#this was prompted by me thinking about how jack tends to hide a lot of his interests? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

advocate.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: the very first part of ajf! the beginning of our story! oh my goodness! this got a little long, but there was a lot i wanted to pack in here. thank you all for your patience as i worked through this <3 i’ve got some fun graphics in here for you - open them for best quality!

words: 8.45k warnings: language, alcohol use, canon-typical descriptions of injury and violence, mention of suicide

summary: “our ambition should be to rule ourselves, the true kingdom for each one of us; and true progress is to know more, and be more, and to do more.” - oscar wilde. au!july-september 2007

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

“Director Shepard?”

You approach her, feeling very young, with a question and a smile.

She turns, smiling at you softly. “Yes?”

Her lecture was immaculate - she covered a broad swath of topics - being the first female director of NCIS, her history in international relations and liaison work with British and Israeli intelligence - all of which paved a bit of a roadmap for success in federal law enforcement.

You introduce yourself and shake her hand. “I’ve gotta tell you it was a challenge to choose between agencies in my applications, I admire your work both as an agent and director of NCIS and I was wondering…”

You lose your nerve a bit, but steel yourself again and ask.

“... Would you be willing to meet with me and talk about your career trajectory a little more?”

There’s a light in her eyes as she studies you with a kind of supreme benevolence and gentleness. “I would.”

+++

“Alright,” she says, setting her napkin in her lap. “What do you want to know?”

You laugh a little, “Is everything a good place to start?”

She laughs, and you’re immediately drawn to her warmth. There’s a kind of fire in her, and it doesn’t just come from her hair. “Not at all. Though I’ll give you some unsolicited advice now, to save some time. Find someone you can follow, someone you can learn from.”

She goes on to tell you about her mentor, still on the Major Case Response Team under her purview at NCIS. Though she’s his boss now, she tells you that she still goes to him for advice, for friendship.

“Trusting the people you work with always comes first. It’s not always possible, but when you can manage it. It makes everything better. Always protect them where you can, and don’t ignore the politics”

You do everything except take notes as she tells more stories, how she’s switched from “probie” to Agent to diplomat to Director, before she turns back to you.

“Do you know which unit you’re interested in, yet?”

You shake your head. “Not yet. I’m hoping I’ll have a better idea when the Quantico unit chiefs start coming in to lecture. I’m hoping one of them will catch my interest.”

“Great idea. When one of them does, give me a call. I think any unit could benefit from someone like you.”

+++

Agents Hotchner, Morgan, and Gideon have your attention the moment they step into the room. They’re confident, with a sharp kind of intelligence you admire.

The world of the BAU is fascinating. Serial killers, sex criminals, the very worst of depraved humanity is their everyday. While it sounds somewhat horrifying, it compels you.

Agent Hotchner especially catches your attention. He’s confident in a kind of serious, bladed way. Clearly intelligent, he commands the attention of everyone in the room and effortlessly wields his authority among curious students and his fellow agents.

You’d think Agent Gideon would be the obvious leader, what with all his years of experience and seniority, but even with his grasp of a field he shaped, he doesn’t hold a candle to Hotchner.

With your half-hour-old knowledge, you put together a quick profile of the remaining figure.

Agent Morgan, while strong and clearly an alpha male, brings a skepticism with him. It hangs in the air around him and seems to apply to both of his colleagues. There’s something about Agent Gideon that makes him uneasy, distrustful. He tends to shift his weight away from him when they get too close to each other.

He’s not overt about his skepticism regarding Agent Hotchner, but you get the idea there’s more under the surface you couldn’t possibly know just by studying his behavior in a lecture hall.

This is fun.

You hide your smile in your notebook, jotting down a couple of notes as Agent Gideon continues his “brief overview of profile-driven serial killer arrests.”

+++.

“Director Shepard’s office.”

“Hi Cynthia,” you greet her secretary. “Is Director Shepard in?”

She connects you, and you ask about the BAU.

“Is Jason Gideon still the unit chief over there?” She asks. You can already hear her typing and you’re more than a little concerned about her tenacity in this moment.

“No, ma’am, it’s Agent Hotchner, now.”

“Perfect.”

+++

+++

You’re called into SSA Radner’s office the following Monday to “discuss some changes to your academy courses.”

That doesn’t sound good.

SSA Radner, an imposing and intimidating woman, is the SSAIC in charge of your NAT class - the person in charge of your collective fates.

No pressure.

She opens the door when you knock, gesturing to the chair on the other side of her desk. “Please, have a seat.”

You chuckle nervously. “Thanks, Agent Radner.” You note her little smile as she sits at her desk, and chance a question. “Have I done something, I dunno, wrong? We don’t seem to find much good news in the SAIC’s office at my rank.”

That pulls a laugh from her. “I wouldn't worry too much. I have a proposition for you. It’s...unusual, but not unheard of.”

Your brow crumples a little and she exhales.

“It might actually be better if - yeah. Hold on.” She clicks her intercom and her assistant chirps from the other side.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Please send them in. I’d like to do a joint briefing.”

Joint briefing? What is this, the third invasion of Iraq?

The door opens behind you and you whip around, finding Agent Hotchner and IOS Section Chief Erin Strauss.

What the fuck?

Either you’ve done something terrible or insane and you’re not sure which.

Chief Strauss addresses you first, shaking your hand. You introduce yourself for good measure but have a feeling she already knows who you are.

“It’s come to our attention that you have ambitious interests and are taking exceptional steps to make the most of your education and training at the academy. Is this a fair assessment?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Agent Hotchner steps forward, sort of looming over you with something that isn’t quite a stern look. You take his hand when he offers, introducing yourself and ignoring the jolt of energy that shoots up your arm at his touch.

His handshake is firm, his hands dry and warm. He looks different up close, younger, maybe. There’s the barest touch of grey at his temples, the beginnings of lines around his mouth and eyes.

Not what I expected.

What did you expect?

How old could he be? Thirty-five, maybe?

Shut up.

He’s handsome.

Shut up!

His face relaxes a little bit before he speaks. “Director Shepard, a close professional colleague, has been a staunch advocate for you and your talents. She approached me about taking you on, giving you case hours in lieu of some coursework.”

“You’d have some catching up to do, as it’s already three weeks into your twenty, and we’d transfer you into the profiling classes,” Agent Radner adds. “But with your diligence, I doubt you’ll have trouble with the added workload.”

“No, ma’am. That should be fine. But,” you look between the three of them, “what does ‘case hours in lieu of some coursework’ mean, exactly?”

“You’d be on assignment with the BAU until you received your formal assignment following successful completion of the academy, with the possibility of assignment with the BAU as a full-fledged agent.” Chief Strauss rattles off the information as if it’s the thousandth time she’s said it.

It might be.

You can’t even fathom how much effort and time must have gone into this decision. The realization leaves you speechless.

She prompts you again. “Does that sound like an opportunity in which you’d be interested?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.” You feel a little stupid, but you’re rewarded with a proud smile from Agent Radner.

You could also swear you saw a twitch of Agent Hotchner’s lips, but he doesn’t seem to be a man who smiles much.

+++

“So this’ll be your desk,” Agent Jennifer-but-my-friends-call-me-JJ Jareau says, pointing to one of the many desks in the bullpen.

You set your bag down with a little smile, feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

Agent Morgan pats your shoulder as he passes your desk. “You’ll do just fine, kid. Ready for a case briefing in ten?”

“Sure.”

His blinding smile eats up his whole face and you like him already. He’s different than you thought he’d be, but you still don’t think your preliminary profile was too far off.

Agent Gideon, still holed up in his office, has yet to acknowledge you.

Your eyes keep wandering to the open blinds, behind which Agent Hotchner and a woman you understand to be his wife have a quiet, apparently heated argument on either side of his desk. Except for the tight set of her mouth and the angry glint in her eye, she seems lovely.

Derek follows your gaze. “Wasn’t always like that.”

You look at him, a little furrow in your brow.

Should he be telling me this?

“She’s not always here either, but their son, Jack, has been sick, so it’s been… tense.” Derek shakes his head. “You wouldn’t catch me married in this job, not once.”

That pulls a laugh from you.

Emily, sitting at the desk beside you, turns in her chair. “Remind me to drink to that later.”

Derek snorts and picks up a couple of files, headed up to the round table room.

+++

Your first case briefing is, well...brief. The case seems fairly straightforward and you run through relevant vocabulary while JJ outlines the case details.

Preferential offender, keeps his victims for no more than three days, victims found in public places.

He wants them found, and fast.

Need-based, maybe? What are his priors?

You’re all dismissed with a brisk, “Wheels up in thirty.”

You pack your things a little slower than probably called for. Hotch disappears into his office again, closing the door behind him. When you pass the window, his wife is tucked under his chin.

Hotch’s eyes flicker to yours and you quickly train your gaze on the floor, hustling down the stairs.

+++

You land next to each other when you board the plane. You do your best to avoid taking anyone's assigned seat.

With a team of this size, you can only assume they have such things.

And they do.

Gideon, Spencer, Morgan, and Prentiss take a seat at the table while JJ perches on the arm of the couch.

Hotch settles at the informal “head” of the table, leaning on the chairs across the aisle. You take a seat in one of the chairs in the row next to him, trying to stay out of the way.

“C’mere, kid,” Derek says, beckoning you forward. “You’re on this team.”

You shuffle forward in your seat, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees and case file open in your hands. “I’m ready.”

JJ smiles at you, and you almost feel comfortable.

+++

You end up alone with Hotch in the precinct conference room after you land, unboxing files and sorting them for Spencer. Until you know enough to make yourself useful, you’ve made it your mission to handle the tedious and the clerical.

Hotch pauses every once in a while as if he wants to say something. You continue on your way. When he’s ready, he’ll stop you.

“I’m sorry about earlier. My wife, Haley, she -”

You look up, waving him off with a little smile. “It’s okay, Hotch. It’s none of my business.”

He looks at you for a minute, studying your face with a bit of a squint. “You mean that.”

It’s not a question.

You’re confused.

“Of course.” A nervous laugh leaves you. “I mean, you’re welcome to tell me if you want, but it’s nothing I need to speculate or gossip about or, God forbid, profile.”

The shock and relief war on his face until it settles back into something that looks like his usual severity, but a little softer. He doesn't say anything else, but you have the sneaking suspicion you passed a test neither one of you prepared for.

Spencer and Emily return from their trip to the medical examiner’s office.

“Who organized these?” Spencer asks, pointing at the neat piles you made.

“Me.” You look up from another box you’re working on. “Would it be helpful if they’re sorted another way? I went chronologically and then by number and type of offenses, with preferential offenders that match the M.O. on top, when possible.”

Emily, Hotch, and Spencer freeze, staring at you like you grew another head in front of them.

You’re suddenly and violently self-conscious. “What?”

Spencer snaps out of it first, shaking his head and picking up a stack. “Nothing that’s just...um…”

“Exactly right,” Emily supplies. She glances at Hotch before looking back at you. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Hotch is the last to break, but the curious little glances he keeps throwing your way always linger a little too long.

To your credit, you ignore them.

+++

“So, how are you liking it so far?” Derek slides into the driver’s seat and rolls out of the parking lot.

You’re headed to another witness’s house under direct orders to observe and as a few (carefully directed) questions. Derek insisted on bringing you himself while the others keep busy with something else.

“I’m liking it,” you reply.

He laughs. “Coulda fooled me.”

You screw up your face and look over at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he says through a laugh, “when you’re not making yourself ridiculously useful, you look terrified.”

“I am terrified.”

“Nothin’ to be scared of as long as you keep asking questions,” he says.

It’s almost like he doesn’t know how ridiculous he sounds.

“You’re joking, right?” You turn to face him, shifting in your seat. “Agent Morgan -”

He cuts you off. You’re pretty sure that’s just how he is - he interrupts the other members of the team frequently and fearlessly. “- Derek. Or Morgan.”

“Fine. Morgan, you have to know that your team is legendary. I don’t even know why -”

“- Don’t say it.” He flags his hand before putting it back on the wheel. “You’re here for a reason, and none of us are going to let you fall so hard you can’t pick yourself up, okay?” He glances over, meeting your eyes. “We’ve got your back.”

You quirk a smile. “Thanks.”

“And,” he adds, “Hotch seems to like you alright. That’s half the battle.”

“What’s the other half?”

He snorts. “Gideon. And local law enforcement.”

+++

You settle in a little easier after that. JJ’s your next target as you help her make some calls to the D.A.’s office.

You hang up and take a breath, slumping back in your chair. It’s been a long day already and it’s not even lunchtime.

“Hanging in there?” JJ asks, smiling at you over her files.

You nod. “Yeah. Just a… different kind of energy than the academy, I think.”

“I felt that way when I got here, too. Gideon was unit chief back then and Spence had just started, too.” She huffs a laugh. “It was a little easier when there were more newbies, but then…” Her face clouds over and she shakes her head.

“Then...what?”

She looks up at you and her mouth twists. “Boston.”

+++

“Hey, Derek?”

“Yeah?” He keeps his eyes on the road, but he can hear the trepidation in your voice.

The dark interior of the car feels safe in the early hours of the morning, headed back to the hotel. “You said I could ask you anything, right?”

His eyebrows pinch. “Shoot.”

“What happened in Boston?”

Derek takes a breath and lets it out in a whoosh. “I wasn’t there. I was supposed to be there.”

You wait on him, watching him watch the road.

“Unsub holed himself up in a massive warehouse. Gideon called in all the support he could - A Team, B Team, SWAT, the whole nine. I was visiting my mom in Chicago for her birthday like I do every year.”

He stops at a red light, and you take a moment to look past him into the adjacent SUV, where Emily and Hotch’s profiles rest in a statuesque silhouette, backlit by the streetlamp.

“It was a trap from the start. Everyone pushed in on Gideon’s order and the whole thing just…” He tosses his hand up and it lands with a smack on the leather steering wheel. “It just went up. Boom. Six BAU agents in our unit, dead, just like that. Had to rebuild from scratch.”

You shiver, though the car is warm. “I’m so sorry, Derek.”

He shrugs. “Gideon took six months off, Hotch took over. Gideon came back, Hotch stayed up front.” He smiles a little. “Haley wasn’t happy, but that’s the job.”

Why does it always come back to Haley? To Hotch?

Because he’s the unit chief.

I know but…

Don’t read into it.

You decide to push, just because it’s Derek, because he seems to know, because you feel safe with him, because it might be a mistake. “Is that what you meant?”

“Hm?” His head turns just a little toward you, his brow furrowed.

“You told me on my first day ‘It wasn’t always like this.’ Is that what you meant?”

“No sane man would take on the unit chief position with a wife and baby on the way.” He shrugs and with a secret little smile says, “But nobody ever accused Hotch of being sane.”

+++

Aaron sits in front of his computer, the end of his pen tapping on the glossy wood of his desk.

Does he have feedback? He’s not sure.

Even with your limited knowledge, you’ve managed to optimize most of the administrative bullshit and political nonsense that clogs most local investigations. You bounce between acting as his shadow and JJ’s, making friends and soothing hurts when toes inevitably get stepped on.

You’ve immediately adapted to his style of criticism and correction, using Derek and Spencer as guide-rails when you’re not sure where you’re going.

There’s nothing to complain about.

But then again…

Feedback isn’t just about the negative.

If he’s honest with himself, he knows he won’t shower you in the glowing praise you deserve. Gideon never did for him or anyone that came after.

It’s not in their nature, or his.

He starts to type.

Glancing out his office window, his eyes find you hunched over your desk, poring over one of Spencer’s notebooks, a pinch in your brow as deep as the Grand Canyon.

You work hard, impossibly hard. You throw everything you have at your work in the field while managing your courses and keeping up with your classmates.

That in mind, he drafts an email to Jenny.

With a sigh, he sends it.

He’s still thinking of what you said on the last case, the genuine truth of it, and how many times he has done his best to preempt the gossip that plagues this office, no matter who it’s about.

This unit, as much of a family as it may be, constantly wraps itself in the business of everyone else. To know you couldn’t give less of a shit about his marriage when the rest of the team (save Gideon) probably has money on when Haley calls it quits is, admittedly, refreshing.

+++

After being in the field, classes take on a new kind of banality. You’re keeping up well enough, but watching Gideon and Derek quarrel over the details of a profile beats diving into the techniques - you guessed it - Gideon developed from cases past.

Hotch and Garcia were gracious enough to CC you on emails while you were grounded at the academy, but it wasn’t the same.

It was hard not to feel left behind, like the last kid chosen for dodgeball in PE class, watching the rest of the unit leave the office. You hung back in the bullpen as long as you could find something to do this morning, making it to class at the very last minute.

Even after lectures, your classmates want nothing more than your attention. You’re suddenly consulting on three different practicals and never have a lunch to yourself.

Most afternoons, you sneak into the bullpen just for some peace and quiet.

You hear your last name and look up, finding Erin Strauss approaching you. You stand. “Ma’am.”

“What are you working on?”

You look down at your desk, finding practical and theoretical exam notes shuffled around next to mock consults and other nonsense Hotch dropped on his way to the jet earlier in the week. “Course work, mostly. It’s nice to… get away every once in a while.”

Erin nods with a little smile. “I’d imagine you’ve been pretty popular lately.”

You shrug, a little facetious. “You could say that.”

She pays your shoulder in a surprisingly maternal gesture, before wishing you luck and leaving you to your work.

At this point, you can’t even imagine just being an FBI agent.

+++

You’ve just closed your burning, tired eyes when your phone rings.

You answer, your last name a grumble into the mic.

“It’s Hotch.”

You sit up straight in bed, immediately awake. “Sorry, sir, I -“

“I should apologize. I don’t mean to interrupt your studying or wake you but I think I could use your opinion on this profile.”

You frown in the dark, flipping your desk lamp on. “My help, sir?”

“Yeah.” He heaves a sigh and you can almost see the fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been looking at it too long.”

“Maybe Derek, can -“

“No. You. Here, listen -“

He rattles off the details of the case and you snatch your notebook and pen off the desk, jotting things down as Hotch continues through the case.

“Have you identified and contacted local individuals who fit the victimology, taken steps to protect them? He’s a preferential offender with a predictable cooling-off period, right?”

For some reason, this isn’t half as exhausting as the practical exam practice you’d been working on for the last five hours. You may or may not have written those exact questions about fifteen times, but it’s far less exhausting when directed at Hotch.

“Yeah. Two high-risk victims are in protective custody and JJ’s been in touch since this morning.”

You go through a few more basic questions, getting your feet under you, before asking the one you’re really after.

“Sir, why did you call me?”

“I needed another set of eyes.”

You huff a laugh. “No, I gathered that, but why did you call me? I’m in the middle of learning about something you’ve been doing for…” You search for a number, but your brain is fried.

“Too long,” he supplies.

“Sure. But my point stands.”

“That it does.” Something creaks in the background and you imagine he’s leaned back in his chair.

“Did I help?” You’re happy he can’t see your dubious, if not entirely doubtful, expression.

He’s happy you can’t see the little fond smile on his face. “Yes, actually. You did.”

+++

“Wheels up in thirty.”

You all stand from the table and start your routines. Emily and Spencer make a beeline for the coffee machine while JJ jets back to her office for contact sheets and files and all manner of coordinating materials.

Derek’s routine is simple enough - he already has his coffee and his go bag, so he’s answering a few emails before wheels up.

You never really know what to do during this liminal space, so you stick to classwork.

Much to your surprise, you’ve shot ahead in your classes on the shoulders of Derek and Spencer. They’ve been monumentally helpful with the history and application of profiling techniques (though much of Derek’s advice has been ‘just watch Gideon,’ you’re not sure how to watch a process that takes place entirely inside the man’s head).

You ride with Hotch to the airstrip, looking out the window most of the way. It’s only a five minute drive, but the tree-lined roads around Quantico are always lovely this time of the morning.

As always, you do your best to stay out of the way on the plane, taking up residence on Hotch’s right with your notebook and case file.

You offer some thoughts here and there, not pushing too much or saying enough to make an ass of yourself.

When Hotch calls break, the rest of the team scatters to their respective corners.

Gideon turns to you, gesturing with one finger. “Hey, ah…”

Spencer chirps your last name from across the cabin and you shoot him a grateful smile.

“Good job in the briefing, today.”

And with that, he disappears to the far side of the cabin, leaving you and Hotch alone by the table.

“Wow,” you say with a little smile. “I didn’t know he was aware of my existence.”

Hotch doesn’t say anything, but his lips twitch.

Success.

+++

“Welcome back, kiddo!” Derek offers you fist and you bump your knuckles against his on your way back to your desk. “How’d those exams go?”

You huff, playing at defeat. “Oh, you know.”

“Don’t worry about it. There’s always next time.”

Hotch, returning from a meeting with Strauss, hardly looks up from the file in his hand when he says, “Well done on your exams. SSA Radner threatened to hang your marksmanship targets on her wall.”

You hide a smile. “Thanks, Hotch.”

“Not fair!” Spencer says, tossing another Tums in his mouth. “I never passed those.”

“Then how on earth do you have that, Reid?” You point at his six-shooter, still clipped to his hip.

“Wait wait wait,” JJ says, dropping her files and crossing her arms. “You haven’t heard that story?”

Your eyes flicker from Derek, to JJ, to Spencer, and back. “...No.”

JJ settles in, regaling you with a wild tale of an L.D.S.K. -

“You remember what that stands for, right?” Derek points at you and you have a feeling this is about to become some kind of pop quiz.

“Yeah. Long Distance Serial Killer.”

“Good. Famous unsubs include…?”

