surprise Michael that there are large chunks of Max’s life he knows nothing about. The two of them hadn’t been able to get past what happened to Rosa and the way it was handled, and that crack had led to nearly complete fragmentation in the intervening years. There’s no chance of fixing it, now, no way of knowing if they could have regained the closeness they’d shared for so long, because Max is dead -- but somehow, Michael is still learning things about his brother that make him want to put his fist through a wall. How many times had Max risked his career for Michael by destroying documents and evidence? How many people had he run off from the position as his partner to protect Michael? And why had he done it? Protecting their secret is one thing, but fuck, how is Michael supposed to take that information in stride?

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Simmons blusters, but Michael can tell the Deputy knows that he’s been beaten. Alex doesn’t go to battle without all of the facts on his side, without an ironclad plan, and Simmons had lost before they’d even begun. 

Alex snorts. “Sure I don’t,” he says amicably. “Why don’t we ask Sheriff Valenti, then? If all of your evidence on Guerin is by the book? I’m sure she’d be happy to back up one of her deputies and kick me out, if that’s the case.” 

Michael doesn’t know if Alex is bluffing, which almost certainly means Simmons can’t tell, either. He waits, aware that he should be more concerned about the outcome of this grudge match than he is, until Simmons growls, “Fine. Get him out of here. But the next time --” 

“You’ll throw him in cuffs and leave him to rot, yeah, I got it,” Alex interrupts, his tone suggesting that if he weren’t in uniform, he’d be rolling his eyes. “Keys.” 

Simmons slaps the keys to the cell into Alex’s extended palm and stomps out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Michael watches, silent, as Alex allows his airman persona to fade back into the gentler, less composed version of himself. “I hacked the cameras before I came in, just in case,” he says, and gestures at the lock on the cell. “You still need me to let you out?” 

A moment later, Michael has released the latch on the cell with a tendril of thought and stands in front of Alex, chin raised daringly as dark eyes take in his injuries. “We should go before that guy comes back,” is all he says, and Michael trails him out of the precinct and into the cool night air. Michael takes a deep breath and slouches back against the wall, eying Alex. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say or what’s expected of him now; hell, he doesn’t know how to interact with Alex on a good day, anymore. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” Michael says after a moment, the words stiff. Anger would have been better, but Michael can’t seem to summon it back now that it’s gone. “It would’ve been fine.” 

Alex shoots him a skeptical glance, but doesn’t argue. “I’m going to take that as Guerin speak for, ‘thanks for getting me out of jail,’” he snipes, and hits a button on his keychain, making his SUV blink its lights from a block down. “Come on. Your truck is still at the Pony, I’m guessing? I’ll give you a ride and you can pick it up tomorrow.” 

There isn’t much chance to argue, or Michael’s too tired to try. He trails Alex into the SUV, grateful despite himself for the unwavering presence at his side. His brain is still trying to process the fact that Max, despite ten years of distance and resentment, had still been protecting him. It’s a bizarre juxtaposition with the assumption that Max had only ever done anything to protect him in order to protect their secret. Max had fucked up so many times over the years: he’d left Michael alone and scared in foster care, had only listened as Michael whispered confessions of pain and fear of the families he lived with as a child, had pushed him into taking the blame for Isobel’s crimes and allowed him to give up on the one chance at a future he had -- 

Michael hates looking backward, and hates the fact that he understands Max so much better now that he’s gone. His brother had never been human, but he was as flawed as any of them, and yes, he had made mistakes. But how many of those mistakes had seemed unforgivable because of Michael’s own unhappiness? How much of his resentment toward Max had sprung from Max falling from the pedestal Michael had put him on? 

The hand that had, until recently, been numb and scarred, flexes against his thigh. Michael will never know what Max was thinking, that night. He’ll never be able to ask questions, or try to mend the rift that he’d helped created between them. 

Michael will never have a brother again, and the loss feels fresh, now, as if the experience with Simmons had ripped a new wound over the infected one still oozing in his chest. 

“Michael,” Alex says quietly, catching his attention more effectively than if he’d stood up and yelled. It’s rare to hear his first name from Alex, rarer still to hear it in a tone that borders on affection. They’ve avoided that sort of relationship for years, both aware that they’re in the middle of a balancing act, and one wrong move could send them careening over the edge into a world of hurt. “You’ve got to stop doing this. I’m not going to be able to use the same tricks next time, and . . .” he trails off, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel as he psyches himself up for whatever else he has to say. “And Max isn’t here to stop them from making sure you end up in prison.”