You sit back in your chair with a little smirk on your face. “D.C. Snipers Muhammad and Malvo, active October 2002, seventeen victims total. Apprehended by agents from the FBI Baltimore field office -”

Derek holds up a finger. “And?”

“- and the BAU and the Maryland State Police.”

“Good.”

JJ waits for Derek to nod at her and she continues what you imagine to be a rather embellished version of a story in which Hotch and Reid save the day.

“...And then Hotch just starts kicking the shit out of Spencer -”

Hotch’s office door shuts and he sails down the stairs with one of those little secret smiles. “This one ends with Reid stealing my sidearm and shooting the unsub in the head.” He taps right between his eyebrows in the barest of pauses on his way out of the bullpen. “Dead center.”

Derek and JJ groan, both whining about how he ruined the punchline before devolving into a fit of giggles. You can almost see the smirk on his face as he pushes through the glass door and turns the corner.

You join in the mirth, ruffling Reid’s hair. He smiles widely at you.

Maybe you could just get used to this place.

+++

The second round of classes on top of added case hours (you’re traveling with the unit more often than not) nearly brings you to the brink.

On the plane back to Quantico, you realize you can’t remember the last time you actually had a full night of sleep.

The rest of the unit is out cold, curled into themselves or stretched out under blankets, save for Hotch and Gideon.

Gideon’s writing in that wretched notebook again, entirely focused on his work under the weak reading light.

Aaron sits beside you on the other side of the cabin, looking over a few files before returning home. You watch him check his watch, sigh, shrug, and pull out his phone. To your surprise, he doesn’t move to give himself space as he calls his wife.

“Hey, honey, it’s me… Yeah, we’re on the plane. Should be back within the next hour and a half... “

He sighs and tightly closes his eyes. “Haley, please… Yes, I know Jack’s already asleep… Are you implying I didn’t do my damnedest to - Then what’s your point?...”

His voice never once rises above a low murmur. It’s impressive.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can… No, I won’t pass ‘Go’ or collect two-hundred dollars or step foot into my office… Yes. Plane. Tarmac. Car. Home… Yeah… Love you too.”

He snaps his phone shut and leans back, tipping his head against the headrest.

You stay quiet, continuing your review of S.S.A. Bailey’s course on, ironically, conflict de-escalation.

Hotch takes a talking breath and you look over at him, keeping a kind of soft understanding on your face - really, shooting for anything that isn’t curiosity.

“I appreciate your…” He looks for a word. “Discretion.”

You laugh a little down your nose. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s none of my business?”

“How many times do I have to imply that a phrase like that isn’t in the vocabulary of this team, usually?” He shifts a little, and you notice his thumb, running along his forefinger like he’s searching for bone.

“Is it really that bad?”

Hotch raises his eyebrows, and you relent.

“Fine.” You drop your voice. “Do you want to know what I’ve seen?”

He shrugs. “An outside perspective might be nice.”

You keep your eyes on your book as you speak, keeping your volume low and your tone as neutral as you can.

“I’ve seen how Emily worries about fitting in - I can’t help but relate. This team is a family and it’s… hard to break through that sort-of-wall to the outside world.”

The prickly feeling of his eyes on you isn’t altogether unpleasant, but you still haven’t grown used to it.

“Derek and Spencer are worried about Gideon and,” you glance at him briefly, “so are you. Everyone seems to want to know why, but I don't think that’s always useful.”

Hotch hums once, maybe in agreement - you’re not too sure.

You are sure, though, that this was a test.

“How’d I do, Counselor?”

It’s never too early to invoke the J.D. hanging in a frame behind his desk. It was the first thing you noticed and suddenly, a lot more made sense.

You’re rewarded with a small smile. “Not bad. Though you did forget to drop in the little bit about my marriage.”

“I didn’t forget,” you assure him.

“No?”

“No. I figure if you have something to say, you seem like the kind of person who’d just say it. At least,” you shrug, “that’s my impression.”

He’s quiet for a minute before he squints and looks over your shoulder at your reading. His brown eyes track down the page before returning to yours. He’s close to you, but you’re not uncomfortable.

Hotch is...safe. Somehow.

“There’s a reason you’re the exception. Not sure what it is yet,” he says. “But there’s a reason.”

“What?”

He leans back, a cryptic little smile on his face, and says nothing else for the rest of the flight.

+++

“Hotch, are you sure it’s not a trick question?”

“The questions aren’t designed to trick you,” comes a voice from the doorway. To your surprise, it’s Gideon. “They’re designed to stretch and reveal your instincts. No right answer.”

The corners of his mouth turn down while his eyebrows rise in that kind of halfway-encouraging look he sometimes gets. “Just go with your gut.”

He disappears and you turn back to Hotch, scribbling away in a file.

“He’s right.”

Your brain feels less and less bound to your body as the days pass. “Am I nuts, or is that the most words he’s strung together since I got here, combined?”

What you now know to be a smile twitches at Hotch’s mouth. “You’re not nuts.”

You sigh and turn your attention back to your mock exam, twiddling your pencil between your fingers. “I’m sorry to keep bugging you with homework - it feels like cheating.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket. “Resourcefulness is not cheating. If it was, I’d have to go back and get my J.D. out of a Cracker Jack box.”

You muffle a laugh.

He checks his watch. “I have a check-in with the budget office in five minutes. You’re welcome to stay right where you are, but it’ll be boring and I plan to do a lot of pacing.”

You hold your hands up in surrender and settle in.

Friday afternoons in the office feel a lot like Saturdays in the office - which is to say, nothing happens at all. The rest of the team is catching up on paperwork while Gideon walks laps with his little notebook.

Not three minutes into his conversation, Hotch stands and begins to pace, as promised.

"No, we can't cut the technology budget... Because if the BAU gets called to a remote region, we need to have immediate access to satellite phones and our technical analyst… Yes… Send the budget to the Director, and I'm certain it'll come back approved without changes… The arrest and prosecution rate of this unit is -”

His desk phone rings and he gestures for you to pick it up.

“Agent Hotchner’s office,” you say with more than a little trepidation. You’re definitely not qualified to answer the unit chief’s phone.

“Goddamn it, Aaron why can’t you -” She pauses. “Wait. Sorry. Who is this?”

You introduce yourself. “I’m currently on-assignment with the unit. It’s… unconventional.”

“Hm. Why are you answering Aaron’s phone?” Her tone isn’t accusatory - it’s more curious than that. You’d imagine this doesn’t happen all that often. He’s either at his desk, or he’s not at his desk.

She calls him Aaron.

You’re not sure why that surprises you. They’re married, and he has a first name.

Taking a look across the room, you watch Hotch’s profile as he continues to defend the budget he submitted.

Aaron.

You make an attempt to see the man behind the suit, the man who goes home to his wife and son when he can.

“I’m using his office to study for my academy exams. I’ll see if I can reach Agent Hotchner for you. Just a second.”

She snorts something that could be a laugh if it wasn’t so sharp. “Thanks.”

Hotch looks over and squints at you, mouthing, Who is it?

You put her on hold and answer in a stage whisper. “It’s your wife.”

Hotch freezes for just a second - it almost looks like he’s rebooting.

He blinks three times in rapid succession before he pulls the phone away from his mouth. “Tell her I’m in a meeting. I’ll call her back.” You move to reach for the phone but he holds up a finger and you freeze. “Wait two minutes.”

You follow instructions, taking the time to answer a few more mock exam questions. You try not to think too hard about his avoidance. This doesn’t seem like a particularly pressing phone call - Hotch is in budget meetings all the time.

None of your business.

After about a minute and a half, you pick up the phone again.

Before you can say anything, she’s already back on her mini-rampage. About twenty seconds in, she pauses.

“I’m so sorry. I’m still not talking to my husband, am I?”

De-escalate. Disarm. Establish rapport.

You can do this.

You channel Derek, using a softer tone designed to distract. Maybe you’ll sneak some humor in there, if you can manage it.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hotchner, he’s not available.”

With a defeated sigh, she asks, flatly, “Where is he?”

Humor. Play off her disappointment.

“I assume he’s in a meeting or something - he likes to think he’s very important - but I can’t find him.”

To your surprise, she laughs a little.

You check with Hotch across the room. He rolls his eyes at you but continues his bickering.

Success.

“Can you just… I don’t know… Tell him I called, or something?”

You try not to think too hard about the defeat in her tone. “I promise I’ll badger him to call you back as soon as he’s back at his desk, ma’am.”

“Wow.” She sounds impressed, and you’re not sure why. You’re not left in suspense for long. She continues -

“You’re a way better liar than JJ. Also - please don’t call me ma’am. Makes me feel old. Haley’s just fine.”

“Of course.”

“You know what…” She asks for your cell number and you give it to her, throwing a glance at Hotch for good measure. He’s still pacing.

He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, but can’t say anything to you before he’s forced to respond to the poor budget clerk who drew the short straw. “No we can’t start sharing hotel rooms…”

Haley interrupts your momentary space-out. “Thanks, again. If he doesn’t have a chance to call me back, can you let him know I’m going to my sister’s for the weekend? With Jack?”

“Sure.”

That’s another question I’m not going to ask.

You hang up the phone and get back to your exam, trying not to feel comforted by the lull of familiarity in the room.

+++

For some reason, you keep finding yourself alone in police precincts in the middle of nowhere with Hotch sitting across the table from you.

“Hey,” he says.

You look up.

“Haley, she…” He heaves a sigh and trails off for a minute, frowning at a spot above your head. “I don’t know why I’m asking, what I’m asking.”

You keep your eyes on him. “Shoot.”

He takes another breath. “I don’t know how to make her happy anymore.”

This is above my pay grade.

“Everything I do seems to irritate her - trying, not trying, just surviving. I don’t know.” He shakes his head at your somewhat bewildered expression. “Sorry, I -”

“No, no, Hotch. It’s fine.” You search for his eyes. “What can I do?”

He shakes his head. “Any advice?”

Any advice? Definitely above my pay grade.

You also feel for him - he wouldn’t be asking if he wasn’t desperate.

Besides that, it almost makes sense he’s asking you rather than anyone else on the team. They’ve all known him too long, have been too close to see his struggles clearly. They need to see him as an authority, separate from petty squabbles.

Separate from the things that make him human.

He needs to be a superhero for this team, and then go home and be a superhero for his family. Both parts of his life exist with a wall between them - Agent Hotchner can’t be a husband and a father in the field, and Mr. Haley Hotchner can’t be an agent at home.

It must be lonely.

Everyone else knows about and ignores that necessary separation. He trusts them as his colleagues, people he can rely on professionally, but perhaps not personally.

Well, all except Emily.

You get the feeling that he doesn’t completely trust Emily yet, but you’re not sure why. That’s another thing to figure out about the walking enigma sitting across from you.

“Well… I’ve never been married, I don’t have kids, but I think…” You search for words.

It’s none of my business, is what you want to say.

Instead, you offer, “Why don’t you just ask her?”

His brow crumples. “What?”

“Ask her. You don’t know how to, I dunno, do it right on your own, it sounds like. But you’re a team, right? Just ask her.”

You duck down to your work, getting the feeling he’d rather not be observed as he processes. There’s a part of you that wonders whether his preference for privacy masks his fear.

Another part of you already knows the answer.

+++

Derek and Emily walk back into the precinct, spotting the pair of you right where they left you.

Hotch still watches you with a soft, curious frown on his face, like there’s a puzzle there he can’t quite solve. You diligently work away, sticking flags and post-its on cold cases for the board.

“What’s with that?”

Emily looks up from her phone. “What’s with what?”

Derek nudges his chin toward the conference room. “That.”

Emily’s brow pinches a little. “They seem to be getting along well.” Her mouth twists. “I didn’t think he’d warm up so easily. He didn’t with me.”

“He gets like that. He’s getting better, though, ever since you called him out.”

She snorts. “You’re kidding. I didn’t think he actually listened - I barely meant it.”

“No, you didn’t.” Derek raises his eyebrows and searches for her eyes. “And he heard you.”

Emily shifts her attention back to you, her posture softening. “Oh.”

“C’mon,” Derek says, tapping her upper back with a good deal of affection. “Let’s regroup and see what we’ve got.”

+++

Aaron sits up in bed, the harsh light from the hotel table lamp illuminating the ugly wallpaper and the case files on the equally ugly bedspread.

His fingers hover restlessly over the keys as he drafts his email, warring with himself.

Does he want you on the team? Permanently? He’s already shown too much of his hand, revealed too much of himself, grew too comfortable too quickly.

He’s not sure what it is about you that forced his guard down.

You’re not the first person he’s asked about Haley, though he must admit that Gideon was next to no help. Spencer’s offered him unsolicited statistics about marital strife on three separate occasions in the past three months.

Aaron presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut.

I live in a circus.

He opens his eyes and reads over the email again.

Fuck it.

His cursor hovers over Send for just a moment before he clicks. The little whooshing sound seals his fate.

+++

You land in Arizona and Gideon’s already on edge. There’s already another crime scene by the time you get off the plane

“This one’s going to be bad, isn’t it?”

Derek sighs. “You’ve got good instincts. Stay close.”

You elect yourself Derek’s shadow at the crime scene, taking notes for him while he circles and observes the body.

Leaning close to him, you ask, “Isn’t the body positioning a sign of remorse?”

He looks over at you with a little smile. “Yeah. Good work.” He looks across the street to Hotch, speaking with the detective. “Do yourself a favor and note that to Hotch. Make sure Gideon hears you.”

+++

This time, you’re alone with Emily in the conference room, helping her pin and organize the board.

“Hey,” she says, something like hesitation in her voice.

You turn. “Yeah?”

“Did Strauss ever…” She trails off and looks over her shoulder as Hotch, Gideon, and Derek come back in from the Arizona heat. They’re on their way to the conference room.

“Did she ever what?”

Emily shakes her head and forces a smile, waving you off. “Nevermind.”

You’re not sure you get the confused look of your face before your colleagues walk through the door.

+++

“Where are they?” Hotch watches the monitor, his eyes flickering, searching for Derek and Emily.

You’re frozen, watching over his shoulder as the woman stabs the unsub, and then herself. Without knowing why, your mind wanders to that question Emily almost asked you the day before.

This isn’t good.

+++

The plane ride home is quiet, tense.

You sit next to Hotch again. There’s not much you can do, but you shoot a text to Haley.

5:42pm We’re flying back. Should be wheels down in Quantico in about four hours.

She texts back after a minute.

5:43pm Thanks.

There’s something off - you don’t like the look of that period, but you try not to read into it too much. You’re all feeling a little unsettled after that case.

Your eyes wander across the cabin.

JJ’s bottom lip is firmly planted between her teeth as she stares out the window.

Spencer’s sitting across from Gideon with a huge book in his lap, but he’s looking at Gideon more than he’s reading.

Gideon, for once, doesn’t have his journal in his hand. He, like JJ, stares out the window, his mouth pinched.

Emily’s eyes are restless, her breathing somewhat irregular. She’s picking at her nails.

“Emily.”

She looks up at you, and you tap the back of your hand with a finger. She looks down, finding her thumb and index finger close to bleeding.

“Thanks.” She looks away from you again.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think the view out the window was the most captivating sight in history.

You know better. It’s just clouds.

Your phone buzzes in your hand. Jenny.

5:58pm How’s it going?

You huff a little laugh down your nose.

5:58pm Rough day.

Hotch breaks his gaze from the window. “What’s up?”

“Just Jenny. She’s checking in.”

He shakes his head and you can hear the sarcasm in his tone. “Good day for it.”

6:01pm If you’re up to it, I’ll be in my office late if you want to swing by and talk about it. 6:02pm I also have booze.

You look up to find Hotch reading over your shoulder. He backs off. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to -”

“No, it’s fine.”

“You should go, if she’s offering.”

You snort. “Should I be job-searching already?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says with a little smile. “Jenny’s seen a lot. She’s a good resource.”

+++

The Navy yard is quiet as you drive across the campus. The NCIS building isn’t hard to find, but it’s still unfamiliar territory.

When you park and get cleared for access and up the elevator, most of the lights are off on the Major Case Response floor. There are still agents present, working under the warm light of their desk lamps.

A team of four takes up the middle of the bullpen, but they barely look up as you pass them and climb the stairs.

Cynthia isn’t at her desk - gone for the night - and Jenny’s office door is open. She also has her overhead lights turned off, giving her office a cozy, lived-in feel.

“Hey, you,” she says, looking up with a little smile. “Just got the scuttlebutt on that Arizona case. Definitely not ideal, I hear.”

You shake your head, collapsing into a chair on the other side of her desk. “Not ideal is a good way to put it.”

She stands and crosses the office, pouring two small glasses of some amber liquid you know is gonna burn like hell.

You take what she offers and hold in both of your hands, not really interested in drinking it, and follow her to the couch.

“What happened?”

You heave a breath. “Got the call - three murders already. Clearly a preferential offender. All the women were students, brunette, similar features. We already had another crime scene by the time we landed. We used the profile, got the guy.”

Jenny’s brow pinches. “Then?”

“Copycat. Even came with a note exonerating the suspect we had in custody. We had to let him go without a lead on the second suspect.”

She sighs and takes a sip of her bourbon. “Been there.”

“We were surveilling him, waiting for him to do something stupid - we knew he would. The copycat confronted him… She was suicidal. Stabbed him, then herself. We were too late.”

“Oh, my God.”

You level her with an exhausted look. “Yeah.”

“How’s your team?”

“Tired, mostly.” You offer a humorless laugh. “Maybe in a more existential way than a physical way, not that any of us have slept…”

The two of you chat into the early hours of the morning. She’s had more than one day like this, in more than one country.

“It’s days like this that make you question whether you’ve chosen the right line of work.” She looks over at a picture of herself in front of the Eiffel Tower, resting on her bookshelf. “But the good days…”

“They make it worth it, don’t they?”

The corner of her mouth tips up in a smile. “Yeah. They do.”

+++

You find a text from Haley when you get back into the car, not realizing you left it in the center console cup holder.

10:38pm Thanks for getting him home safe. Get some sleep.

+++

When you come in the next morning almost embarrassingly late, Gideon’s office is still dark.

You’re not even really sure you should be here in the first place, what with the major fuckup hanging over everyone’s heads. The last thing you want to do is go home to your room, back to those four tiny walls and textbooks, even after everything. The bullpen, this team, has become your safety net.

They should all be here, but there’s only one absence striking you as particularly odd. “Where’s Gideon?”

Spencer shrugs, spinning half-circles in his desk chair. He looks despondent, staring at the carpet. You don’t see Emily or Derek, but you assume they’re somewhere.

Weird.

You set your things down and head up the stairs, knocking twice on Hotch’s door.

“Yeah?” He looks up and sees you, relaxing a little.

You take a little breath. “Should I be here today?”

“Do you want to be here today?” There’s something behind his voice you can’t quite place. It almost sounds like insecurity, like he’s worried he’s scared you off.

Far from it.

“I do, sir. I want to be here.” You think of Jenny, and hope he can hear more than you can say. “It’s worth it.”

You think maybe you’re figuring him out a little more. He smiles more often than you’d think, but you have to know what it looks like. This look - the softening of his eyes and the corners of his mouth, the slight crease at the corners of his eye, the threat of a dimple - is just as big a smile for him as Morgan’s human-sunshine smile.

“Then stick around. I’ll have you work on some mock consults with Reid and Prentiss - you’ll be doing a lot of those in the next few months until you’re ready to take them on by yourself.”

“I’ll go pick them up from JJ. They’re in her office, right?”

He nods and you turn to leave, but you’re stopped by the sound of your name before you can get through the door. “Yeah?”

“You’ve performed remarkably well, no matter what happens after this.”

The side of your mouth twists. “Thank you, sir.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @the-falling-in-the-danger @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @kerrswriting @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou @baumarvel @messyhairday-me @ssworldofsw @deagibs @crazyshannonigans @moonshinerbynight @jhiddles03 @teamhappyme @mendesmelodies @starsandasteroids @unicorn-bitch @ambicaos @bispences

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

Text

Late July

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Pairing: Agent Whiskey [Jack Daniels]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit explicit.

Summary: Upon hearing about you from Tequila, Jack Daniels seeks you out with a full set of emotional baggage to work through. You happily oblige, helping him craft a scene that just might grant him some peace of mind. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @wrestlingfae @cookiethewriter @culturalrebel @jackierey09 @crookedmoonsaultpunk @duker42 @agirllovespasta @nelba @pedrosbigdorkenergy @lestrange2703 @youmeanmybrain @luvley-shadow @theocatkov @miscellaneousjunkk @reluctantlyresponsibleadult @buttons-beads-lace @gooddaykate @lackofhonor

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains consensual non-consent (surrender play), light domination, roleplay, unprotected sex, frank discussion of safe words, usage of safe words, dirty talk and light bondage. Remember that fanfictions are not research and that you should never engage in any activity if you do not trust your partner. Stay safe!]

There was just something about you that put people at ease, and Ginger Ale noticed during the interview process. "You have a gift!" She had praised you, her smile unexpected and bright. "I can see why Tequila recommended you for this position."

Granted, being the 'head of first impressions' at a distillery that was actually a front for a secret intelligence agency had its ups and downs, but you enjoyed the work and (if you were honest) the exciting interactions with the Statesman agents.

Tequila, of course, would practically drape himself across your desk as he regaled you with (hopefully) exaggerated tales of his heroics. The two of you were sexually involved but preferred to keep each other at arm's length out of the bedroom, neither party particularly keen on surrendering your freedom and committing to anything serious at this point of your lives. You admired his dedication to Statesman, and he in turn respected your desire to have a successful career. He also was blatantly mooning over a certain analyst.

Ginger Ale was quieter and sharper than Tequila, her dry humor a joy to witness. She was the one who had done your interview, and she had given you the full behind the scenes tour once your background check went through. She was beautiful, charismatic and smart as a whip. You hoped to one day be as self-assured as she was.

Champ tended to keep to himself for the most part, though you had encountered him several times in the past when he dozed off in a certain chair at the end of a sunlit hallway. The elderly man was like an old tomcat, you decided, able to prowl but more than willing to take it easy.

Whiskey was often away managing the affairs of their New York headquarters and as such, was the one that you interacted with the least. He would come breezing in at all hours, a slow smile and a wink directed your way before he would saunter past. The rare occasions that he engaged you in conversation were nerve-wracking, as you were a little starstruck due to the glowing accounts both Champ and Tequila had given of his prowess in the past.

Ginger Ale was a bit more down to earth, thankfully. "He's just a man who's lost a lot, and his reasons for wanting to change things for the better may not be entirely altruistic." She had informed you concisely when you queried about the origin of one Jack Daniels. You had picked up on the veiled sadness in his dark eyes, the age that seemed to weigh him down that wasn't entirely related to years.

So when the aforementioned Statesman agent had drunkenly expressed a certain desire to you at a company party, you couldn't hide a little spike of curiosity. Mainly because the two of you interacted so rarely. Hell, you wouldn't even call yourselves friends. Tequila must have told him about your side activities.

"Ever since I lost her, I can't fuckin' bring myself to raw anyone else." The confession had come out of left field, but you had done your best to play it off like it was normal. Lord knew you had done enough paperwork in your career at Statesman to understand that agents would just kind of…say things thoughtlessly if they believed they were in a safe environment. A hazard of the job.

"What do you mean, Mr. Daniels?"

"Call me Jack. Jesus, I ain't that old." He had hiccupped sharply, grimacing. "I just mean I...it's like a mental block. I wanna', I'm excited about it, and everything's fine until I try to come and boom. Python shrivels up like a damn salted slug and I'm left holdin' the bag tryin' to explain myself." He stared into his glass, looking pensive. "Real mood killer."

"Any idea why this might be?" You had prompted, leaning against the bar and idly scanning the throngs of people around you. It wasn't every day that so many of the company's rank and file rubbed elbows with the higher-ups, but you had to assume these economic mixers were what had kept the company (and intelligence agency) on such an even keel. It was a grounding experience, a way to remind the suits of their humble beginnings.

He scoffed out a breath. "Oh I know exactly why. When I lost her, I...we had only learned a little while before that she was havin' a baby. We'd been havin' a rocky time and we were actually thinkin' of breakin' up, but that news…" Jack had tilted his head to glance your way, his brown eyes distant. "If I hadn't gotten her pregnant, she wouldn't have been out shoppin' that day, y'know?" A sad smile had quirked his mouth beneath his mustache. "My fault."

At the time, you had made a noise of sympathy and gone to lay a hand on his arm before you could think better of it. He, instead of shrugging off your touch, actually ended up twining his fingers through your own and giving your hand a light squeeze.

Agent Whiskey's past was a shadowy affair in the Statesman organization. Though to be fair, no one really asked anything about anyone. Ginger Ale reasoned that the less people knew, the safer they and Statesman were in the event of a security breach.

Anything you learned from any of the agents, you tended to keep close to your heart. It was your nature to gather useful information and foster trust for a rainy day. That personality facet had served you well as you had climbed the ranks from intern to head of first impressions, and knowing that you were someone that could be counted on to hold your cards close put many people at ease.

Including one Agent Whiskey.

"Tequila said you were good at helpin'. I'd be much obliged if you'd consider takin' a crack at my sexual baggage."

...

"Alright so for your words, you've decided on 'sixth' as your 'yes I'm into this', followed by second for 'slow down but don't break character', first for 'slow down and do break character' and finally neutral for 'full stop'." You tapped the customary notepad on your lap, glancing over at the man across the table. The two of you were currently sitting in the kitchen of the vacation cabin that your parents had willed to you, the modest dwelling often your staging ground for affairs like this. The warm wooden decor tended to make your partners feel more at ease and less vulnerable. Perceived safety was, after all, incredibly important when crafting scenarios.

Jack nodded. "Gears are easy for me to remember. Simple."

"Got it. And no kissing on the mouth. Can I kiss you in other places, or would you prefer I didn't at all?"

"Kissin's fine." Jack allowed. "Whatever you wanna' do is fine, just not on my mouth." You jotted that down. "Hey, I uh...I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate you agreein' to help. I dunno' if this will work, but…" Whiskey rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Thanks. When Tequila mentioned your...extracurriculars, I figured he was jus' bein' outta' pocket again."

You grinned at that, giggling a little. "Does he get weird a lot?"

"I mean, he's uh...well, he's got his moments." Jack replied with a smile of his own.

"So," you hummed once you had checked your notes again, "after looking over all the information we've compiled, and the ideas you gave me an outline of, I'm thinking that you may want more of a 'surrender-play' kind of experience."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Dare I ask how that's different from what I already suggested?"

"Look, you and I both know that I couldn't keep you from moving if you wanted to. Now, if we had a real working dynamic going on and I believed that you would listen and trust me implicitly so that you don't end up hurting yourself or me, then we might have something. But as we are right now, that's not gonna' happen." Whiskey inclined his head with a rueful chuckle, acknowledging the truth of your words. "So I propose that it's more of a scenario where all the agency is removed."

The agent leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "Explain."

"You need a scenario where you aren't in control and there's not even a chance of you being in control, taking any responsibility or guilt from the equation." You elaborated. "Basically, you would surrender your control so that you can indulge guilt-free. A lot of people do this coupled with a roleplay aspect in order to test new things that may be out of character for them."

"You coulda' jus' said you wanted to tie me up, sugar." Jack drawled. "I'll show you some good knots."

"You don't have any issues with being secured to...I guess a chair, probably? We'll keep you upright. If we sprawl you out on a bed that might be a little too vulnerable." You reasoned, waiting for his nod before you wrote it down. "I know it sounds contradictory, but I want you to be comfortable in what we do. Should I leave your clothes on?"

"If you can stand to, I'd appreciate it." The man answered with a cheeky wink. "Bein' naked and restrained is a little too close to the job description." He sighed after a moment, tipping the chair backwards as he laced his fingers behind his head. "Now I warn you, if I'm supposed to be an unwillin' party, I may display a little less Southern hospitality and a little more Southern history with my language, if you catch my drift."

You pursed your lips, squinting at him. "...is that your way of saying you might use a naughty word or two?"

You received a lazy finger-gun in reply, "bingo, cherry pie. You got any names you ain't a fan of bein' called?"

"Oh! I mean, I've heard just about everything in the book." You straightened up as a thought occurred to you, and then pointed back at him sternly. "No slurs."

"Ma'am," Jack sounded aghast, "I am not that breed of Southern gentleman. My lingo can verge on the spicy, but I sure as hell wouldn't stoop to that level."

You narrowed your eyes to drive your point home. "I really hope not." The agent inclined his head once more, putting a hand over his heart in a display of sincerity.

The front legs of the chair met the floor with a soft clatter, once again putting him on stable footing. "Now, I been wrackin' my brain tryin' to drum up a good premise like you asked, but I ain't exactly big in the screenwritin' department. I figure it could be kinda' like I'd been kidnapped? Drawin' a blank on why my kidnapper would be rawdoggin' me, maybe you can come up with somethin'?" He queried hopefully.

You furrowed your brow in thought, going silent as you carefully considered the hodgepodge of contributing factors. "Oh, I think I can manage."

...

This deck had been rigged from the start. In theory, you knew that he knew that. Still, he was certainly acting like it stung his pride a bit that he'd fallen into your 'trap' so cleanly.

Everything was going according to plan.

Whiskey struggled against the binds that secured him to the kitchen chair. His whip was safely confiscated. Lasso out of reach. Hat was still on his head. He had specifications, after all.

You left him to wriggle for almost half an hour while you got yourself ready. The man was a secret agent, after all. If he hadn't been restrained for much longer than that at any given point you would be very surprised.

You finally opened the bathroom door, sauntering out into the cabin's small kitchenette. "Miss me, love?" You crooned, committing to your role as villainous vamp stereotype number six. You had worn a plain set of underwear and an oversized white t-shirt, soft and see-through from the amount of times it had been washed. You got the feeling that if you went more elaborate, you might scare Whiskey off or make him too uncomfortable to really get into it. This scene was all about trust, and he hardly knew you. But he had sought you out for this. All you had to do was follow through.

"Was beginnin' to worry that you forgot about me, ma'am." The agent drawled back, his smile tightly sardonic and his low voice curling hot in your belly. "You fixin' to untie me yet?"

You clicked your tongue, the noise disappointed. "Whiskey, sweetheart, where's the fun in that? If I untie you, you'll just kill me."

"Can't blame a man for tryin'." Jack was absolutely in his element right now. He looked furious.

You ambled around behind him, slinging your arms around his neck and resting your weight on him briefly. "Remember," you murmured in his ear. "If you need me to slow down, or need to stop entirely, you say…?"

"Second, first and neutral." The agent replied readily. You patted his cheek.

"Good boy." You praised.

"Ain't my first rodeo." Whiskey's tongue darted out nervously to wet his lips and you wanted to reassure him, but you knew you had a job to do.

"Now, can I get you a light refreshment? Something to drink? Maybe some chips?" You offered, moving to the small refrigerator that you had stocked a little earlier in the day. Planning was imperative for engagements like this. "I have water, sweet tea, Coke…"

"Dammit woman, stop beatin' around the bush! Why the hell do you have me hogtied to this damn chair?!" Jack erupted.

"So rude." You chided him, removing a water for yourself and then leaning casually against the counter. "You really want to know, Mr. Whiskey?"

"Obviously." He scowled.

"Well be a patient boy and maybe I'll tell you." You hummed, not making eye contact as you unscrewed the cap on the water bottle. "It was more than enough trouble for me to get you here in the first place, big shot. Don't rush me."

"Listen, I'll be the first to tell you that I probably ain't who you're lookin' for." He said bluntly. "I'm just a simple liquor tycoon, nothin' more."

"Mr. Whiskey, if you continue to insult my intelligence maybe I will decide I've got the wrong man. And then I'll just get rid of you." You swirled the water in the bottle, fixing him with a thoughtful look.

"You're talkin' a mighty big game, woman." Jack grumbled.

You sloshed some of the water on your thin white shirt as if by accident, and began daubing at the gauzy fabric aimlessly. "Whiskey-"

"It's Jack." He spat.

"Oh, we're on a first name basis? How exciting!" You teased him, laughing when he muttered angrily under his breath. He was clearly enjoying the role of 'belligerent definitely-not-a-spy'. "Alright then, Jack. I won't beat around the bush, as you so tactfully put it."

"Hallelujah, some goddamn cooperation." He replied in a sulky tone.

"So, Jack, I need you to come inside me. Strictly so I can bypass Statesman's biomechanical security systems. It's nothing personal, I just assumed you would be the easiest target, you know?" You remarked with a shrug. "The flirty cowboy with the filthy mouth." He stared at you and you raised an eyebrow, half-convinced that his reaction was legitimate. "What? You do have a reputation."

"I hate to break it to ya', but you got the wrong beverage. You're lookin' for Tequila, ma'am." Jack retorted, his voice a little raspy. "You want...what?"

"I need you to come inside me so I can use the your genetic signature to bypass the security." Granted, you were pretty certain that Statesman used exclusively fingerprints, retina scans and time locks, but Whiskey had told you to weave a good story for the setup, not necessarily an accurate one.

Jack swallowed hard. "You've got bats in your fuckin' belfry, woman. You expect me to-"

"Oh no, that's the beauty of this arrangement." You interrupted him, still smiling. "I don't expect you to do anything aside from sit there and stay still while I ride you."

"Jesus fuck woman, you--shit, isn't there some other way to do this? I ain't keen on the prospect, but if there's literally any other way…"

"Sorry. This is the only solution that my superiors could get behind." You sighed, feigning regret. "And we might be here a while, from what I've heard." Jack's eyes darted to yours and he flushed, working his jaw. "Don't look so glum! I'm one of the best in my field. I'm sure I'll be able to compensate for your...lack of investment."

"You touch me and I swear to God-"

"Ah ah, naughty boys get gagged." You threatened gently, walking your fingers up the side of his face to stroke them back down his jawline. Jack glared at you, his dark gaze fairly luminous with fury and maybe just a touch of poorly-veiled interest. "Be a good boy and I'll let you talk as much as you want. Maybe I'll even let you play with my tits, hmm?" You asked, cupping your breasts through your still-damp shirt. "Would you like that, love?"

"I…" Jack trailed off, then snapped his eyes back up from your chest. "No!"

You tapped his nose, winking. "Oh I think you would. Don't be so stubborn, Jack." You cocked your head to the side. "No one from Statesman even knows you're gone. No one is coming to rescue you." You informed him, all the playfulness evaporated from your voice. "You're mine now, Jack. My own personal key-card."

"You won't get away with this." Jack snarled.

"I think I already have." You knelt between his legs, running your hands over the jeans that covered his thighs. He squirmed, trying to dislodge you, but you just moved with him. You dug your nails into his thighs. "You keep wiggling and I'm going to have to tighten the ropes, Jack. Is that what you want?"

"Oh you filthy fuckin' woman, you absolute bitch, let me go!"

"Hmm," you tapped your chin as he kept jerking and straining against the knots. "No."

Jack froze when your fingers unbuttoned the button at the top of his fly. "Now wait, wait just a damn minute, y-you can't--" he tried to plead.

"Oh I can. And I will." You looked up at him. "As long as we're in the right gear?"

"Sixth, sixth." He affirmed, flashing you a quick smile. You nodded and seamlessly resumed your play.

The zipper of his fly opened devastatingly slow, the agent exhaling raggedly when you pulled up his shirt and palmed his groin gently through the fabric of his boxer briefs. His cock was already half-hard, and you pointed that out with a mean little smirk on your face. "Oh no, looks like someone's interested." You crooned, rubbing your index finger over the head of his still-clothed dick.

"Fuck off, you...y-you-" he swore, rolling his shoulders as if he was testing his bonds. "You little bitch."

"Temper temper." You chided, ducking your head down to mouth over the fabric of his boxers. Jack gasped out another swear over your head, his hips twitching up to meet you before he slammed them back down. "Methinks someone doth protest too much." You snorted, splaying your fingers on the newly-revealed skin of his stomach. "We could make this so much simpler if you would just give in, Jack." You didn't miss the way his skin jumped at your touch, and you smiled against his boxers.

"You'll--you'll have to do better than that." Whiskey breathed. "You think just any ol' woman can get me up?"

You stood, leaning in close and pressing your mouth to his ear. His whole body flinched when you wrapped your fingers around his cock and gave him a nice, slow stroke. "Oh, poor thing. You must believe you're really special, hmm? God's gift to mankind every time you take someone to bed." You mocked, your teeth and tongue laving over his earlobe. "We're all so lucky to have you, Jack."

"Hhn-" Jack's shoulders went stiff, the man obviously biting his tongue.

"You don't have a choice, sweetheart. I'm going to get you hard. Then, I'm going to use your cock. And all you have to do, my lovely, handsome cowboy, is come inside me." You informed him, drawing a finger beneath his chin. "More than once, preferably."

"I'm not usually a man to voice my own shortcomin's, but I must warn you that this will be a futile-" Whiskey's words hitched in his throat when you stroked him again. "Fuck, no, don't touch me like that, you--"

"Stop playing hard to get, Jack." You murmured, slinking your free hand up the back of his neck to massage his scalp right beneath the band of his hat. "Give up."

"Never." He hissed even as his head lolled forward, granting you more access to rub his neck.

"Pity." You settled back down between his legs and wrapped your lips around his cock.

"No, no, dammit-" Whiskey growled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Don't you fuckin'...no, no, don't use your tongue the-ah f-uck--" His protest died in a pitiful groan when his cock met the back of your throat. "Oh, you--fuckin'--you've got to be shittin' me woman, the whole-?" He grunted out haphazardly as you relaxed your throat and took him all the way down to the base. "You think y-you can take advantage of me jus' cuz' it's been a while since I got laid? Fuck you."

You hummed around his cock, wanting to giggle when he twitched and swore loudly. Your fingers dove past the hem of your underwear, and you moaned against him as you ran your index in slow, steady circles around your clit.

"I ain't fuckin' you, and I sure as shit am not gonna' come in your pussy." Jack snarled.

"Oh yes you are." You sang, rising to your feet and slipping your panties off. The white t-shirt came next, baring your breasts to the air-conditioned environment.

Jack seemed to forget that he was supposed to be vehemently against this yet again as he just...watched while you teased your nipples. You tugged at the taut peaks, rolling them between your fingers and making a show out of the whole bit.

"I can't wait to have you inside me, filling me up, just pumping me full of your come." You said with a smile, sauntering over until you would be in reach if his hands were free. Jack's tongue made a nervous reappearance and you tugged his chin upwards so you could see his eyes. "Are we still in gear? Or do we need to shift?" You asked. He seemed slightly dazed.

"Oh! Uh, sorry, s-sixth." He stammered. "Sixth, holy shit."

"Mm. Don't disappoint me and maybe I'll let you live." You remarked smoothly, swinging one leg over his lap and straddling him. Jack's shoulders were rigid again and you kneaded at them surreptitiously, trying your best to keep him in the scene and out of his own head.

You were well on your way to soaking wet with arousal. There was nothing better than when you had a partner that trusted you, regardless of whether you had truly earned that trust. Just the fact that they had blind faith in you to execute the endeavor that they needed...it was heady and sweet and you loved every second.

You rutted your pussy against the underside of Jack's cock, the man snapping his teeth at the sensation. "Too good?" You taunted, laughing when he swore again.

"I can't believe that you think I'm fuckin' enjoyin' th--look, any dick perks up at heavy pet-"

Cutting Whiskey off mid-sentence was quickly becoming a favorite pastime, you realized as you angled your hips and let the head of his cock push past your pussy lips. "In, just a little, give you a taste, sweetheart…" you sighed, rocking your hips forward and back but not allowing him to sink any deeper into you. "There, that's not so bad, is it?" You cajoled as he shuddered beneath you. "Just keep being good, my sweet cowboy, and this will all be over so much sooner."

"No, no-" He struggled to move, to do anything, but you had made certain to tie him exactly as he had specified. "Dammit, when I get free of here, I'll--"

"Shh, you think too much." You tapped your index finger to his lips, smoothing it over the bristle of his mustache. "Focus on your job right now, and everything will be fine."

Jack turned his face away, inadvertently presenting the thick column of his neck to you. And you, channeling your inner villain, leaped at the opportunity to lick and bite at the bared skin. He made a strange noise, a combination of a moan and a whine that had you raising an eyebrow.

"Is someone a little sensitive there?"

"No, I am not." He answered through gritted teeth. "I hate that you're touchin' me, that's all!"

"Hmm, it doesn't sound like you hate it." You mused, suckling gently at the spot where his jaw met his throat. You were very careful not to leave marks, as that had been another specification. Whiskey struggled underneath you again, only succeeding in pumping his cock up into you slightly.

"Don't, don't--" His voice actually cracked and you smiled, nuzzling your nose beneath his jawline and letting his dick settle deeper.

"Oh no, it seems like you do want to fuck me after all." You shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back and stroking over the base of his cock with two fingers. "Warming up to the idea of being my little fuck toy, Jack?" You teased, noting the way his knuckles whitened from his grip on the rope and his Adam's apple bobbed with the force of his convulsive swallow at your words. "I could just keep you here like this forever, you know. All tied up, helpless for me…" You squeezed the base of his cock and he gasped, trying to stifle the noise. "Soon, I'd have you trained so that you couldn't come from any other pussy aside from mine. Wouldn't that be fun?"

Without waiting for an answer, you let the last few inches of his dick enter you. You leaned back on his thighs, feeling the muscles coil and strain beneath your touch as you reached down and grazed your clit. You could feel the heat of his gaze on you, those brown eyes fixated on the motions of your fingers even as his cock split you open. You were grateful that he was secured, you weren't sure if you would have been able to take him otherwise. His cock curved thickly against your back wall, the engorged head throbbing back and forth over the area that made your whole body shudder in delight.

Whiskey's jaw was taut, his shoulders set in a rigid line that made you ache to get him to come undone in you.

"You're so quiet." You pouted, raising your hand and brushing your wet index finger over his slack lower lip. "Aren't you having a good time?"

His chest abruptly expanded, like he had forgotten to breathe for a moment or two. "Fuck you." Whiskey seethed, making you chuckle softly. "I ain't nobody's goddamn fuck toy."

"Sweetheart," you chided as you sat up. "That's not a very nice thing to say to the person warming your cock right now." You deliberately clenched down on him and Jack swore under his breath, shaking his head. "I can make you feel so good, Whiskey, if you just give me what I want." You insisted, cupping his face and pulling halfway off of his cock.

"N-N...No." He replied weakly.

You sighed, rolling your eyes and shaking out your shoulders. "Well, I tried." Your hands landed on his shoulders and you gripped down to steady yourself, your hips meeting his own with a wet slap! of skin. Jack's chest heaved, his eyes closed and head tilted back as you began to ride him roughly. "All I wanted was for you to come in me. I don't feel like that's asking for much!" You complained petulantly, rolling your hips against his when he was hilted in you with an agonizingly slow grind of your body.