The words emerge in a rush, so quick that Michael has to let them process before he understands why Alex is so nervous. No one who mentioned his brother had walked away unscathed, lately; it was a surefire way to send Michael spiralling. 

But it hurts less, somehow, hearing the truth from Alex. Maybe because he knows that Alex understands grief, understands the feeling of anger that follows in the wake of abandonment, or because he knows Alex isn’t throwing words around to hurt him. So Michael doesn’t react; he simply turns his head to look out the window and watches the New Mexican desert fly by. 

It’s clear that Alex doesn’t know how to read Michael’s silence. He rushes on, obviously determined to get the words out before Michael loses his temper. “Think about it, Michael. If they get you in a jail cell, how long is it going to take before your cellmates, or a guard, or someone realizes that there’s something different about you? What if you get hurt and sent to medical? Who’s going to stop them from doing tests and figuring out that you’re not human? My father would love that kind of opportunity, Guerin. Please, for the love of god, don’t give it to him.”

Michael swallows, an old fear rising in his gut as he considers the scenario Alex spins for him. Jesse Manes. Experimentation. Tortured, like his mother and the rest of those poor souls hidden away at Caulfield prison. He shudders, hands digging into his jeans hard enough that his nails score the tender skin beneath. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then Alex’s hand is resting over the back of his left one, a gentle slide of skin that makes it easier for Michael to breathe. He almost misses the tremble in Alex’s fingers, caught up in his own emotions, but it’s there, and impossible to ignore. Michael glances up at Alex, surprised to see an anxiety nearly matching his own on his face, and wonders how often he’s ignored the way the people around him are feeling in favor of drowning in his own feelings. 

Michael flips his hand and squeezes Alex’s back, and triumph sparks in his chest when he catches the barest hint of a smile flash across full lips. 

“I know you don’t want to talk, okay, I get it. Believe me, I get it.” Alex’s words, when he speaks again, are full of rueful self-recrimination, and again Michael is struck by his own selfishness. He’s not the only one mired in trauma and hurt. But despite his own pain, despite the way Michael has treated him, Alex has been there when MIchael needs him. Every damn time. 

“But the way you’ve been acting lately -- shit, Guerin, it’s fucking terrifying. The drinking is one thing, but the fighting? The total disregard for your own health and well-being? That’s not what Max would’ve wanted for you. Do you think he spent the last decade of his life bailing you out of jail because he wanted you to rot there? Do you think your mother died convincing you to run because she wanted you to die out here instead?”

Michael’s fists clench in his lap, but his powers don’t react. This is Alex, after all, the calm in the middle of his storm, and something in Michael refuses to allow anything that might bring him harm. He grits his teeth against the spiral of guilt and shame that threatens at Alex’s words, and reaches for the door handle, ignoring the fact that the car is still moving. Alex shouts and slams on the breaks, leaving them both startled and staring at each other across the console between their seats. 

“I just want to help, Guerin,” Alex says, obviously biting back a furious comment at Michael’s stupidity. “I’m not asking you to love me, or date me, or whatever it is you’re so set against. I just want to make sure you don’t end up dissected or left to rot in one of my father’s torture chambers. Can’t you just let me?” 

The fight rushes out of Michael with a long breath, and he slumps back in the car seat. His head tips to one side, and he looks straight at Alex with a resigned, wary expression. “That’s the problem, Alex,” he says dully. “I do love you.” As much as he could love anyone at the moment. “But I can’t do anything about it. Not right now.” Maybe not ever. 

Alex’s face is washed pale yellow in the headlights of an oncoming car, and Michael doesn’t miss the hurt etched into the lines of his face, though it’s gone in a moment. 

“I’m not asking you to do anything about it,” Alex says quietly. “I’m asking you to come back to my place tonight, get some sleep, and eat an actual meal in the morning. We can figure out where to go from there.” One large hand rests on the gear shift lever, waiting for Michael’s go-ahead before he puts it into drive. 

Michael hesitates, part of him determined to climb out the door and trudge back to the Airstream to suffer through another night alone. But fighting Alex never gets him anywhere, and Michael’s tired of trying to stand on his own. If Max’s loss has taught him anything, aside from the fact that he does care about the self-sacrificing dumbass, it’s that Alex meant it, when he called Michael his family. And maybe, on a night like tonight, it’s not so wrong to want that support, no matter how selfish it feels.