Jack bit out a low "fuck," those tense shoulders trembling under your touch. You tucked your face into his neck to tease the sensitive area even more, your tongue tracing random patterns that made him squirm and writhe underneath you. "I don't--can't, can't, don't make me--" he tried to protest, his words fractured and pitiful.

"Yes you can, and you're going to." You snapped, taking a handful of hair at the nape of his neck so you could urge his head back further, leaving his throat at your mercy. "You're coming in me, Jack! Give up!"

...

"First!" He choked out, and you immediately slowed to a crawl. Your touch on him gentled significantly, no longer demanding but cradling, caressing.

"Easy, easy." You soothed, the unrelenting assault of your perfect hips gone to a slow and careful rhythm, back and forth like a porch swing in the summer heat. Your eyes searched his own, concern shining through.

Jack was speechless, his blind panic melting away at the sound of your regular voice. What the hell just happened? He licked his lips, only now realizing how dry they had gotten. "Sorry, I uh-"

"No apologies." You murmured. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Would you like to stop now?"

Whiskey took a long moment, running a mental check on his body. Nothing was sore, nothing seemed out of line. Everything was raring to go.

Everything aside from his brain, that is. The damn thing wouldn't stop conjuring up scenes of you pregnant and everything going to absolute fucking shit. It didn't matter that he had zero attachment to you, it didn't matter that you were on birth control. This was how it always was.

Every damn time things got serious with a new interest, "oh, let's start a family," Whiskey just wanted to curl up into a ball. Without fail, like clockwork, he would shut down.

And then the accusations would start, the distrust, "How come you can do it with protection but not without?" and it was disheartening, crushing to go through again and again. Explaining didn't seem to do a lick of good, it was always just that he was stringing people along, that he was a damn selfish prick, that he didn't care about what his partner wanted.

That couldn't be further from the truth, of course, but maybe that was his own fault for not dropping the bomb before getting attached to someone. He just couldn't ever seem to justify asking a person on their second or third date, "hey so what's your thoughts on having kids?" It felt manipulative, cheap, and if he was being honest, he knew for a fact that sometimes just the idea of having children was enough to scare a potential interest off.

You were the first person to try and help Jack really wrap his head around this whole issue. And yeah, that was the whole point in sussing you out, but…

Tequila didn't tell him that you actually gave a shit, or at least you were damn good at acting like you did. Whiskey bit his lip. "I'm okay." He said finally, trying for a smile.

"Anything chafing? Do you need some water?"

"I…" Jack trailed off. "Huh, I admit I am a bit parched. But that means you'd have to get up." He realized unhappily.

"Were you enjoying yourself?" You asked, sounding curious.

Whiskey got the hysterical idea in his head of you pulling out some sort of satisfaction survey at the end of your engagement, the notion making him smirk slightly. "God, yeah. I...yeah." He flushed a little bit. "Dunno' if I ever got this far after…after all my mental hangups and stuff. The fact that I don't have a say in the matter seems to be helpin', though."

"Okay, don't go anywhere. I'll get you some water." You patted his thigh, cautiously settling your feet on the floor and then going to stand with a quivery little gasp that absolutely stroked his ego.

Jack couldn't help his own groan at the loss of your heat, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Damn it woman, has anyone ever told you that your pussy is fuckin' perfect?" He muttered, his usual honeyed words suddenly clumsy in his mouth. "I mean, hell."

You laughed, bending over to dig in the small fridge for another water. Whiskey felt his entire body throb at the sight of you presenting yourself to him like that, and he sucked in a breath at your obvious teasing. Even in the soft light of the kitchen, he could see the glisten of the wetness between your legs. Hell yes, he found himself thinking stupidly as you turned back around.

"I'm just glad that you're doing alright. That's the most important part to me, after all." You assured him, unscrewing the cap on the water and tipping it to his lips.

Jack gulped greedily, feeling a few droplets escape his mouth and run down his neck to blot his collar. "I am. One hundred percent." He said firmly after he had slaked his thirst. "Let's keep goin'."

"If you're sure, absolutely." You acquiesced, smiling again. Placing the water bottle on the kitchen table, you then swung your leg over his thighs like you were vaulting back into the saddle. Jack held his breath, waiting for you to welcome his cock back into your body. And God he was so hard, he couldn't remember ever being this hard, what the hell--

But strangely, you didn't immediately resume from where you had left off. Instead, you put your arms around his neck and actually rested your forehead against his own, bumping his hat upwards.

Jack swallowed roughly, confused.

"Let me take this from you." You whispered. Whiskey felt pinned by your stare, he felt as if you could see every terrible thing he had ever done, every transgression laid bare under the weight of your gaze. "Let go of it. I have you. I won't let anything happen to you."

The words washed over him, soft and sweet. Your fingers slipped up into the hair at the nape of his neck to toy with the mussed ends that lurked there. The whole exchange was oddly intimate and Jack found himself at a loss yet again, simply grating out, "sixth," when he couldn't come up with anything else to say.

You reached down and stroked his cock, rubbing the head of it against your clit. And Jesus he could feel you, the difference in heat, the slick--

"Are you gonna' take it from me, sweet girl?" He hissed through his teeth like it wounded him to ask, trying desperately to cling to the illusion that he wasn't willing. "Take everythin' I've got?"

The blur between reality and this playdate was getting messier by the second. He wanted to fuck you, wanted to bury himself in you, spend every last drop inside the hot embrace of your quivering cunt. He wanted that. Jesus Christ, this wasn't part of the bargain.

This was a pantomime, specially designed pornography that existed only to coax a very specific reaction from his confused body. So why did he wish he had met you years ago? Why was he suddenly hoping and praying that the sounds you were making were legitimate instead of exclusively for his benefit, hoping that you were also enjoying this?

You angled your hips and sank back down on his lap, your hands going to your breasts where you proceeded to fondle and tease them until your nipples looked like they ached.

Whiskey fucking ached himself to wrap his lips around one pert little peak, swirl his tongue across the tip and make you come undone, rut his dick up into you until you cried out his name and soaked him--

Whoa cowboy, he chastised himself, a little startled by how sharp the longing was. You just kept fucking yourself on his cock, that hot, wet little pussy molded perfectly to every ridge of his member and he had never been this hard, this ready in his life. Despite the air conditioning in the cabin, your skin shone with sweat from all the work you were putting in and Whiskey couldn't recall a time where he had been more appreciative of someone else accomplishing a task within his field of vision.

Your hand slipped down, down, and Jack found himself following the trajectory until it delved between your legs and you started playing with yourself. "Jack," you crooned his name and it was like a prayer, reverent and soft, tender enough to coil itself around his lungs and choke him to death without a whisper of protest. You parted your legs even wider in his lap, exposing yourself to him so he could watch his cock slide in and out of you, so he could see himself fucking you open.

"Are you gonna' come for me, sweet girl?" He gasped, craning his neck and managing to tilt his head so he could mutter into your ear, "you just gonna' wrench one out for me, beautiful?"

"Mm, no, I'm not coming until after you come." You whimpered, still moving your hand. "But I'm so close, Jack. I want to come."

Your plaintive whine had him ablaze. God, he had never wanted to please someone so damn badly in his life. "I know you do, sweet girl." He murmured huskily, exhaling hot over the shell of your ear and loving the way you quivered in his lap. "You're so good, lettin' me blow my load before you get off--gonna' pump me dry when you come, aren't you? Just keep me inside you until that little pussy is all fucked out," he growled, barely aware of the words that tumbled from his mouth.

All he knew is that you were all a-tremble at his voice, your body as hot as late July against his chest, your eyes heavy with adoration that he did not deserve and God, he couldn't get used to that look even if it was fake. What if you stayed? he wondered absently. What if you stayed?

Oh fuck, he was about to come. Panic jabbed like the blade of a knife between his shoulder blades and Whiskey went silent, his teeth bearing down on his lower lip and his eyes slamming shut as he focused harder than he ever had in his life.

The smell of you, the sounds, the heat, the little spasms of your cunt around his cock…

Yes. Yes, God yes, he could do this--

"Come in me, sweetheart." Begging him, pleading, demanding, "Jack-!" You cried his name.

Whiskey groaned hoarsely, so low it was almost painful, and let go. He bucked his hips up against you as best as he could, minute little thrusts while he came harder than he had in years. "Oh," he snarled, gritting his teeth, "fuckin' Christ woman, I think you've ruined me, Jesus fuck."

Your hands threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck again and you held him, not tightly, but just enough to keep him steady, anchored. "There," you said abruptly, the snide, put-upon tone of your role contrasting wildly with the gentleness of your touch, "was that so difficult?"

Jack burst out laughing, not overly concerned with how strange of a reaction that was. Hell, was he relieved? "Jesus fuckin' Christ, you're great." He remarked breathlessly. "I don't even know what just happened."

"Oh?" You replied, raising an eyebrow. "The mess between my legs seems to allude to you possibly having an orgasm. Jury's still out though."

He grimaced apologetically, glancing down. "Sorry darlin'. It's been a while, y'know?" You rose up off of him again and he grunted as his cock slipped free from your body. Whiskey felt half-drunk, relief and release combining into a potent cocktail that left him boneless in the chair.

You quickly put your shirt back on and then crouched at his feet, beginning the arduous process of untying him. Jack just sat there, watching you drowsily. He couldn't do much else, really. "Any numbness or chafing?" You asked quietly, stirring him momentarily from his daze.

"Nah, nothin' yet." He replied, straightening his freed left leg and rotating his ankle in his boot. "A little stiff, but I've survived worse than that."

"And how do you feel?" You questioned, "physically and emotionally."

Jack gnawed at his lower lip, trying to force his sluggish brain past the haze of serotonin in order to give you a satisfactory answer. "...good." He said finally, scrambling to elaborate, "or uh, better, I guess. More okay than I've been in a fuckin' while." It wasn't a lie, he was surprised to discover. He hadn't actually put much stock into this endeavor, figuring it would be a fun little diversion that would end just like every other time. Of course, it didn't hurt that you were easy on the eyes, prettier than a peach if he was being honest with himself.

Your smile was bright and Jack's stomach knotted confusingly. "I'm glad."

His right leg was released and he shifted his weight in the seat, groaning happily when his hip popped. "Hey, wait." The agent belatedly realized, "you didn't-?"

"We were here for you." You reminded him. "Not me."

"Whoa now, that don't seem fair at all!" Whiskey protested, taken aback by your nonchalance. "You just put in all the work!"

Your laugh tripped down his spine like an aftershock. "Don't get bent out of shape! It's standard policy, Mr. Whiskey. Once the desired result of the scene has been acquired, the scene ends and I start with aftercare."

"B-But--you didn't get to get off though!"

"Me 'getting off' wasn't specified in our planning."

"I needed to specify that shit?! I figured you'd just kinda'..." His right arm was free now and Jack seized the opportunity to make a certain gesture, raising his eyebrows. "I mean, I was at your mercy!" He continued, bewildered. "You totally coulda' just kept goin'-"

"Yes, and that's exactly why when the desired result has been achieved, the scene ends." You interjected firmly. "Because you trusted me enough to let me take control, and I'm not about to break that trust by doing something selfish on a whim."

Jack exhaled hard, scooting his hat a little further back on his head so he could study you. You didn't look disappointed, or annoyed with him. He wondered how many times you had fielded ignorant questions like his own and he cringed at himself. "I'm...shit, I'm sorry. I don't have any right to be all shitty about it." He apologized as you moved out of his field of view to untie the rope securing him to the back of the chair. "I just feel like you worked so hard an' got nothin' out of your end of the bargain."

"It's sweet of you to be concerned about that, but don't take it personally, okay?" You assured him, "I do this because I enjoy it. The whole experience, not just the finale." The ropes around his chest sagged and Jack slid forward a bit in the seat, relaxing.

"Can I get that water again? Christ, I need a cigarette and a tumbler of the strong stuff after all that." He joked, clumsily tucking his cock back into his boxers. You pressed the bottle to his hands and he nearly dropped it, chuckling self-consciously. "Whups, sorry. I had my fists all bunched up so my fingers are stiff." Jack proceeded to down the rest of the bottle, wiping his mouth and mustache with the back of his hand after the fact. "So...what exactly is it you do for Tequila?" He queried nosily.

You laughed at him and God, God he loved the sound of your laugh. "That, Mr. Whiskey, is on a need-to-know basis. Just like this little soiree between the two of us." You chided, your eyes bright with good humor. "I would never violate a partner's trust in me."

Jack tipped the bottle in your direction, as if making a toast. "I'll drink to that, partner. What's next on the menu?"

"We'll talk out the scene and wind back down. Get cleaned up. I'll probably…" you paused, squinting at the clock over the sink. "You want some pizza? There's a joint not far from here that serves pies and chicken wings until midnight."

Jack groaned appreciatively, "I knew you were my kinda' gal. Lead the way to the debrief, ma'am."

It didn't really matter in the long run, he supposed. You obviously weren't interested in anything serious (if only because he figured that your flings with the stereotypical 'bad boy' Tequila would have become more regular in spite of the younger man's painful crush on Ginger Ale), and he could respect that. Still though, he couldn't help feeling a touch morose over the possibility of never engaging with you again.

He toyed with the idea of asking you for another 'appointment', but dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it arrived. Better to quit while he was ahead.

Or rather, he amended ruefully as he settled down across from you in the diner booth, his hair still damp and curling slightly beneath his hat from the quick wash he had indulged in at your cabin, better to quit now before I make even more of a fool of myself.

Part Two

#jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #kingsman: the golden circle #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character #agent whiskey imagine #consensual noncon #whew where did this come from #enjoy!#working things out

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queen-of-fanfics · 4 years

Text

Dance With Me

Prompt: You’re an intern to the BAU where you stay late to help Hotch on some paperwork and feelings start to develop.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

A/N: Hey y’all! I’ve been binge watching Criminal Minds like my life depends on it! My favorite is Hotch right now because .... daddy. Lol, if you want to see other pairings or any requests, just let me know, but in the meantime, I hope you like this! I wrote it was 1am in one sitting ..... good luck. I know I didn’t write a lot of dialogue but if y’all wanna see more of that, let me knooooow

It was already hours past midnight, most of everyone had already gone home for the day. You were Penelope’s intern for the time being. You’ve been on the team for a few months now, working alongside Penelope in hopes of one day joining the team permanently. After working with the team for a few weeks, you started to notice that Aaron Hotchner tends to spend some late nights in his office working on cases or paperwork. And those were the days he got out early, there were times when you came into the office early and saw he had spent the night in his office.

After you realized that he spent nights cooped up in his office while the rest of the team was able to go home and rest, you started staying late with him as well. First, you would occasionally poke your head through his door and ask if he needed any help. Grabbing him some fresh coffee or maybe some snacks if he started to get hungry and then go back to your desk out in the pen. Then he started asking you to help him on some paperwork and even look over some cases with a pair of fresh eyes. It somehow morphed into nights where you stayed in his office with him just to keep him company so he wasn’t working alone.

Those nights, he made sure there was a babysitter at home with Jack. Though your late nights together weren’t as frequent, they were often enough for you to keep your schedule open. At first, it was just to win some brownie points but then you started to really enjoy his company. More times that you were willing to admit, Hotch would catch you glancing at him. At times …. even staring at him, though you would never say you were. You thought you were being subtle! But there was no hiding it once your cheeks started to get warm. He was nice enough to never call you out on it but you always caught him smiling down at his paperwork after.

Lately, you two have been spending more time talking and laughing with each other than getting any work done. There was always some sort of take out for a late dinner and seeing him smile gave you butterflies in your stomach. During the day, it was rare to even see him smirk. Seeing this new side of him was like a complete switch and now you live to see him smile at you.

Maybe it was the exhaustion and deliriousness talking, but you could have sworn that there was some tension happening between you two. You were too shy to ask or do anything about it. Maybe you were going insane because he’s your boss! He’s professional. He’s just being nice, that’s what it has to be! You’ll just have to keep telling yourself that before you do something stupid and get fired.

Penelope had left for the night and you were just tidying your things from her cave of technology before you went to check on Hotch. You were hoping for another late night with him because you were starting to look forward to spending time with him but you didn’t let yourself get your hopes up on it. There was music playing softly through the speakers in the room as you out papers away into your briefcase. It was a mellow romantic song that made you want to dance. You started to sway around the room, twirling and gliding across the room while you grabbed more of your things. You were wearing a soft light blue dress that fell right above your knees. It flared out at your hips so when you twirled, it spun around your body making you want to dance more. You were so lost in your movements and packing up that you didn’t notice Hotch walk into the room.

You turned around to grab the remote that was on a table by the door and let out a little scream when you saw Hotch standing there with a smirk on his face. His smirk turned into a smile as he was leaning against the wall watching you. You quickly straightened and you could feel your face get hot, “What are you doing here?! You can’t just sneak up on me, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Well, I believe I work here?” His smile only grew wider when he saw irritation on your face.

“I bring a peace offering, how about that. Do forgive me, I’ll make sure to stomp in the future so you can hear me coming.” He lifts up a white bag with take out boxes inside.

“That depends …. What’s in the bag?”

“Chinese. From that place you like down the street. That is if you don’t already have plans.”

“You know my ass will be sitting right there in your office shooting spitballs at you. I’m getting better at my aim I think.”

“Unfortunately so.” He chuckled at you as he pushed up from the wall. “Aren’t you on the clock? You know dancing does not make us look very professional to the murders we hunt.” He teased you.

Your cheeks grew a little warm at the reminder of what he saw. Though you were always a tough nut to crack and never backed down from a challenge, which worked against your shy nature but you couldn’t help it. Straightening your back, you lifted your chin and narrowed your eyes at Hotch.

“Oh really mister poopy pants. You don’t know how to have a little fun. You’re just jealous anyways cause you know you would lose to a dance battle with me. Just you watch, any unsub would fall to their knees when they see me dance!” You gave him a look and started to sway again with a smirk on your face. If you died, it would be from embarrassment but there was no stopping now. You closed your eyes and started to get into it more.

Letting out a little chuckle, you turned around to grab your bag and head out with Hotch but you barely took a few steps towards your things before you felt an arm go around your waist and spin you around. You let out a small gasp as he fell into his chest. Your eyes widened like saucers and they shot up to look at him. He was looking down at you with a look you haven’t really seen from him before. His eyes were hooded, any trace of humor left his face but he was staring at you so intently. You couldn’t look at him for long because you felt like your heart was going to beat out of its chest and your brain went completely blank. You looked down at his chest and you felt him lean down until his lips rested right at the top of your head.

You both stood still like that for a while. Your hands were resting on his chest while his arms were wrapped around you in a tight embrace. One of his hands slowly slid up to grab onto one of yours that was resting on him. Your eyes were glued onto the sight before you, how perfect your hand looked in his. You couldn’t count the amount of times you dreamed of something like this. Lately, all that occupied your dreams was him.

“Dance with me.” He whispered into your ear. Slowly leaning your head to rest on his chest, you two held each other in a soft embrace as he slowly started to sway you side to side. Your eyes slid closed and you just breathed him in. Soft music continued to play around you, it felt like something of a movie. It had to be another dream, it had to, so you were just going to enjoy every second of this before your alarm clock woke you up.

He felt warm. It felt like home being in his arms. Everything just felt …. right. You could have been out in the middle of a jungle but you knew, if you were in his arms, you had nothing to worry about. You didn’t want to leave this dream. You were almost too afraid to open your eyes. You didn’t want this moment to end, not yet.

His hand lifted from yours and you blinked over your eyes hazily. You felt his fingers right under your chin, urging you to look up at him. You did as he wanted and looked up at his hard expression.

“What’s wrong?” You whispered. Your eyes grew wide as reality set in and you gasped. You quickly tried to take a step back and out of his arms, “Oh! I’m so sorry, please don’t think I’m just trying to sleep my way-”

Your words were cut off as he quickly pulled you back into him, “Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want this. You don’t want me. I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything because I’m your leader-”

Thinking to yourself that it was do or die, you leaned up on your toes and pressed your lips into his and cutting him off before he could back out and away from you. Your hands reached up to cup his face as you pulled him down deeper into you. His arms tightened around you and pulled you flush against his body. You felt the world tip over, your head was spinning but you couldn’t find it in yourself to let him go.

Finally you both pulled away to get some air. He rested his forehead on yours as you both shared a look. He smiled down at you in a boyish smile that made your insides melt. Feeling your face go hot again, you shoved your face into his neck and wrapped your arms around him. He let out a deep, genuine laugh as he hugged you tight and kissed you head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unknowingly to you, Penelope had security cameras installed in her room, ever since she got hacked not too long ago, she wasn’t taking any chances. When Hotch had first entered the room earlier, an alert had gone off on her phone. Penelope was having dinner with the rest of the team, they had already suspected something going on between you two and knew that it was probably best to let you two have your night alone.

When Penelope opened up the cameras to see on her phone, her eyes widened. “GUYS! It’s happening! Come look!” She yelled out to the rest of the team. Everyone quickly ran over to her to see what was going on. Everyone huddled close with some shocked and some knowing smiles on their faces as they saw you two kiss.

Penelope’s mouth was hanging open as she turned off her phone once you two left the room to go back to Hotch’s office.

“Well I would say it was about time.” Morgan said with a cheeky smile.

“I knew it was going to happen just … I can’t believe that.” Penelope said, still surprised.

“Atta boy.” Rossi said smiling back at Morgan.

“I would say, they keep staring at each other like kids at school. How long has it been huh?” Emily said.

“Approximately 6 days after Y/N started so I would say 3 months, 19 days-”

“Too long. I was sure I would grow old before either one of them did anything.” JJ cut Reid off but still gave him a smile.

“Never a dull moment with the BAU.” Rossi said as the team gathered together and went home for the evening.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #arron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch #agent hotchner #hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #criminals minds x reader #bau

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thefactsofthematter · 4 years

Note

“don’t you think you’ve done enough?” and “how do you sleep at night?” seem like a fun pair. you know what to do ma’am- serve me some javid in a fun au. ily >:) -fizz

@jack-kellys ohohohoho now these were some sinister prompts but i very much appreciate them. since apparently i’m no longer capable of writing concisely, this got a little long, but i don’t think that’s really a bad thing! here’s an ao3 link for anyone who would rather read it there :)

javid; 4.8k; historical au!! set in 1860s rural new york, where davey is obscenely wealthy and jack works for the jacobs family; cw: homophobia, (sort of) child abuse; slight nsfw themes for a bit; and a generally toxic relationship

1867.

"I could get lost in your eyes, David."

They're blue, but not a blue that Jack has ever seen in anyone else's eyes. They're not pale, like the sky on a cloud-free day— they're a deep blue, almost reminiscent of the bottom of the ocean. Jack supposes he could swim right into them and never return, lost in the depths of the unknown.

They get a little brighter when Davey smiles, and he does just that. They're laying on his bed, their faces so close together that Jack can feel every one of Davey's exhales on his lips. Jack wants to kiss him, but he'd like to savour this moment first.

"Stare a little harder, why don't you?" Davey laughs. His voice is gentle, and a bit deeper now that they're older, a rumble in his chest that Jack can nearly feel in his own when they're pressed together like this. "You ought to finally paint me, it might last longer."

Jack silently thanks the lord that his tan skin doesn't blush easily, especially now, when the heat of the summer over the past couple months has deepened his skin colour even further. He can feel a flush rise to his cheeks, but he's sure Davey won't see it, since they're only illuminated by moonlight through the window.

"Is it wrong to adore you?" Jack asks, raising a hand to stroke Davey's cheek. "I'd stare at you all day if I could."

"I already stare at you all day," Davey replies. "So I suppose we're square."

It's half-true— the study where Davey is tutored in the afternoons has several grand windows overlooking the main garden that Jack usually tends. He'll often look up to see Davey staring down at him, having abandoned whatever studies he was meant to be focusing on.

Davey abandoning his studies is how they met, in fact. They were twelve or so, and it was Jack's first week of work in the gardens of the Jacobs family's summer home— he was still apprenticing under Miss Medda, learning how to prune the flower bushes to perfection and care for each and every plant on the massive estate, when Davey all but ran right into him.

1862.

"Hello there."

Jack startles, looking up from where he's been meticulously trimming the bottom leaves of a rosebush, to see a boy his own age standing over him.

"Hello," Jack replies. Any of the other kids he's met here have been employees or children thereof— the Jacobs seem willing to provide work with decent wages for any poor child that needs it, which is awfully nice of them— so he extends his hand to shake without thinking much of it. "I'm Jack."

The boy smiles and shakes Jack's hand, with an oddly formal air to how he moves. His posture is upright and his handshake is firm, almost like a miniature adult.

"I'm David." He looks around, as if to be sure no one else is nearby, and then he crouches down next to Jack with a mischievous grin. "Do you mind if I hide here for a bit?"

Jack smiles right back, confused and amused.

"That's fine by me, but can I ask who's chasing you? Should I be running too?"

David laughs.

"Oh, don't worry, I promise I won't get you in trouble. I'm just... not where I'm supposed to be right now. No matter who finds me, I'm sure they'll give me heck, but I just couldn't stay inside any longer."

Jack isn't sure what to think of David, but he just shrugs and laughs along, turning back to the task that Medda had set him up with. He's sure she'll be proud of him if he gets it all done without getting too distracted and making silly mistakes.

"Alright then," he says, and he takes the tiny gardening shears to the leaves again, making sure the edges of the bush are completely even. "I'll try not to blow your cover."

They both giggle softly, and then there's a moment of quiet, during which Jack can feel that he's being watched rather closely. David finally breaks the silence.

"Do you work here?"

Jack snorts out a laugh before he can help it.

"Well, it'd be awfully strange of me to go around trimming the bushes if I didn't," he replies, which manages to fluster David, making him flush a little pink with embarrassment. "I only just started this week, so maybe that's why we haven't met. I've been busy— there's sure a lot of plants to take care of."

David's expression is unreadable for a moment, in a way that Jack can tell is well-trained. Someone must've taught him that wearing your thoughts on your face is impolite, because he's obviously making some sort of judgement, but it's a mystery as to what.

"Do you like working here?"

Jack, in the opposite of David's composed politeness, shoots him an inquisitive look as he shrugs.

"You ask a lot of questions," he says, before actually getting to his answer. "It's alright, I suppose. Work is work, and this is leagues better than a factory. I can't complain about a fair wage and somewhere safe to sleep."

David's face remains frustratingly neutral as he nods. He's still watching Jack closely, which is uncomfortable to say the least.

"You're awfully young to have a job," he finally says. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

Jack laughs, more confused than anything— this kid certainly asks odd questions.

"You're no older than I am," he retorts, not wanting to get into the long-winded story of how he ended up here— his father going off to fight with the Union army and leaving him in a children's home that was really just a rotten workhouse, running away from there, and eventually finding Medda, who offered to get him a solid job. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Ah— well, you see..." David's face falls into an awkward grimace. "That's what I'm hiding from. I'm on the run from my tutor— he's the most boring man I've ever met, and if he makes me read any longer, I think my eyes will go crossed. I was hoping that coming out to the summer home would mean I get to play outside, but I've been cooped up in the library every day!"

Suddenly, and sharply, it dawns on Jack— David doesn't work here, he lives here. He's one of the Jacobs! Jack had known they had children, but the only run-in he's had with any member of the family until now was briefly meeting Esther on his first day of work— he hadn't even known what her children would look like, nor did he know their names, so how could he have realized that David was one of them?

Before Jack can even say anything, they're interrupted by a shout from elsewhere in the garden.

"Davey! Mom's going to kill you!"

David's eyes go wide.

"Oh no, they've sent my sister after me," he whispers, in a rush. "I have to go. It was lovely to meet you, Jack."

And then he's off like a bullet, running out of the garden to hide somewhere else. Jack thinks about him for the rest of the day.

1867.

"What are you thinking about, mon cœur?"

They're still laying in bed together, still pressed up so close that Jack can feel Davey's words. Davey speaks so many languages that Jack has no clue what pet name he's just been called— all he knows is that it sounded pretty rolling off Davey's tongue.

"You," Jack replies. "How lovely you are, and how lucky I am to have known you for so long."

Davey's nose scrunches, embarrassed.

"You flatter me far too much, darling. I'm afraid you'll make my head so big it falls right off my shoulders."

Jack kisses him to shut him up. Davey hates compliments, but Jack loves to give them to him, so sometimes a distraction has to be employed to keep him from whining too much about it.

"Don't you think it's hot in here?" Jack asks once they pull away for breath, willing to acquiesce and change the topic if it means moving on to not talking at all. He slides his hands up Davey's shirt, fondling his lean torso and hinting for him to undress.

Davey laughs, tossing his head back against his pillows and rolling onto his back, pulling Jack along with him to sit on top and straddle his hips. His hands find their way to Jack's waist, pushing up the hem of his shirt just like Jack had been doing to him.

"Oh, I agree," Davey says, grinning up at Jack. "Terribly hot. You'll have to take this off, won't you?"

Jack is quick to oblige. He forsakes even unbuttoning it, simply pulling his shirt off over his head and tossing it aside. His clothes aren't nearly as nice as Davey's, most of them used and secondhand, so he's not too worried about being careful with them, especially not in a moment like this.

"It's only fair if yours comes off too," he says, leaning down to whisper it against Davey's mouth. "I'm not just here to give you a show."

Davey smiles and pulls Jack in for another kiss. It's hot and fervent, and it makes Jack think of how different things are from last summer. Last year was the first time they kissed, the first time they thought of being anything more than best friends— they were only fifteen, and everything was tentative. Call him naive, but Jack hadn't even realized that boys could kiss other boys until he saw Racetrack, who minds the horses, kissing a delivery boy behind the stables. Kissing Davey was entirely new and sort of terrifying, back then.

This summer, Davey had come back to the country home for the season several inches taller and having gained a broadness and muscularity reminiscent of a young man— Jack hasn't gotten quite as tall, but he supposes he must have filled out in a similar way. They're each more confident now, and it's translated into everything they do, especially into the way they've started to explore all the things their bodies can do together.

"Be a dear and help me with the buttons, why don't you?" Davey runs a hand through Jack's hair to mess it up, their faces still close together, and he smiles in that particularly charming way that he only does when they're in a heated moment like this.

"Too lazy to do it yourself, huh?" Jack teases, but he listens anyways and starts to unbutton Davey's shirt. He kisses down his jaw and neck as he does so, revelling in the little gasps of pleasure and hitches in Davey's breath that this coaxes out. They have to be quiet— as big as this house is, there's always a chance of someone walking by— but Jack adores the near-silent noises Davey makes for him. "Does that feel good, darling?"

"God, Jack..." Davey whispers, almost desperately. "You're so beautiful."

The shirt is fully unbuttoned, and Jack is slowly moving his attention further down Davey's torso. He's just about to start working on the button of his trousers, pausing first to move back up and kiss Davey's lips yet again, smiling into it, and—

"David? Are you awake?"

The bedroom door swings open, without so much as a knock.

Jack's stomach drops to his toes. It was supposed to be locked. Davey always locks it, so that if someone comes by Jack at least as time to hurry back out the window, the way he came in. He must have forgotten tonight.

"What the hell is going on here?"

It's Mayer. Oh god, it's Davey's father. They're fucked.

Jack pulls away from Davey immediately, and they lock eyes for a brief moment, utterly panicked. Without wasting any time, Jack fumbles to grab his shirt and then takes off, climbing out the window that they'd left propped open and following his familiar path down the side of the balcony to land on the dew-soaked grass below.

"David Isaac Jacobs!" Mayer shouts, from inside. Jack finds himself backing up against the wall of the house, directly under the balcony, so that he won't be spotted if Mayer looks out the window. He claps a hand over his mouth to try and keep his heavy breathing from giving him away. "What on God's green earth did I just walk in on!?"

"Dad," Davey's desperate, terrified voice hardly carries out the window for Jack to hear. "It was nothing, I swear. We were just... fighting! Um, he came onto me, and I didn't know what to do, I-"

"Bullshit!" Mayer snaps. "Don't you dare lie to me, young man. It was that no-good gardener boy that you're always spending so much time with, wasn't it? The pair of you are a couple of queers."

"No!" Davey shouts. "That's crazy! It's not— it's not like that at all!"

Davey has never been any good at lying. Mayer slaps him so hard that the crack of it echoes out the window, making Jack immediately feel sick with guilt. He's hiding out here like a coward while Davey is punished for what they did together. He could have stayed and defended him, taken the consequences like a man.

"Watch your attitude, boy."

"Please, Dad," Davey all but sobs. "I'm sorry-"

"You're sorry you got caught. Jesus, I don't even remember what I came in here for— it doesn't matter anyways. Go to sleep and I'll deal with you in the morning."

The quiet once he's stormed off is eery, and Jack waits beneath the balcony a moment longer to make sure he's actually in the clear. He considers climbing back up to see if Davey is alright, but then the window slams shut above him and the lock clicks into place.

It seems like he'll have to go sleep in his own bed for once.

Selfishly, Jack avoids working anywhere near the actual house throughout the next day.

He's a little worried that if he runs into Mayer he'll be fired on the spot, so he does his best to stay out of sight and out of mind— he works on the trees that surround the perimeter of the property, and then spends a good while bothering Race in the stables. He supposes that if Davey wants to see him, he'll come looking.

He doesn't come. In fact, for a couple of days, Davey is nowhere to be seen. Jack doesn't yet have the courage to return to his bedroom window at night, for fear of being caught, but he keeps an eye out for him around the grounds all day. Even as he's watering the main gardens, finally forced to go near the house again, he doesn't notice Davey in his usual spot by the library windows. He's practically dropped off the face of the earth.

The first of the Jacobs family that Jack actually speaks to is, surprisingly, Les.

"Jack!" The eight year-old is charging at him through the rows of carefully tended flowers, the same way a much younger Davey used to run from his governess and tutor. "There you are!"

Jack forces himself to smile as he sets down the watering can, giving his tired arms a much-needed break.

"Hey kiddo," he laughs, making a show of stumbling a few steps backwards with the force of Les' running hug. "Woah, you're awful strong. You'll knock me right over one of these days, if you're not careful."

Jack adores Les, he really does. The kid is fascinated by everything Jack says or does, which is entirely adorable, and he often comes seeking him out in the garden if he tires of playing by himself while his siblings are busy.

"I've been looking for you," Les sighs, dramatically. "You weren't in the garden yesterday, or even this morning! I'm not supposed to go running too far from the house, so I couldn't even go find you, wherever you were. I thought you were gone for good!"

"Aw, buddy," Jack chuckles, ruffling his hair. "I was just working on some of the big trees around the edges of the yard. They needed someone tall to go reach the high branches. I'm back to my usual job now, though."

Les frowns.

"You're not that tall. David is taller."

"I suppose you're right." Jack picks the watering can back up to keep working away while he chats with Les. "He could probably reach even higher branches than I could— maybe he should have come out and helped me."

Les huffs and folds his arms over his chest.

"He hasn't left his room in days. He won't even come to dinner— Mama just takes his food and leaves it outside his door. I knocked and he wouldn't even talk to me"

That's... unsettling. Either Davey is too upset to leave his room, or he's in so much trouble that he's not allowed to— Jack isn't sure which option is worse. He might have to risk paying a visit tonight.

"Well, isn't that odd," Jack replies, doing his best not to externalize how worried he is. "Maybe he's sick. Or, you know, teenagers just get moody sometimes— maybe he's upset about something. I wouldn't worry too much."

Les seems satisfied with this answer, so he nods and drops the subject, happy to follow Jack around and chatter about whatever comes to mind for the rest of the afternoon.

When he's absolutely sure that it's dark enough for no one to see him, Jack darts across the lawn towards the house.

He's done this a million times before, but tonight feels different. The run from the stables— where he typically shares the attic with Race, Albert and Crutchie as a bedroom of sorts— feels ridiculously long, and the twisting ball of nervousness in his stomach is nearly making him sick. He doesn't usually get scared while climbing the balcony, but tonight he's got a horrible inkling of dread telling him he might slip.

He makes it up, though, and he's face to face with Davey's closed window. It's dark, but he can see a hunched over figure sitting on the bed. He taps gently on the glass.

Davey glances up, and they make eye contact for a moment, but then he simply frowns and looks away. Jack isn't willing to give up that easy, though, so on a whim, he tries lifting the window open. To his surprise, it slides right up.

"Don't even think about it, Jack." Davey whips around immediately, looking angrier than Jack's ever seen him. "We can't do this. You have to leave."

Jack raises his hands in surrender, only leaning his top half into Davey's room, not climbing all the way through.

"I only want to talk," he says. "Les told me you were upset, so I thought I'd come see if there's anything I can do."

Davey scoffs, rolling his eyes like a petulant child.

"Don't you think you've done enough?"

Jack frowns, confused.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've done enough damage," Davey snaps. "My father hates me now. He won't even speak to me. He's locked me in my room, and now he's sending me to boarding school come autumn, and it's all because of you." There are tears welling in his eyes, but he huffs and wipes them away. "Go away, and don't come see me again. My life is ruined and it's your fault."

For a moment, Jack is speechless. What the hell? First of all, it's not as if Davey didn't invite him right into his bed in the first place— and he was the one who forgot to lock the door! Really, Jack is innocent here. The only one Davey ought to be mad at is Mayer. Secondly, he's simply astounded by how obnoxiously privileged Davey is. Now, Jack Kelly is slow to anger most of the time— he can't even recall a moment, at least since he's been employed by the Jacobs, that he's ever lost his temper. He certainly has a lot to be angry about, given the rotten hand he's been dealt in life, but it rarely ever gets to him.

In this moment, however... he feels as if he's about to snap.

"Ruined?" Jack asks, surprising himself by matching Davey's angry tone. "This is your idea of your life in ruins? Good lord, are you even hearing yourself?"

Davey's jaw drops.

"You can't speak to me like that! I told you to leave— go away right now."

His words feel like a punch to the stomach. It's a cruel reminder that even after everything they've shared, Jack is nothing more than a servant who ought to know his place. How dare he treat Davey as an equal, right?

If he knew what was good for him, he'd walk away, but Jack is so horribly furious that the words come rushing out before he can stop them, years of pent-up frustration finally spilling over.

"No, listen to me," he snaps. "Put yourself in my shoes for one god damn second, and think about what you just said. Your parents— which you have, by the way— are sending you to some fancy, expensive school, and that's the greatest hardship you've ever faced? Do you know how many people would kill for that chance!? You could write letters to tell me how horrible boarding school is, but I wouldn't even know how to fucking read them, because I've never even been to school! How do you expect me to feel sorry for you?"

"I don't!" Davey replies, all cross and defensive. "I don't care if you feel sorry for me or not, because you wouldn't understand! It's not my fault that you're poor. My family has been so good to you— in fact, you ought to be thanking me for convincing my father not to fire you, after what happened the other night. It'd do you well to be a little more grateful for-"

"Shut up!" Jack yells, losing his patience entirely. "You're so goddamn selfish, I owe you nothing! Everything you have is built on the backs of people like me, who don't have a choice but to work because we've got nothing else— how do you sleep at night!? You'd be nothing without us poor folk, and you're no better than me just 'cause you've got money and a family. You're a naive, spoiled brat, David, and I can't believe I ever fell for you."

Davey isn't so quick to respond this time. The silence that follows is horribly loud, hanging heavy between them with words that probably would've been better left unsaid. Davey's cold expression has crumpled into something hurt and vulnerable, and it almost makes Jack feel bad about being so harsh— his red-hot anger has rushed away like a receding tide, and now he simply feels stunned that he even lost his temper like that.

"I'm sorry," Jack finally says, once the silence has dragged on for too long. "I didn't mean to get so angry." He pauses. "I should go. I'll stay out of your way from now on."

Davey sniffles and wipes quickly at his eyes, as if he's trying to hide that he's tearing up. Jack's stomach sinks with guilt at the realization that he's made him cry.

"I promised my father I'd never talk to you again," he mumbles, his voice wet and choked up. "You have to leave before someone catches us."

Jack nods. He can see that it's not him that Davey is really angry with— it just makes it easier to push him away if he blames him for everything. It hurts, but he understands.

"Okay," he sighs, and he finds himself swallowing tears of his own. "I'll always love you, Davey. I mean that."

And then he can't bear to watch Davey cry any longer, so he leaves. He climbs down the balcony for the last time and runs back across the lawn to the stables, hoping the wind hitting his face will be a good enough excuse for the tears in his eyes.

1868.

It's Davey's first day back at the summer home, and he's been wandering the grounds by himself all day.

The new boarding school wasn't so bad, really, and he's honestly rather excited to go back for his senior year in the fall. It's a lot harder than his old school, a private academy near their other home in Manhattan that he'd attended with Sarah for years, but he sort of enjoys the challenge. He's even made some friends, which he was worried he wouldn't be able to do without his sister by his side.

He owes Jack an apology. He's grown a lot this year, and he can finally see that everything Jack said was true— he's been selfish and naive for too long, and he needed the rude awakening. He's ready to try again, and perhaps do a better job of keeping their secret rendezvous an actual secret, if only Jack will have him. He's got an open heart, and if Jack can forgive him, he'd love to let him back in.

The problem he's facing right now is that Jack is nowhere to be seen. He's walked in loops around the property and has yet to run into him— so he eventually finds himself wandering into the stables, hoping that maybe someone here might have a clue as to where Jack is at.

"Hey," he interrupts a boy about his own age who's shovelling straw into one of the stalls. "Have you seen Jack around at all today?"

The boy looks up with a confused frown.

"Jack Kelly?"

"That's the one. I need to talk to him— I've been looking all over."

The boy still looks confused, and lets out a nervous laugh.

"Oh, um... I'm sorry, sir, but Jack hasn't worked here for months. He quit in November and I haven't heard from him since."

Davey's heart sinks.

No. That's not how this was supposed to go. Davey was going to come back and Jack would be here, just like every summer. They were going to talk it out— Davey was ready to beg for forgiveness if he had to— and they'd be okay. They'd be in love, just like they were before. Jack wasn't supposed to leave— where would he even have gone?

"Do you know where he went?" Davey asks, desperate enough to startle the poor stable boy a bit. "Did he say, before he left?"

Maybe he can find him. Maybe he's not far, just working somewhere in the nearby town he'd grown up in.

"He took a train out west, as far as I know," the kid says, which only manages to crush Davey's heart even further. "He'd been wanting to go for ages, and I guess he finally had enough savings for a ticket. I figure he's probably in California or New Mexico these days."

Davey can hardly breathe. This can't be happening. He's not sure he's ever felt heartbreak before, but this is certainly as close as he's ever come. He's completely and utterly shattered.

"Oh... thank you for telling me," he says, forcing himself to keep his composure. "I'll get out of your way, then."

He doesn't wait for an answer, simply takes off back towards the house. He runs straight to his bedroom, ignoring Les's calls to come play with him and his mother shouting that he knows better than to run in the halls— he simply slams his door behind him and throws himself onto his bed. He grabs a pillow to hide his face, and he screams.