So instead of following his instincts to run, Michael catches Alex’s eye and nods.

[mia-cooper]

2019 fanfiction in review

I usually put more effort into pimping my favourite fics of the year, boosting a few new writers in my fandoms, etc. This year, however, I have not, for reasons both within and beyond my control. Which is pretty much my excuse for not Doing Better with writing for the past month or so, but hey. At least there’s this.

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1. Best fic(s) you read all year, and why?

How can I even begin to list all the beautiful, shocking, feel-good, feel-terrible-but-in-a-good-way, envy-inducing, page-turning, soul-destroying, fluffy, hilarious, infuriating and horny fics I’ve read this year? I can’t. So I will instead list three that come immediately to mind.

@curator-on-ao3 – The Dismissed Protocol (rated T, VOY, TNG, Janeway & Crusher)

This fic made me angry. So angry that I left a ranty and incoherent comment, slammed down the lid on my laptop and stormed around the house for a bit. Why was I so pissed, you ask? Because this fic hit a good few of my personal triggers around bodily autonomy and the right to make informed choices, and because although the fic ends triumphantly, it’s somewhat of a pyrrhic victory and it left a really bad taste in my mouth. Which, considering this is fiction, is the mark of some really good writing. When it comes to tackling difficult topics with a fresh and thought-provoking perspective, and without opting for the easy answers, Curator never disappoints. This story is just one of many examples of that in her work.

@love-in-the-time-of-kolinahr​ – it will take place without witnesses (rated E, DSC, Pike/Number One)

Okay so let me start by saying it was the author’s fucking EXCELLENT pun of a pseudonym that made me read this in the first place. Then it was the poem they quoted (Discovery by Wislawa Szymborska, which is like a portentous rocket in the guts). Then it was Una’s scales-off-the-eyes, we-are-true-equals, don’t-bullshit-me-lover candidness in the way she sees, talks to, knows Chris Pike. I adore Pike in his laconic-space-cowboy-with-a-heart Disco incarnation, I like him a lot as the CoolDad in AOS, but this fic? This fic gives me smart, forthright, deeply tender Number One, and Pike as the fractured and very human hero I hope like hell we’ll see more of because they are definitely making a Pike series RIGHT? It is written. Anyway… this fic is beautiful and harsh and deft and real and sexy and poetic and at its core it’s about love, and who doesn’t love love?

@captacorn​ – Stars in a Ruined Sky (rated M, VOY, Paris/Torres)

It took me a while to read this one because CaptAcorn was posting it at the same time I was writing my epic, and I had no brain space to maintain a hold on someone else’s dark and compelling plot. But when I picked this one up, I couldn’t put it down. It is AMAZING. A Timeless AU, set in a universe where Voyager crashed and most of the crew survived, this goes where no other 100k+ epic I’ve read before has dared to tread, and it does so without flinching. The details are what make this unforgettable – there’s no magic reset button, so when something bad happens to the crew, there are actual lasting consequences – but it’s the humanity of the characters (if I can use that word to describe a crew that includes aliens) that makes it unputdownable (fuck off, my nana said that’s a word). This is not an AU I want to think happened, but CaptAcorn makes it one that rings true. And I’ll definitely read this again when I have the emotional fortitude for it.

Wow, there’s no Janeway/Chakotay in my top three. What? So here’s a bonus:

Northernexposure’s trilogy – Soft Light, Aftershocks and Resolution (rated E, VOY, Janeway/Chakotay) – three for the price of one! I mean, when northernexposure posts a new fic I race to read it no matter what, but smut! Beautifully written, true to character, sexy sexy smut from one of my all time favourite authors! How could I turn that down?

2. Best fic(s) you published all year, and why?

Mmmyeah to be honest I kinda feel as though my writing peaked in 2017, but here we go.

Desperate Measures (rated E, VOY, Janeway/Chakotay and other pairings) – because there’s angst and smut and the plot is twisty as fuck and I feel like there’s a pretty satisfying payoff. And it’s really long and relies on the reader engaging with my OCs which people seem to have done, which makes me think that if I ever do want to go write another original novel, maybe I won’t want to burn it as soon as I’m done.

This Is The Moment (rated M, DSC, Pike/Tyler) – because these two have exhausting chemistry and I couldn’t not write this but it was hard to make it come out of my brain the way I wanted it. But I’m really happy with it.