This isn't fair. He is selfish, just like Jack said, because all he wants is for that stupid boy that he loves so much to be here with him. Jack was supposed to stay and wait for him and forgive him— he had it all planned out in his head. They were going to be happy, but now Jack doesn't want him anymore and everything is ruined.

Seven months, Jack has been gone— Davey probably doesn't even cross his mind these days. He's probably brushed it all off as some failed teenage romance and found someone new to love instead. It's like he didn't even care that Davey would miss him.

He throws his pillow at the wall, and splays out on his back to stare at the ceiling.

"I hate you!" he shouts into the air, as if Jack can hear him, thousands of miles away. "I love you so much, Jack Kelly, and I hate you for it! I hope you never fall in love with anyone ever again!"

And then he throws his arms over his face and sobs, utterly broken. Everything he's read about first loves in stupid romance books must be true, because he's never, ever going to love anyone the way he's loved Jack.

#my writing #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #newsies fic #also!!!! theres an alternate ending that i didn't end up using but i am willing to share if there's interest!!!#it's even sadder lmao

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simple-heroics · 5 years

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Momo Yaoyorozu Fluff Alphabet | Part 1 | Letters A-L

Yes, yes, I know. My bias is showing. But Momo just radiates Distinguished Lesbian and my messy queer self gravitates to her for that. Please help me pull my life together, Yaomomo!

Also, props to @sparkncharge for inspiring me to go Plus Ultra on a fluff alphabet. If you’re a Hawks stan, please check out her Fluff Alphabet for him. It’s amazing; I still reread it. Also, while you’re at it, read the rest of Lily’s work. Her blog is partially what inspired me to start Simple Heroics.

credit to creator of the fluff alphabet prompt list here

Activities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Momo is pretty sheltered due to her upbringing and there is so much of the commoner’s world for her to discover outside of the little bubble she grew up in. She gets so giddy when you take her out exploring. With this, though, there is a strong, unspoken level of trust as well because it can take her out of comfort zone and even be a little intimidating.

One of her favorite activities is thrift shopping! She loves going store to store, seeing all the random things being sold and wondering at the stories behind them. While she can create anything in the world, she can’t replicate the history behind a given object. Some of her favorite finds include: a pretty landscape painting by an unknown artist, secondhand novels with annotations inked in, even someone’s diploma from graduate school!

Just as you give her a taste of your world, Momo wants to share as much as hers as possible. So expect the occasional night out at an elegant restaurant, concert halls, tea ceremonies, you name it. Momo takes great delight in introducing you to new experiences.

Her ultimate favorite, though, is when both your worlds come together in the privacy of your shared home. Just you two and a pot of tea shared between you. And she can be herself. Not the class vice president, the Yaoyorozu heiress, or even the Everything Hero: Creati.

Just Momo - your Momo.

Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

More than anything, Momo would admire a s/o with a strong sense of self - someone who knows who they are, where they come from, and what they want in life. Someone who is secure in themselves. Someone who not only accepts themselves but loves themselves, mistakes and all.

It’s the sort of confidence that doesn’t come from skill or achievements or any outside sources. It’s a strong, inherent sense of self-worth that’s unshakable, and it leaves Momo starstruck.

Momo isn’t one to place much value on things like physical appearance but in your case, the deeper she fell, the more beauty she found. There’s this natural allure about you that keeps drawing her in.

You’re simply…you. Just you. And Momo can’t think of anything more beautiful.

Comfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

For better or for worse, Momo is very much a problem solver. Like, “What do you need? Do you want some mint tea? A hug? Want me to hold your hand? How can I help? Please let me help you.”

Yeah, um, Mo? That works great for evacuation and rescue missions. Not so great when someone is having a panic attack. And sometimes, if they’re just feeling down, it’s less about what a person needs and more about just being there for them. It takes some talking for Momo to learn this but when she does, our girl adapts her approach accordingly.

That said, Momo figures out one surefire way to comfort you on particularly gloomy days: Blanket forts.

Yes, Momo is miss prim and proper and tends towards going for a more “practical” approach to most things. But blanket forts are fun. They’re also cozy and warm and make you feel safe. And it’s prime location for cuddling and sweet affection when you most need it.

Plus, she can make all the pillows you could ever want in there. Your blanket fort is magnificent, complete with only the softest of blankets and strung up fairy lights and Momo’s loving arms.

Dreams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

For years, Momo’s greatest focus was her hero career – countless hours of study, training, and internships. Her brain was so crammed with the physical composition of everything to really think about a future.

Then you came along.

Momo doesn’t have any grand fantasies; her reality is already adventurous enough. Her dreams for your future together are simple, humble imaginings not much different from your current life together except for you’re both older. Some silver threading into her dark hair, crow’s feet around your eyes.

Momo wants to continue this life with you for as long as possible. Her dream is to grow old together. Given her profession, she knows all too well not to take any single day for granted.

Simple or no, just thinking about living her entire life with you makes her giddy enough to call in 30 minutes early so she can get home to you faster.

Equal - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Neither. You’re partners, equals in this relationship.

She trusts your judgement implicitly. Part of the reason Momo is in a relationship with you is because she respects you and holds you in a high regard. Likewise (and especially knowing her history with second guessing herself), you always ask for Momo’s input on things.

H o w e v e r, that said, I do believe the roles can fluctuate in this relationship quite a bit. Momo can sometimes be strict with you in the sense that because she thinks so well of you, she knows you can do better and she pushes you. On other days, she herself can be rather passive. The key is communication.

The one thing Momo will never, ever waver on, though, is your safety. She isn’t overly protective by any means but is realistic and practical. And being the s/o of a high-ranking Pro-Hero comes with its own risks. Momo needs to where you’re at and that you’re safe. She personally ensures that you always, always have a way of getting in contact with her. If she herself cannot be reached, she makes sure you have pretty much all top 10 heroes on speed dial.

Seriously. Click any number on your cell. Any one of them is likely to be the personal phone number of Earphone Jack or Shoto or freaking Number One Hero Deku. (Creati is number 1, though. That’s your baby right there.)

Fight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Thankfully, fights are rare. But when they happen, they’re serious. Extremely so. And honestly? I don’t want to see an angry Momo.

She doesn’t yell or angry cry or insult you. Her expression is hard, resolute, as she makes her points in the argument while simultaneously cutting through every one of yours.

Two things make arguments with Momo terrible: One, she’s too damn smart and makes some very good points that are hard to argue with. Two, because she’s smart and makes good points, it can feel like you’re being condescended to you like a child.

And that never ends well.

Thankfully, Momo has a good outlook when it comes to arguments. She has a “us vs. the problem” mindset rather than a “me vs you” which in itself helps a great deal. Additionally, if she’s in a relationship with you, she knows you very well and can understand where you’re coming from.

That said, Momo is a patient, mature person who prefers prioritizes resolving problems and is quick to put things behind her. She is also very good at apologizing when she’s in the wrong but would expect the same in turn.

Gratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

So, so grateful.

If anything, Momo is hyper aware of the things you do for her and this in turn motivates her to return the favor a hundred fold. This includes: extravagant dates at fancy restaurants, sending you to a spa when she herself can’t see you, making you tea almost every night, complimenting you when you’re just in sweats and a stained shirt, bringing you shopping for a new shirt and some Gucci sweatpants, taking you to see that movie you looked for to…at its actual screening event!

Momo is pulling out all the stops for you. Is she your girlfriend or your Sugar Mama? Perhaps both.

Every time you do anything for her, even something as small as grabbing something from a high shelf, she thanks you with a dazzling smile. You just make her feel so happy and so loved. Momo can’t thank you enough.

Honesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Momo doesn’t get into the habit of hiding anything from you. However, that doesn’t mean she shares everything. There are some things she prefers to keep to herself and others she has to due to confidentiality in certain cases.

She does, however, try to hide her insecurities from you. Momo wants you to see her as strong and capable, an intelligent leader who can be relied on. She’s learned to keep up a strong front, as any weakness a hero displays can easily be taken advantage of by a villain or torn apart by the press. The public needs a strong face.

But you aren’t the public. Neither are you a villain out to exploit her weaknesses nor journalist looking for more fodder for tabloids. You’re her significant other, her life partner.

You tell her as many times as she needs to hear this. It takes time and a lot of late night conversations and built up trust but eventually, you two get there.

Inspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Yes, absolutely yes. Momo learned that her self-worth shouldn’t be assigned to things like being the smartest student or the strongest hero or even as the best version of herself. She alone is more than adequate.

As was mentioned in Activities, you also split her world wide open and made her realize the bubble she grew up in. It’s made her acknowledge her own privilege in a lot of ways which in turn made her more understanding of society is set up, especially in regards to her hero work. Momo becomes a far more compassionate hero when it comes time to suppress villains, understanding how life circumstances push some to make unfortunate choices. This realization in turn made Momo start finding other ways to help people outside of hero work, such as donating money to rehabilitation programs and advocating for changes in laws that reinforce the status quo.

As for you, Momo taught you how to let yourself be more sensitive and perhaps gentler. You learn to see people beyond the front they put up, how to recognize their insecurities. Your relationship with her has made you more compassionate as well, so that when you see anyone struggling with what your love sometimes does, you’re quicker to offer a comforting word or validation.

Jealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Momo gets more insecure than jealous. Whenever she sees you spending a great deal of time with another person, she questions herself as a partner to you and consequently beats herself over it.

She remembers every canceled date, every missed phone call, every time she’s had to put you - the love of her life - second to her career. Then she berates herself for feeling guilty about prioritizing being a hero, someone who - you know - saves people. Why would she put a relationship before something so important?

But you weren’t just a mere “relationship”; you’re her world. But was she enough for you? How could she be when she was so busy all the time?

God forbid she starts comparing herself to the person you’re spending so much time with, especially if they’re funnier than her or more reliable or stronger or just more available than she is.

It’s an ongoing cycle and is honestly the saddest things in the world to watch, seeing this strong and capable woman destroy herself from the inside out. Unless she catches herself, Momo could potentially start self-sabotaging.

Please sit down with your girlfriend and talk to her. Please hold her hand as you reassure her that she is more than enough. Please have a long, serious talk about this before Momo breaks down.

After a series of conversations and perhaps some compromises in busy schedules, Momo doesn’t feel insecure very often. When she does, she learns to catch it and talk herself through it.

She reminds herself: You knew what being with a hero meant before you agreed to this relationship, and you’re proud of her. Your relationship is strong. You love her.

And she loves you, too. So much. :’)

Also…lowkey, when she gets jealous, Momo probs spoils the hell out of you. I’m talking date night at a rented out restaurant, private gardens, expensive wine, the works. The most important part being that she’s taken this time for you and only you.

Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Momo dreamed about your first kiss long before you two started dating, though she tries to deny it with a precious blush across her cheeks. She pictured it after a romantic evening, perhaps at her doorstep, with the moon and the stars and she would hold your hand before gently leaning closer and —

Yeah, no. Your first kiss was nothing like that.

It was after a long, hard day of training. Momo was sweaty and gross, covered in dirt, and her body was sore from the extensive use of her Quirk. She was so worn out that she barely even noticed you staring.

And boy, when she did, was she flustered. That is until at her you leaned closer to give her a soft peck on the lips.

“You worked hard out there. I’m really proud of you,” you told her simply.

Momo wouldn’t trade that first kiss for any fantasy in the world.

Your future kisses, however, are certainly more…ahem. Involved than the first. All this to say…YES, Momo Yaoyorozu is absolutely a good kisser. I refuse to accept anything less and frankly, neither would she. She was shy and demure about it at first but when Momo does something, she does it well.

Momo masters the art of sweet, lingering kisses that leave you breathless in their intensity. They usually start with a look, her eyes gently darkening as she takes you in. Her hands delicately touch the sides of your face, smoothing your hair behind your ears to allow her a better look. You can feel the flutter of her eyelashes as she leans in, her breath warm on her lips, before she meets them with her own.

Her kisses are soft and gentle but no less intense.

When she pulls back with a quiet hum, Momo rests her forehead against yours and smiles lovingly at your (understandably) dazed expression.

Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Momo is so cute when she confesses. I know I’ve gushed about her time and again, and I definitely won’t stop anytime soon.

Since her feelings for you first began, Momo held them close to her heart even when her mind is in a thousand other places with hero duties. It’s only later when she’s alone and quiet does she allow herself to focus on you – your smile, your sense of adventure, your honesty, the way your eyes light up, how you challenge her to go beyond plus ultra her comfort zone and grow as a person.

How could someone like you be interested in someone like her?

These feelings grew and grew, combating with Momo’s private insecurities. The more time she spends with you, though, the less they matter. You give her butterflies, yes, but you make her braver, too.

And brave is what she needs when she confesses.

Momo’s confession isn’t a spur of the moment thing. It’s planned - from the when to the how and even the where. She invites you somewhere private, somewhere she feels comfortable and is also meaningful to you both. Perhaps a garden or in the hidden corner of a tea shop you two frequent.

Momo has an entire speech planned. It’s formal and put together and she has it completely memorized but then –

She meets your eyes and suddenly, despite her ability to memorize the atomic structure of everything, that speech evaporates in her mind. She stutters, trying to grasp at the least beginning, and decides to - for once - let go of what’s “proper”.

And like Todoroki said…Momo’s speciality is thinking under pressure.

Momo tells you everything: her first impression of when she met you, the first time you made her laugh, the way her eyes teared up during your first argument, her gratitude for that one time you stood up for her against Mineta, all the ways you inspire her, the way your voice is her favorite sound, and how you make her feel.

You make her so happy and grateful and amused and dizzy and frustrated and emotional. You make her feel confident and so much braver than she actually is.

She takes your hands in hers, holding them like they are the most precious things in the world, and looks at you with shining grey eyes. In those eyes, you see someone so sure and certain of her feelings - her feelings for you.

“I love you, y/n. I love you dearly.”

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chronicbatfictioner · 4 years

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Exchanges and Compromises - Chapter 12

It was decided then that the Talon - Dick Grayson - should accompany Jason to the Wayne Manor. The Oracle has decided that being the only one without 'attachment', i.e. normal people's identity that could be used against them.

The pretty little kitten's name, Jason eventually found out, was Tim Drake. And he would be providing one of the exit strategies. His home, apparently, was right next to the Wayne Manor. His words about knowing of losing parents through violence only made sense after Jason googled the name, and discovered the news article on the kidnapping and murder of Jack and Janet Drake, Tim's parents. It was apparently quite a news back then, only Jason never heard of it since he was already residing in Eth

He was right when he guessed - mostly through his manner and speech - that Tim Drake was rich. The Drake House - although smaller than the Wayne Manor - was still bigger than most homes in the suburbs that Jason knew of. Plus there was a massive yard, sky-high fence, several garages, a greenhouse, and a garden.

And then there were the tunnels.

Tim said that according to the Waynes' side of the architecture, the tunnels tend to lead to nowhere, and were not sturdy enough to be explored. Tim, however, had explored the tunnels when he was really little - as in ten-year-old 'little' and discovered that most were natural tunnels and have exits.

"I hope you've explored with someone who's like, my size." Jason reminded him just as they laid down the plans to him.

Tim glared at him top-to-bottom and then glared at Dick.

"Yeeeah... he's definitely not my size." Jason pointed out. Dick might have been muscular, but more on the lean side. Jason was built like a brick house and a few inches taller and wider than Dick.

"If it's any consolation, I didn't need to squeeze through anything when I went," Dick told him.

"I'll map the dimensions of the exits, anyway, just in case. We went with cameras back then." Tim said. "And now that we've covered the exits, how about the entrance? Would you rather walk right up there and say something along the line of, 'hey, I'm here to deliver the next Wayne heir. And by the way, you owed Talia Al Ghul some child support, but on the bright side, you won't need to pay 'em anymore,'?"

"Yeah, that sounded like a really quick way to get into an altercation." Jason retorted.

"I advise you, Tim, to take them there. Sort of like safety in numbers scenario - whatever happened, the Waynes won't be able to... make Jason and Damian 'disappear' because someone else already knew of their presence in Gotham." Barbara advised. "I've put the articles on stand-by, and shall have Vicky Vale start sniffing around by one week."

"We've got Grayson here as an extra pair of watchful eyes, so to speak. I don't think they'll do anything dramatic." Jason reminded. "Also, if they think they could kill me and take Damian just like that, they might be in for a surprise. Damian isn't... easily persuaded through blood and gore." He stopped short of accidentally revealing that the 'training' he and Damian returned from when they discovered the death of Ra's and Talia at the Algol Island had been Damian's 'training' in death and destruction. Colloquially referred to as the 'Year of the Blood', Damian was sent to retrieve a number of relics from around the world; most held in private collections by colonists who had acquired said relics from native people by force. Combine 'acquisition' and 'force', it was safe to reason that said 'colonists' would have had armies protecting the relic. And Damian had gone through them fairly easily.

And bloodily.

But that was not something Jason would reveal. It would be up to Damian's discretion - later or never - to tell his father. Surely he would not wish to have such thing revealed to a group of people calling themselves 'heroes'.

"I'm in favor of the more the merrier, really. In spite of me being the so-called 'extra' pair of eyes, Tim Drake has higher visibility when it comes to... well... the common people..." Dick remarked. "There might not need to be blood and gore in the immediate future. Plus, I'm not there as a Talon."

"You're there as Damian's guard, the White Ghost. Anyone familiar with the lores surrounding the Al Ghuls would not suspect a thing..." Jason started.

"Can I be the blue ghost, instead?" Dick wanted to know, grinning impishly.

Tim, too, was grinning impishly.

"What," Jason growled, suddenly realized that he was being played.

"I kinda liked blue better than white, y'know?" Dick replied.

"You're not taking this seriously, are you?"

"Oh, I am. I mean, there's a kid's life on the line; a lot more money than I'd ever seen if they were in the form of unpopped corn kernels; heritage; people of Gotham, etc, etc... why wouldn't I take this seriously?" Dick replied as he walked away from the table. "But I still think I look better in blue, right?" he added, pulling out a set of costumes from the cabinets. It was modeled after Jason's costume - "to have a more cohesive look between us," Dick had said. And it was in blue, whilst Jason's was in green.

He groaned exasperatedly. "There is no blue ghost in our ranks..."

"Well, they don't need to know that, do they?" Dick reasoned.

Jason glared at Tim for help. But the boy shrugged, "he's had that made since the day you came. He actually has several sets of those... He said your outfit made for pure awesome day clothes. I, too, worry about his fashion sense."

"Why." Jason partly wanted to know, partly wanted to know what the hell he'd done in the past that landed him with the Marx brothers right there. His costume would work well for the desert - where the Al Ghul's strongholds were mostly at; the jungle surrounding the Al Ghul Island where Damian and Talia would reside during the summer months; or in combat. For daily use, however, Jason would have worn normal suits. "For the love of all things mighty, you folks didn't look through my suitcase, did you?"

"Oh, we know of the suits. The normal people suits, don't worry. I have those made for Dick, too - in blue as per his insistence." Oracle intoned. "And no, Richard, you are not wearing costumes when you walk to the Waynes' front door."

Thank god for the voice of reason.

"Aww... buuuut, it will be more impressive!" Dick wailed, dead-set looked crestfallen, and gave puppy-dog eyes toward Oracle. Jason sighed again. For what seemed like the umpteenth time of the day.

"No means no, Dick. Now, if you'd come up straight from the desert and whatnot, that wouldn't be so strange. But you - and by 'you' I meant Jason and Damian - arrived in Gotham more than a week ago and stayed at the Ritz, 'fer cryin' out loud!" Oracle snapped back.

"Ritz this ain't, but I agree, if we've stayed at the Ritz, there would be questions as to why hasn't anyone seen us. My costume isn't exactly made for urban living." Jason pointed out. Dick was still sulking, but it looked like he - thankfully - finally conceded.

"Fine, I'll wear the monkey suits..." he grumbled. Jason mouthed a 'thank you' toward the projection.

"Okay! Next, backstory excluding the fact that... Talia and Ra's' being murdered and stuff - that what you're planning to say right, Jason?" Oracle continued, ignoring Dick's whines.

"Yes, there's no point in hiding it since Wayne would want to know who the mother was, and we have set out news stating Ra's and Talia Al Ghul being killed in an airplane crash," Jason told her.

"I've seen that news and marked all the news portals that mentioned them. I would like you two to keep an eye on Bane's reaction, as minute as they might be. Dick?"

"Got it. If he as much as breathe wrong in Damian's direction, we kill him." Dick replied. To Tim's and Jason's withering glare, he demanded, "what?"

"Why can't we just have Tim accompanying me, anyway?" Jason finally blurted. "He could jeopardize the whole thing."

"No, he's not. He's just pulling that one out of his ass. He's not gonna kill anybody, right Dick?" Oracle prompted. "Plus, it would be fairly odd if Tim Drake accompanies you, as he himself is quite a well-known individual within the city."

"Hhh... alright..." Jason still grumbled but decided to let it go for now. There were far more important objectives to be had.

"I much prefer Grayson to be with us as well, Jason." Damian suddenly piped up. He has been sitting there, at the head of the table, watching the processions. "With most adult's predisposition to undermine non-adults, Grayson's presence there could deter anyone from trying mischief right away." he reasoned. "Timothy, while I daresay have sufficient combat skills when required, has the benefit of being a public persona while being a child and thus would not come across as strange that I - as a child as well - should come to him first and foremost for assistance."

"Why, thanks, Damian. I think..." Tim replied.

"That is... quite an interesting psychological insight, and validated our plan, I think," Oracle remarked after a few seconds of silence. "Okay, gentlemen? Shall we get the plan rolling, then?"

"We shall," Damian replied. "I cannot wait to see how my father will react."

#Jason Todd #Tim Drake #JayTim #Red Ghost!jason #Stray!Tim #Talon!Dick #Damian Wayne #Damian Al-Ghul #Dick Grayson #Barbara Gordon #Oracle!Barbara #Batless!AU

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srprincess · 4 years

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Guess what!?! It’s Fictober time again! So – new prompts, but I’m still out here (making an attempt at) finishing my same old fic.

Prompt 1 – “No, come back!” // fandom – omgcp // fic rating – T for language reasons

Notes: This is actually chapter 19 of the Spookydoo AU I started last fictober. I can’t believe it’s been an entire year. I guess months worth of pandemic related block and a cross country move will tend to slow these sorts of things down, but, yeah – a year. Wow. Back at the start I had thought this was going to be a quick month long project, but here we are! If you’re still following me from way back then, here’s the long promised update. If you’re new this will make NO SENSE without the rest of the story - and honestly only minimal sense after - so I’ll drop a link to the rest of the story on Ao3 in the replies (since tumblr hates links)

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“Are you sure I don't need to head back and get them?” Will asked, for the third time.

“Nah, they’re resourceful. Quit worrying,” Nursey told him, also for the third time. At least. Maybe he had asked a few too many times.

He, Nursey, Shitty and Lardo were gathered back around the table in his kitchen, while Sammy sat at the edge of the doorway leading into the mudroom, happily chewing on a length of rope that Will had knotted up for her. He didn't have much to offer in the way of snacks while they waited, but he’d managed to scrounge up a bag of not quite stale pretzels and some cold sodas. Not the best spread, but good enough he didn't think his mom’s memory would judge him too harshly under the circumstances. Said circumstances being that these particular guests and their friends had basically wiped out his pantry over the course of their previous visits.

They were waiting, with varying levels of patience, for Holster and Ransom to show up with their lunches, and - maybe more importantly, it depended on who you asked - to tell them what they'd found out about Lou’s place. Or rather the house that she had been...haunting? It was still hard for Will to think about it that way, about his longtime friend being a ghost, but, well, could he deny it anymore? Honestly? It was strange, but if she was a ghost - which she was - and had been staying in and around the house - which she had - what else could you call it other than a haunting? At any rate, finding out the property had been sitting vacant might have explained how it could have had a ghost-in-residence for so long without attracting too much attention, but it opened up a whole other set of questions. Who would leave a house on the water empty for years? Sure, it needed some upkeep, but still, it was a nice enough place in a great spot. Where were the owners? Why hadn’t they been trying harder to sell it? Or failing that, using the property themselves? He also wanted to know more about how Lou had ended up connected to the property, but that was going to have to come from her and not a simple property search. Unfortunately, she hadn't seemed any too eager to talk about her final days when he and Nursey had talked to her earlier.

After his stomach grumbled, Nursey checked the time, again, and sighed.

“I said I could head back in for them,” Will pointed out. “It’s not an issue-”

“Might be a while, but I’m sure they're on the way,” Shitty assured him. “I think they were looking for an excuse to rent that bike, and a ride’ll take them a minute.”

“Not the tandem!” Lardo shook her head, “I thought we talked them out of that.”

“Yes, the tandem, and you tried to talk them out of it. I, on the other hand, might have offered to pay the fee as long as they took pictures.”

“They'll never make it here in one piece on that thing.”

“Oh, ye of little stature and faith, they are perfectly synced. They'll make it fine.”

“Whatever. Then why did you want pictures, hmmm? A 20 says they'll crash and burn at least once.”

“Hopefully they don’t fall on my sandwich,” Nursey muttered under his breath.

“Because Jack can't be the only one with pictures of these trips, that’s why. So, deal?”

“Deal.” Shitty and Lardo were just shaking on the bet when the sound of tires on the rocks outside was followed by a knock at the door. They all turned to look at Will, who looked blankly back before it clicked -

“Oh. Yeah. My house. My door. Best be getting that.” He rushed to the answer, more to hide his blush than out of a hurry to let the two in.

He opened the door to the double whirlwind that was Ransom and Holster pushing through, arms loaded with bags.

Shitty took one look at them before holding his hand out to Lardo. “All in one piece. Well, two pieces. As expected. Pay up.”

“Not so fast,” she told him, attempting to shove his hand away before turning to them. “How did you manage to carry all of that on a bike?”

“No bike,” Ransom told her.

“It was already rented,” Holster added.

“Ha!” She slapped Shitty’s hand down. “No payday for you.”

“You neither,” he pointed out.

“Hmmm. I still say you owe me ten,” Lardo argued.

“The hell I do,” Shitty scoffed back.

“But if they would have ridden the bike they would have fallen, and you know it.”

“Says you. Wrongly.”

“My. What an excellent defense. I can see why you're the high-powered attorney here.” Lardo pulled a face at him before stating her case, “If they had tried to ride that bike they likely would have fallen. If they tried to ride it while holding all those bags, they for sure would have. I see no possible way that they would have made it here safely, and so I still deserve half the original bet winnings.”

“Incorrect,” Shitty took a final sip of his drink and a deep breath before standing. Full attorney mode. “First, both these fine individuals have a history of athletic excellence in a sport known for quick moves requiring great balance skills, coordination and teamwork,” he counted off each point in his hands. “Second, they've been known to safely carry much more than a few bags of food, over unfamiliar terrain, in the dark-”

“Well, I did fall on Rans that one time we-”

Shitty hushed Holster before continuing, “Shhh - You aren't helping the case.”

“Why are we even on trial?” Ransom asked, confused. “Anyways, I remember that. Kind of. You only almost fell, bro, and we were hella fucked up that night.”

“You,” Shitty pointed to Ransom, “are helping. Thank you. As I had said - teamwork. While, errr, shall we say inebriated? They were able to use teamwork to accomplish their goals. Mostly safely. Sober, and in the clear light of day, making it here safely would have been no problem. Thirdly, if the bet had been that they `likely’ would have fallen off the bike with their arms full, I allow that you might have won. Unfortunately, for you, it wasn’t and so you didn’t. In closing, your point is dismissed for being unprovable. Case closed. The End.” He, smugly, picked his cup back up to drain the drink.

“You can't just close the case yourself-” Lardo argued.

“And yet, I have,” Shitty shrugged.

She growled under her breath, “this isn't over,” Lardo pointed at him before asking Ransom and Holster, “So, no bike? How did you get here?”

Will, who had been watching like the exchange like it was the most interesting show he’d seen in years, and, let’s be real, with television as spotty as it was out there it kind of was, turned to them, curious himself to hear the answer.

Nursey, who had been enjoying watching Will watch the others, said, “Probably an Uber.”

“No Uber round these parts.”

“Fine, Lyft, whatever.”

“Nope, don’t have those either,” Will told him. “We do have a Martha, but there’s no way that’s how they got here.”

“What’s a Martha?” Nursey asked.

“She calls herself a taxi service, but truthfully she’s just a busybody who got herself a fair reliable rig and a business license. Let’s her keep up on who’s new around, see what they're about and then give them a mandatory tour of her favorite places. Takes her forever to get anywhere. Guaranteed it would have taken them at least another hour to get out here with her.”

“An hour!? How is this town even big enough to take that long?”

“Well, if you drop her a ’tip’ she's sure to add your place on the route, yeah? Bunch of shops do every year. That's a lot of side roads and loops. Now me? I throw her some money every season to miss The Light entirely. She would have tried stalling and distracting them as long as possible before heading this way.”

“So, don’t take ’a Martha’, noted for future.” Ransom cut in.

“We didn't need to anyway,” Holster told the group. “Did you know, if you order food for delivery, you can get yourself delivered along with it?”

“That's not a-” Nursey started to argue before looking to Will for confirmation. “Is that a thing?”

“No. Definitely not a thing.”

Holster gestured at the bags and then at himself and Ransom, “I do believe it is.”

Will frowned, confused, “You know what...I don’t even think they do delivery at all. Outside of town, leastways.”

“You’d be amazed how far friendliness and a smile can get you,” Holster said, flashing a near alarming display of teeth.

“Maybe you should try that sometime, Poindexter,” Nursey joked.

“Ha fucking ha,” Will said, flashing a smile that veered more towards frightening than not.

“Hope you tipped well,” Shitty told Holster, ignoring the shoulder shoving across the table.

“Pfft, of course dude.”

“Good, then. Now, important business, where’s my sammie?”

A whine came from the doorway.

“Sorry, I meant my sandwich, not you Sammy,” Shitty turned to tell the dog. She sniffed in their direction, clearly looking for attention in the form of food of her own but not wanting to leave her new rope unattended. “But, yeah, her food, where’s it at? Guys?”

But he’d lost the attention of Ransom and Holster. With a nudge and a head tilt to where Nursey’s ankle was practically hooked around Will’s, Ransom smirked at Holster, who in turn sighed and pulled some money out of his pocket to hand it over.

Nursery watched the exchange before he narrowed his eyes. “And what’s this about?”

“What?”

“The money?”

“That? He owed me for the, umm, dog dishes.”

“Yeah, sure he did.”

“Right, Holtzy?”

“Absolutely, the dishes. We were going halfsies. Because, uh, gift?”

Ransom scrunched his face up before he mouthed ’gift, really?’ back at him, but Holster just gave a small shrug.

Nursey still looked doubtful and Shitty, who had given up waiting and was rooting through the bags for himself, distracted them when he asked “Well, where are they?

“Where are what?” Ransom asked.

“The. Dog. Dishes.” he answered slowly and deliberately.

“Shit. Fuck. Damn. I, uh, forgot them?”

“Uh-huh,” Nursey shook his head. “You forgot to bring the dishes. That you just bought. As a gift. Suuuure.”

“Don’t worry about it. So long as you brought the food, I can find something to put it in.” Will got up and dug through a cupboard by the sink that was little more than a jumble of used butter tubs and came up with two bowls.

One bowl he filled with water and set in front of the dog. The other he handed them to Lardo who filled it with some of the food Shitty had found in the bags, leading to a very happy Sammy, who flopped on top of the rope before digging in with enthusiastic messiness.

“Isn’t that uncomfortable? And look at that-” Nursey pointed out the puddles and food pieces spread all around the dog.

“It’s fine,” Will waved him off.

“What about your precious floor? All I did was drip on it the other night and-”

“Oh, let her be. Unlike people, she can’t help it if she makes a silly little mess.” Will ruffled the fur on top of her head. “Besides, she’s a good girl, aren't you Sammy,” Sammy wiggled at the good girl comment and went back to happily working to empty her bowl. Dog mess was fine, Will told himself, nothing he couldn’t clean up later. He wondered if maybe he should consider a dog of his own. The company might be nice. He shrugged off the thought for later and went to wash his hands before grabbing a stack of plates to take to the table.

All business of bets and money exchanges temporarily forgotten, the gang worked as one to pass around the lunches.

A giant sub was split between Lardo and Shitty. She flicked an olive that had stayed to her half at him, which he easily caught with his mouth before flicking a pepper back towards her. When he went to grab a drink, she swiped another pepper and one of his tomato slices too. Ransom passed her his pickle spears, and she gave him half her lettuce. Holster split his bag of BBQ chips and the salt and vinegar ones in front of Ransom between them 50-50. Okay, maybe 60-40. But neither complained. Instead of being split up, a large bag of fries was just torn open and left for each to pick from as they wanted. Ketchup squeezed out onto one of the wrappers that had previously held a wrap. All the exchanges spoke to the habits of friends who’d shared a meal many times over. Will eyed the onions that Nursey picked off his sandwich, wanting them. Even though no one else had made a move for them, he wasn’t quite brave enough to push his way into their rituals. No matter, because as soon as the look was noticed, he found them deposited on the side of his own plate. Happily piling them on his own sandwich he spared a slice of bacon back, but just one. He wasn’t that generous.

Will had originally thought they had brought back too much food not realizing some of the others had gone, but the reason for the pile of random extra sandwiches dropped in the middle of the table became clear as each was picked apart and passed around until everyone was full.

As the last scraps of their meal were being cleared away Ransom spoke up, “So, I got in touch with that realtor,” he told them. “The property is up for sale. Technically. Has been for a while.”

“What do you mean, technically? Then why isn't it listed anywhere? Being shown?” Will asked.

“Well, that's the thing. Apparently, they tried? But the seller wasn’t very motivated and only interest at the price was for a package deal.”

“A package-” Will paused and frowned. “Wait. What was the realtor’s name again?”

When Ransom told him, Will’s face clouded over and a hint of rage built up at the set of his jaw.

“So, I take it you do know him. He said you'd, hmmm, spoken? Before.” Ransom filled in the others, “There’d been a big deal in the works with a developer, but they wanted this whole area or no deal.”

“Yeah. Those assholes. Not likely to forget them. Wanted to turn this place into some ridiculous restaurant.”

“Waterfront restaurants can be nice,” Holster tried to play devil’s advocate, “a good draw for the area.”

Will was having none of it. “My grandfather and father both would roll over in their graves if they knew I sold this place. After all the work they put in on the updates? Especially to some stiff from away. All so someone could open a restaurant we probably wouldn't even be able to afford to eat in? No way. No how. I think not.”

Shitty agreed, “I get it, yeah. People like that’ll suck the soul out of a place to make a buck. Fuck ’em.”

They’d only met recently, and it was hard for Will to tell if Shitty was motivated to agree with him in an attempt to stay on his good side, because he actually did agree or just because he couldn't resist joining in on a potential argument. In any case, fueled by the agreement, Will’s knew he was headed into full ’soapbox mode’ but couldn't help himself. “It’s the developers ruining towns like this all up and down the coast,” his voice rose and his arms flailed as he got more worked up. “For years we’ve helped our own. Didn't need anything from anyone other than basic neighborliness. Share and share alike, and everyone makes it just fine. Then some upstart comes in with his fancy ideas and a pile of money and, and, we’re supposed to sell up and then what? Go where? Do what-”

Holster, who seemed to have finally realized what can of worms he opened up, tried to back it up, “I didn't mean- not your place. Just, like, in general? Attractions, well, attract. But you're here, using the place. There's open land out there and they shouldn’t-”

Will steamrolled on, “-always say they want the authentic experience getaway but that’s not what they're really after. What they really mean is some bland cookie cutter experience that’ll get copied at every seaside town. So they can do the same things and share the same photos as everyone else. Nothing is genuine anymore. Where’s the originality of that? If they have their way every place will be the same as the next. Whatever happened to-”

Ransom held up a hand before interrupting, “Dex is right about that. It does seem to be what they were after here.”

Will grumbled out an “Obviously” but other than that let the other man continue speaking.

“This particular buyer wanted everything from the lane out to the water. All the lots. They’d had plans to turn this place into a restaurant, private outdoor seating at the top. The couple houses as you’re coming out this way redone and connected by a huge kitchen in the middle to make a big bed and breakfast or inn type situation. And then uh,” Ransom paused, “well, your friend's house? That was going to be turned into a gift shop. Upscale souvenirs they told him. But, without adding the rest, there wouldn't have been the traffic to support a shop. So - all or nothing.”

“There was, and is, no way I'm selling up and moving out,” Will shoved himself back from the table angrily.

“Hey, I’m not saying you should,” Ransom held up his hands. “Just passing on what he said. Pretty sure he knows that now.”

“Why do ya say that? I mean, good, but why?”

“He described you as - now keep in mind this is coming from him, and not me. I think you're great, and so don’t-”

“Spit it out.”

“he-called-you-the-lighthouse-lunatic,” came the quickly murmured answer.

“He what?!” Will yelled.

“Come on man, don't make me say it again,” Ransom said with a wince.

“He called me - Well that's - that’s rude is what it is. Imagine invading a man’s home, after he’s - then you're going to call him names? Rude. Even more glad I didn't sell. Lunatic,” Will huffed.

“I wouldn't call you a lunatic,” Holster said, as the others added their agreement. “You do get...excited, but no.”

“At the risk of getting you all, you know,” Nursey gestured vaguely at Will before scooting himself back to a safe distance and continuing, “I’m just saying, coming from a person you tried to forcibly eject days ago, is it completely inaccurate?”

“Yes!”

“Is it though?”

“I will throw you back into the ocean with my bare hands. Right now. Let’s go.”

Nursey offered back a weak smile to show he was kidding, mostly, and the rest started to throw out other words in Will’s defense.

“Not lunatic.”

“No, of course not.”

“Excitable?”

“Touchy, edgy?”

“Nah, opinionated?”

“And, fiercely determined”

“Oh, good one.”

“And hermit like?”

“That’s territorial.”

A woman’s voice from the other side of the room said, “he’s enthusiastically defensive.”

Nursey snaps his fingers. “Exactly!”

“Enthusiastically defensive,” Will repeated before turning and nodding in the direction of Lou, who had appeared over by the sink. “I can accept that.”

She smiled before disappearing again.

“Okay, so, big picture-” Nursey tried to take control of the conversation, “it boils down to, without Dexy’s place here, the whole deal was off the table.”

“And other than that offer there wasn't any real interest,” Holster, who had listened in on Ransom’s call with the realtor, finished. “With no package deal, and the other house owners not willing to take the low offers coming in, he decided it wasn't worth coming all this way to show it to people who are never going to buy anyway. Without the potential sellers pushing him, he stopped promoting it. He’d almost forgotten about the listing himself because no one has ever checked up with him in the last few years. Said it was like the owners themselves had even forgotten about it.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, what he said, zombie property. But now back to THAT.” Ransom frantically waved his arms. “What the? Who the? Tell me you all heard that.”

“Uhhh well-” Will stalled.

Ransom looked around at the rest of them, who were visibly trying not to react.

“Is no one going to mention the fucking ghost in the room?!” He shrieked. In a manly way. If you asked him, he would have called it a shout. A very high-pitched shout. That he made while pushing himself as close into the corner, behind the table, as he could.

“Oh, that’s - Lou?”

“Yes, Derek?” she answered from over his shoulder.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to call you, I was just telling him - but since you’re here-”

“Your friends seem a little troubled.”

Will snorted.

Most of them were only staring, quiet, and more than a bit shocked, but remarkable not freaking out. At least not externally. But Ransom - well, his face was doing its best fish impression and - try as he might - he couldn't manage to force another word out.

Holster tried to help by giving him a slap on the back and he managed to eke out the words `girl’ and `ghost’ before slipping under the table.

“Is he...okay?” she asked.

“Eh-” Lardo said, tilting her hand side to side.

“Not really.” Holster reached under the table and gave a supportive shoulder squeeze.

“Hi,” was all Shitty got out.

“Maybe I should go,” Lou said, slowly fading.

“Hi?” Shitty asked.

Will thought it was weird to see her fading, when he’d already found himself getting used to her quickly blipping in and out. Then he realized how weird it was he found himself getting used to anything at all to do with this situation.

“No, come back!” they all yelled. Well, all minus Ransom. He whimpered unintelligibly from his hiding place.

Lou faded back in, “are you sure?”

“Hi.” Shitty repeated, prompting a choked back laugh from Lardo.

“I think he means yes,” Will told her. “Stay a while.”