And I have a soft spot for First Officer’s Log (rated T, VOY, Chakotay & Tuvok, implied Janeway/Paris), because I just really love Threshold, okay? And while the episode is wack on so many levels there are really dark and heavy themes to explore there which I feel have gone very unexplored and I hope my fic struck that same balance between moral philosophy and holywhatthefuckery.

3. Favourite opening line(s) in a fic you published in 2019:

From Bad Maquis (rated M, VOY, Janeway/Chakotay):

The only thing more restrictive – and bosomy – than this outfit, Kathryn mused as she stared at her reflection, was her holodeck governess costume.



Still, at least she didn’t have to leave her quarters wearing this getup, and thank goodness for small mercies. Because she was on the verge of backing down from this challenge as it was, and Kathryn Janeway did not chicken out. Ever.

I mean, it sets the scene, doesn’t it? Who doesn’t love Janeway in leather.

4. Favourite closing line(s):

This is maybe cheating a little bit because this fic isn’t finished, but this first chapter can stand alone and I won’t be continuing it for some time (first, I have to finish the two prequels, haha). Anyway, these are the closing lines from Inertia (rated T so far, VOY, Janeway/Paris and others):

When the daze clears and Tom looks up to discover that his hovercar is parked in front of an address he’s never visited but has nonetheless memorised, maybe he should feel a little bit surprised.



He doesn’t. No matter how far he tries to go or how long he stays away from her, turning up at Kathryn Janeway’s door is inevitable.

Why do I like it? Well, I have an everlasting appreciation for Janeway/Paris, for one thing. For another, if you read the rest of the story and understand what Tom has just learned, you’ll want to know what happens next. I hope. I sure want to know.

5. The fic that was best received, and your favourite comment(s) on it:

That would be Desperate Measures again. It’s my longest fic by far and I was absolutely bowled over by the response to it, but one of my favourite comments on it is this one:

It actually looks like Janeway is saying gimme and it cracks me up.

Honestly though… the depth and kindness of comments on that fic in particular, the time and thought and effort that people have put into their reviews … it made up for every moment I wanted to chuck it in and never look at that fic again, or any other.

6. The fic you wish had gotten more love:

Honestly, I was surprised there was so little response to my @voyagermirrormarch​ fic trilogy, Heaven in the Shape of Hell. I really thought they’d be crowd pleasers, but it shows what I know, lol. I haven’t even finished the third one because the lack of interest made me wonder if they were just really shite, but I’m not so butthurt about it anymore and I will come back to it someday.

7. How many fandoms you wrote for in 2019, and which inspired you most:

Does Star Trek in all its incarnations count as one fandom? If so, I wrote for two (Trek and Marvel). If all the different versions of Trek count separately, I wrote for seven (MCU, AOS (that’s Trek Alternate Original Series, not Agents of SHIELD), Disco, Mirror, Enterprise, DS9 and Voyager).

Anyway, I guess I’ll never stop being inspired by Voyager, so even if Disco season 3 and the Picard show do nothing for me, I’ll always have that.

8. Your favourite pairing(s) to write for:

I mean, Janeway x Chakotay, for sure. But I’m deeply, deeply invested in Janeway x Paris at the moment.

9. What you’re writing now/next:

I’m struggling through the second part of what was supposed to be my contribution to @25daysofvoyager​. I’m actually going to post the first part once I’m done with this quiz in the hope it’ll kick my ass into gear. I’m also on semi-hiatus from Kinetic Friction, but I’ll be going back to it as soon as I’m done with my 25 Days fic. At some point after Kinetic there’ll be the sequel, and then the rest of Inertia. I’m also contemplating something for Threshold Day, possibly throwing something into @voytalentchallenge​ (don’t count on that one), and I have an idea for a pre-Enterprise D, pre-Voyager meeting between Picard and Janeway (with smut, obvs), plus all the other fics I’m definitely going to write …

And of course there’s my meat raffle. Time to pimp that one again. Donate to AO3 and if I draw your name out of the hat of randomness I’ll write you a fic to your specifications (roughly).

10. Writing goals for 2020 (word count? new fandoms/pairings? anything?):

Look, I’d just really like to actually write to some of the prompts I’ve had sitting in my ridiculously complex filing system without getting sidetracked by the newest shiny thing to catch my eye. In terms of fandoms, I hope I’ll write more for Discovery, I’m looking forward to Picard, and I would like to branch out from Trek a bit. More MCU, definitely, and maybe others if I get inspired. The main thing I want out of writing fanfiction at the moment is for it to continue making me happy, though, so I just hope I keep having fun with it.