#fictober20 #omgcp #nurseydex #spookydoo au #near year same bullshit #i swear i will finish this one day #I've been adding a few hundred words here and there for ages #and this seemed like the perfect time to update it #even if I wish I had gotten a little further in the writing... ah well #little writer who could etc etc etc #does tumblr still hate links?#or just me?#because this time my header pic kept me from showing up #ah well deleted that now too

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sarkywoman · 4 years

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Fic Writer Interview

Tagged by: @spikeymarshmallows (find her version of this here) Name: sarkywoman, sometimes people just say sarky. Fandom(s): At the moment, The Umbrella Academy is my dominant one. I rarely ever give up on one entirely though, as can be seen by some of my recent Destiel reblogs. (I’m also excited for some of the upcoming Marvel content. Okay, I say ‘some’, I just mean Mackie’s Captain America really XD) Where you post: Archive of our Own , though I still need to upload a lot of my older work that was posted on livejournal. I often post a link here on tumblr when I write something new, but not always. Most Popular One Shot (by kudos): ‘Noble Blood’, which just proves you should always chase your bliss, as it was an utterly indulgent vampire AU written as a gift for my then-gf in A Song of Ice and Fire fandom. Most Popular Multi-Chapter (by kudos): Eek, an unfinished WIP not updated since May 2014! D: Sorry people. ‘A Song of Bastards and Wards’, with Joanna Snow instead of Jon Snow. I think these fics have more kudos because the ASOIAF fandom was so big, rather than due to quality relative to my other work. Favorite story you’ve written so far: Ooof. I have been writing for a long time, this is such a tricky question! It would probably be easier to just split all my fic into two categories: fun to write vs not-fun to write. I like to be experimental, so fics like Story and Sorcery for Loki or The Aimless One for Misfits or The Price Of Parenthood for Umbrella Academy let me try new things, but I notice my mind does tend to go to a particular Tales from the Borderlands fic, Young God. I wrote it in a fit of inspiration for a friend one evening and it encapsulated what I wanted from the Jack/Rhys dynamic more than anything I wrote for them since, I think. I was also happy with some of the imagery and how I managed to maintain and build on the tone throughout. Only 4k words, doesn’t overextend, but I enjoyed writing it. It flowed very well. Fic you were nervous to post: Krystalline. Not due to its quality, just... I know what this fandom’s like when it comes to pairings. I write fic for myself and my friends and this was for a friend. I originally sent it to her privately but it seemed weirder to hide it than to post it. It’s good writing, if I may be so bold. Other than that, I get nervous posting final chapters on multi-chapter fic. I don’t want to let down people who’ve invested time in it! How do you choose your titles?: Varies. I’ll often use song lyrics. I often write to appropriate music and a line will jump out at me. Otherwise, it will just be a fitting phrase, like The Weak Link for an AU fic where Klaus is led to believe he’s too weak to have powers. Do you outline?: Not often, but if it’s a multichapter fic, more frequently these days I will, to avoid WIPs that dwindle into nothing because I don’t write as quickly as I used to. How I go about it varies. Sometimes it’s just a list of stuff I want to happen that I vaguely order, sometimes it’s a scene-by-scene adaptation, like the aforementioned Weak Link AU or Song of Bastards and Wards. Those involved noting scenes from the show/book and figuring out how they would change with the new circumstances. Complete:

Waheyyy... *dabs or something, idk* I have... oooh a lot more that needs uploading to AO3 but it’s a case of finding the time to reread old work so that I can tag it properly. With all that’s been happening lately I checked my SPN folder and found to my alarm that I wrote over a hundred stories that I saved while I was in the fandom, but only 5 of those are on my AO3. I did some for Marvel that aren’t cross-posted either, a bunch for NCIS... once we start going back more than ten years the quality is a bit cringy though. In-Progress: Uh... I don’t want to give up on any of my WIPs officially but the only one I can actually say I’m actively working on is a Kliego AU for my Bad Things Happen Bingo. Diego is a detective, but I promise I’m not ripping off @spikeymarshmallows‘ ‘City Two-Four’! Mine’s more of a noir. It’s for the ‘Paranoia’ square and Diego has bad paranoia, but it might be justified given he’s investigating the Commission crime syndicate after the kidnapping of Allison’s daughter Claire and after they’ve destroyed at least two of his loved ones. Not a happy fic but hopefully not too painful either. (I like to sit in that middle ground where readers go “Oh no! Awww... Oh thank god.”) Maybe when I watch the new Loki series I’ll be motivated to go back to my Cap/Loki AU fic, It is Not Fantasy... Coming soon/not yet started: I really should write more original stuff at some point if I want to be a novelist... but I’m very much enjoying bad things happen bingo, will carry on doing gen or shippy fics for that in UA fandom Prompts?: Can do. Have done in the past. Only issue is when people really misjudge what I’m into, lol. Or they give a ‘prompt’ so thorough it’s more like a sparknotes guide. Upcoming work you’re most excited about: I’ve been working on my ‘Paranoir’ (working title) for a while now. Mental health has led to a bit of a hiatus on my writing, reading... and my entire life. But it’s so nearly finished. Paranoir, I mean. I just need to write an eensy bit more Allison and figure out how to organise all the bits I’ve done.

I tag anyone who wants to give this a go :)

#about me #long post

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grifalinas · 4 years

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Holly’s friends:

Gets a bit long so I’ll put it under a cut. (Since I’m just ripping these out of the old fanfic, I’ve already put a lot of work into developing them, hence why I have so many details ready to go.)

Leon Highcourt, a boy from a marginally wealthy family and a privileged upbringing who, while not cruel, has a mean streak and no concept of personal space or boundaries. He saw Holly’s Trickster giveaway the day they met, prompting her to teleport to escape his scrutiny; after that, he became obsessed with her and sought her out on the ride to school. Initially, Leon sees Holly as a puzzle, a question to answer, but in time he comes to appreciate her as a person.

Evan Calahan, a rather more ordinary boy who first joined Holly on the ride to school their first day. He initially had no interest in Holly beyond being a friendly new classmate, but after seeing the way Leon treated her this brought out his protective streak. His relationship with Holly is very protective (and at times possessive), though like Leon, he comes to appreciate her in her own right over time.

Leon and Evan start out hating each other, only tolerating each other for Holly’s sake (and doing quite a lot of arguing and outright fighting as a result), but over time they develop an understanding. The few times the pair agree are usually for Holly’s sake, as their worry for her overrides their dislike of each other. This is just author speculation, but I feel like around their third or fourth year they’ll finally settle down and Holly will get about five minute’s peace before they start fighting again for an altogether different reason. (-stage whisper- I mean ust reasons.)

Jake Jonas, scion of an important family and son of the magical realm’s most famous adventurer, Jake seems determined to surpass his father’s reputation at a mere ten years old. Jake is always on the lookout for his next big “heist” (his word for any sort of trouble he gets into) and is always eager to bring anyone else into the fold if he thinks they’ll be useful. While initially rather reckless and unconcerned with potential danger, after nearly getting Holly killed when he goes too far, he settles down a little. He’s the only one to know about Holly’s lineage before the big reveal, and for awhile the pair have a mutual crush that will eventually fizzle out without coming to fruition, because they’re ten and it’s possible to have crush storylines that don’t lead anywhere.

Molly Meadows, a playfully adventurous girl who bores easily in the face of structure and order. Cousins with Jake (and Cass, who we’ll meet in a second), Molly has decided that not sharing the Jonas name means she has no obligations to the Jonas legacy, and as such has decided she has nothing to live up to but her own expectations. Molly tries to look out for Holly given how much of a pushover she is, but she can occasionally be more flippant than she realizes when she gets bored with Holly’s neatness.

Cassius Cross, the third of the Jonas cousins (alliterative names are a family tradition). Like Jake, Cass feels pressure to live up to his family’s legacy; unlike Jake, he tends to hold back in fear of failure, often hesitating to even try something that his parents might have done well at. Cass starts off as Jake’s go-to as heist partner, but as Jake befriends other students more willing to join him, he tends to find himself left alone more readily. Cass doesn’t really have a close relationship with Holly; he’s only listed because of his importance to Jake and Molly’s characters.

The Jonas cousins are the children of a brother and two sisters who came through the school a generation prior, and are varying levels of well-known in the magical realm.

Ranger Dara, a surly, ill-tempered, often scowling boy with a legacy of his own. Due to his family’s past and his connection to the name Dara, Ranger is an outcast at the school, with even the most die-hard of bad seeds considering him too much for them. Unwilling to see anyone outcast for their family’s sins, Holly tries several times to be nice to him, but her pity just makes him angrier and he pushes her away. After she’s outed as a Trickster, he stands up for her, and the mutual understanding this gives them softens him enough that he’s more willing to allow her friendship.

Talia Harrison, an even tempered girl whose laid-back nonchalance hides a mischievous streak. Talia is happy to move with the currents, and manages to keep her grades acceptably good but not great, as the effort to pull them higher is beyond her interest. She does, however, have a sliver of intensity when she does get into something, and may be hiding some secrets of her own behind her carefree facade. She’s one of three other girls who shares Holly’s dorm, and is often the first to seek her out if she seems overwhelmed.

Nina Warbuck, a pushier sort of girl beside Talia’s laid-back approach. Nina has high ambitions and thus pushes both herself and her classmates to do well in their classes, often to their dismay when there are things they’d rather be doing instead, like literally anything whatsoever. Nina is the second of Holly’s three dormmates.

I don’t have a third dormmate yet sorry. When I was writing this as a fanfiction I had a list of student names I used in the Sorting and sprinkled them into each of the houses, then let the characters develop themselves as they came across Holly. Since I can’t remember the name of the third dormmate, I can only assume she didn’t make much impact on me. Whoops!

Other names of interest:

Clarice Blackwood, Leon’s childhood friend. She ends up in a different class-group than Holly and Leon, so the two build different social circles, but they’re still fairly close in the grand scheme of things.

Wickett and Godwin, two of Clarice’s classmates. Godwin is the year’s academic overachiever, and Wickett, her best friend, often seems like he’s about to fall asleep any moment.

Jack, a boy from the mundane realm who, through an odd set of circumstances, is also a childhood friend of the Jonas cousins and godnephew to one of the school’s teachers.

#i need a title or at least a tag for this story #hmmm #holly flint tag

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pynkhues · 5 years

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I was wondering, in the c&c universe, who in Beth's kid would be the more likely to do something that could really piss off Rio? Like he seem to always remain calm and in control with the kids, I sometimes wonder how he would react if one of them did something really really bad...

Ah, this is such a fun ask! It’s such a funny thing too, because I sort of had loose thoughts in my head about the kids when I started writing C&C, but they’ve really firmed up across the course of writing it (which I hope has come across for people reading!) It’s been so fun to imagine the kids as more than just plot devices and scenery like they often are on the show (not all the time! But…. sometimes), and even more fun imagining the relationships both Beth and Rio have with them.

So, okay, for everyone reading, this is all purely Center and Circumference stuff, not canon, so just keep that in mind.

(This list is ordered least prone to being infuriating down to most, haha, not age, which I think in both canon / C&C is Kenny – Danny – Emma – Marcus – Jane).

Rio definitely finds Emma and Kenny the easiest.

Emma

Emma is someone I typically write based mostly off her s2 characterisation (and a bit off her s1 characterisation!) as being incredibly sweet and gentle. She’s a bit of a tattle tale, a bit bossy, super well-behaved, but also very bright, kind and creative. She’s hands down the easiest of all the kids for both Beth and Rio, but is also prone to being oversensitive about things and totally useless when it comes to defending herself or standing her ground. She’s not weak-willed exactly, just she doesn’t really stand up to scrutiny and she hates conflict.

With all of that, Rio’s relationship with her is very paternal and pretty protective. He genuinely likes being around her because she’s quiet and studious and thoughtful, but he also gets immensely frustrated by her – particularly as she gets older – because she’s a little too soft, and she wounds easily, and is a little prone to being taken advantage of by kids at school (which scares the shit out of both Beth and Rio, even if they won’t always admit it). Particularly in highschool, Emma’s the sort who’s desperate to fit in, and will do things out of character to get there, which totally breaks Beth’s heart and infuriates Rio to no end.

Kenny

I actually see Kenny as being someone who’s fairly sensitive as well. I think the show portrays that in the sense of him generally being pretty gentle and overly trusting, and having his anxieties manifest through his binge eating (which was a massively underdeveloped storyline, but I liked it and am running with it, haha). In C&C – which I’ve written in a few times already – I see him generally as having ‘manned up’ when Dean moved out, and made a big effort to help Beth more and to be a good big brother to his siblings, but also still being somebody who’s fairly soft at the centre of him and prone to anxiety.

During Beth and Dean’s divorce, he also got progressively more protective of Beth, and that’s something he initially struggles with in terms of her and Rio’s relationship, but as Rio and Beth become longer term and more and more stable, and Rio keeps looking out for Beth, Kenny really does come to love Rio, although he always has - - not reservations, but I think he’s the first to realise exactly what sort of work Rio does, and it worries him constantly – something that only gets worse as his relationship to Rio grows and he becomes worried for him too.

Kenny’s…not the brightest crayon in the box, and he can be a bit of a dick, particularly during adolescence (what teenager isn’t?), but he’s not really rebellious. Beth and Rio have the most issues getting him to study and getting him to have any sort of ambition or direction that isn’t fleeting (he’s a (adequate) jack of all trades and a master of none!)

In terms of the kids most capable of pissing Rio off, it’s sort of a three-way tie for different reasons, haha.

Marcus

Marcus is, of course, Rio’s son, and in that he’s charismatic, cute, a little more cunning than he pretends to be, and too smart for his own good. And Rio knows, of course he knows, but he’s a little more blind to it than he realises he is, which just entertains Beth to no end. He was a natural born troublemaker, and Beth sees it instantly, but Rio is forever convinced its Jane’s influence, and sees Marcus as more of a golden child than he is (although to be fair – he’s a pretty golden child).

Beth develops a really strong relationship with Marcus, particularly through cooking as Marcus loves doing that with her (Rio can’t cook, and despite the fact that Marcus’ mom – Laura – manages restaurants, she’s all business, not the craft of cooking really at all), and he actually kind of loves that Beth calls him on his bullshit while also being loving and fair, whereas Rio is someone who’s prone to penduluming between approval and disapproval when it comes to the kids, haha.

Marcus generally though is pretty relaxed, a voracious reader, lowkey competitive (he loves a boardgame and plays a range of sports in highschool), but he’s also someone with a bit of a wild streak – particularly in terms of pranks, partying and toying with the line of the law as he gets older (usually with Jane. Okay, always with Jane).

Jane

And ah, Jane. My favourite Boland Kid after s2, haha. She’s snarky, stubborn, is brought to life by gross things, and is about as reckless and prone to misbehaving as Emma is to, well, good behaviour (although Jane does actually listen to Beth too – just like in 2.07 – she didn’t cross the road!). Jane is a terror through and through, and sure, she has a heart of gold, but as Annie will say “At what cost?”

Jane rebels hard, but despite that, she adores both Beth and Rio, and while she exudes confidence, and is a natural born leader, she’s a lot needier than she pretends she is, and is very much the family baby. She doesn’t make friends easily, but she found another half in Marcus – who becomes basically her twin in many ways, but who she’s also sort of in constant battle around because for all the ways people gravitate to Marcus, they tend to avoid Jane (sexism and misogyny’s a bitch!) and Marcus, despite all his best traits, just doesn’t get it and assumes it’s usually because she’s pissed someone off. In no small part because Jane also is somebody who’s pretty naturally antagonistic, but she’s also fierce and kind and loyal and smarter than she pretends to be. Particularly as she gets older too, she becomes closer and closer with Emma and Beth, but also Annie and Ruby.

Jane’s probably the kid Rio finds most frustrating on a surface level – she’s the one who’s always in trouble after all – but as we all know, Rio kind of loves troublemakers, and there aren’t any smoke and mirrors with Jane. She is what she is, and Rio doesn’t have favourites (outside of his son of course), but if he did – despite himself – Jane would be it. He loves that little jerk, haha.

Danny

So the winner of the ‘kid who pisses Rio off the most’ is Danny, and I feel a bit bad for saying this here, because I haven’t actually really written much of this in yet (although it’s heavily plotted into Part 4 of C&C and very firm in my head). Danny’s definitely the kid on the show that we know the least of, but he’s also pretty consistently quiet in the scenes we’ve seen him in, and so I have rolled with that, haha.

He’s artistic and creative, albeit pretty average at non-artsy classes at school (although not a struggling student at all), but he’s also really quiet and almost private. Not secretive exactly, but he’s a kid who doesn’t like much attention drawn to him, who embarrasses easily, and who just likes to do his own thing – which proves a nightmare for both Beth and Rio for a few reasons – firstly, Rio’s SO into art, and sees so much talent in Danny, that Danny’s really just too embarrassed to show Rio (particularly early on – I think Danny’s the slowest to warm to people too), secondly, he’s prone to wandering off on his own and disappearing (I keep wanting to write this with Beth and Rio both freaking out in their own ways and somebody should prompt me, haha), thirdly, his tendency to fly under the radar means he gets away with things and can misbehave without drawing attention until he’s arrested for graffiti), and fourth, (which is a lowkey spoiler for Part 4!) that that tendency towards not drawing attention to himself means he can be genuinely sick or hurt and prone to hiding it. (I also headcanon him in this series as being very prone to getting sick generally, but that feels like a whole other thing).

And all of that really is something that pisses Rio off – both when Danny’s still a kid and when he’s older, because Danny’s surprisingly good at playing innocent and Rio doesn’t like being made a fool of – whether that be Danny pretending he doesn’t have a fever before school only to have Rio called a few hours later by the school nurse, to when he’s older, and pretending he doesn’t care if Rio comes to a tiny, low-rent artshow everyone knows he’s better than, and then being upset when Rio doesn’t figure it out, which is to say nothing of poor Beth, haha.

Anyway, clearly I need to write more Danny and his nightmare self into C&C.

But yes! The answer to your question is Danny, haha, although they are all terrible, wonderful dumpster kids in their own ways.

#the center and circumference #emma boland #kenny boland #marcus #jane boland #danny boland #my fic

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n00dl3gal · 5 years

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Sweeter Than a Cupcake (McCree x OC)

A commission for @junko-brewer! A challenging but fun story for me to write, than you again for your support!

Commission Info | Archive of Our Own

McCree didn’t consider himself to have much of a sweet tooth. It wasn’t that he was against candy or desserts, he just tended to favor savory food more. There were, of course, exceptions. If there was a plate of biscochitos in sight, he’d devour them quicker than Tracer could Blink. And if he found himself passing through Cincinnati, he’d always find himself opening Bunny’s door.

Bunny looked up from the counter she was wiping. “Jesse McCree,” she said, voice exasperated. Her hands were on her hips like a cross mother, but her smile was warm. Despite her voice, McCree could tell she was glad to see him. The feeling was mutual.“You have a lot of nerve showing up here again.”

McCree tipped his hat in response. “And a good day to you, Miss Bunny. If this is about the tab at the bar down the street-”

Bunny laughed. “I mean waltzing in like there isn’t a bounty on your head,” she chastised, setting her rag aside. “If I had known the first time you came by just what kind of trouble you were, I would’ve refused service.”

He shrugged, looking over the case of cupcakes. “Now we both know that’s a lie. You’ll always hold the door for a paying customer,” he teased. Bunny blushed slightly, lips downturned in a pout. “And maybe it is dangerous coming back, but with cupcakes as good as yours… well, I’ve always been a bit reckless. What’s good today?”

The baker smiled, still flushed, and reached into the case. “I think you’ll like this one in particular,” she announced, setting it on a plate. “For a man as fond as whiskey as you, a Jack-and-Coke cupcake. All the flavor, none of the booze.” McCree reached for the cupcake, but was smacked back by Bunny. “Hey! Pay first, food second.”

“Alright, alright,” he conceded, reaching for his wallet. The bell above the door jingled again. Bunny looked at the new arrival and paled, prompting McCree to turn around. “Ah, speak of the bounty…”

“For someone with that much money on your head, you do tend to attract attention,” the bounty hunter said. “It’s pretty easy to track down a man in a serape in Ohio.”

McCree tipped his hat. “Gotta keep up appearances, ya know? You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Naomi?”

The bounty hunter- Naomi- flicked her ponytail back and cocked her gun. Bunny squawked at the sight, shaking. “Drop the cupcake and come with me, McCree. I don’t want to involve any innocents in this.”

“Funny. Neither do I.” In a flash, he had jumped onto Naomi and had her in a stranglehold. She choked, giving McCree ample time to pry her gun away. Naomi managed to elbow him the gut, however, and used his exhale to free herself. She tore her gun back from his hands and pistol-whipped the side of his head.

McCree was seeing stars, barely able to roll out of the way. Chairs fell over in the chaos. Naomi was lining up her shot again when he used one of his flashbangs to blind her. For a moment, it seemed like it worked, but McCree wasn’t able to pull her weapon away before her eyes refocused.

He was staring down the barrel, knowing full well a shot at this range would be instantly lethal. With a grunt, he placed his metal arm over the gun and punched Naomi in the face. “I hate beating up a lady, but if they make the first move…”

Bunny had long since ducked under the counter, knees to her chest. She held her hands over her ears as she shook. A fight, in her bakery! All she had wanted to do today was test out the recipe for her new lavender-and-honey cupcakes and make a few sales, not fear for her life!

Naomi staggered back, holding her nose. “The rest of my team isn’t far behind, McCree. We’ve been staking this place out since Tuesday… awfully nice of the baker to confirm you’re a repeat customer.”

Bunny gulped. She didn’t dare poke her head and look at McCree’s expression. Was all of this her fault?

It didn’t matter. McCree had taken the opportunity to tackle Naomi head-on. In a panic, the bounty hunter’s finger slipped, firing the gun. It flew off towards the glass case Bunny was hiding behind, and the sound of shattering glass echoed across the room. McCree held Naomi down to the ground, hand over her throat, until she finally passed out.

He stood, surveying the store. Aside from some upturned chairs and tables and the cupcake case, it remained intact. Good. He hated adding to the sum on his head. McCree leaped over the table to find- “shit!”

Bunny was clutching her arm, bleeding. Some shrapnel from the case must have hit her. “I- is she- did you kill her?” Bunny cried.

“Just passed out,” McCree reassured her. “You have bandages anywhere?”

“B-by the sink in the kitchen,” Bunny said, gesturing with her foot. McCree found the first aid kit easily, crouching next to Bunny. “Should I go to a hospital or-”

“Lemme take a look,” McCree interrupted, guiding her arm away. The cut was long but not deep. Stitches probably would help, but a wanted man taking an innocent woman to the hospital was sure to stir up additional trouble. Bunny looked traumatized enough as it was, eyes darting around the place. “Bandages will do for now. This may sting a bit,” he warned, opening a wipe.

Bunny didn’t hiss when the wipe traveled across the wound, but McCree could see tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Some part of him wanted to wipe them away. He was quick; years of working with Deadlocke and Blackwatch had trained him well. Gauze was wrapped around the cut quickly, secured with a safety pin. “There, all finished. Stay right here, I’m gonna make sure nobody else is here to mess up your store.”

He stood and made his way to the door. There were no suspicious vehicles outside, or people with unusually large backpacks or coats. It was entirely possible Naomi was bluffing. McCree flipped the open sign around and told Bunny it was safe.

She stood on shaky legs, eyes still searching like her namesake. “I-I don’t think we should stay here. Either of us.” “Couldn’t agree more,” McCree answered, tucking Peacekeeper back in his holster. “Lead the way back to your place, Miss Bunny.”

“Wh-what?” Bunny choked, trembling even more. The blush from earlier had returned, stronger than before. “B-but- you should go! What if there really are more b-bounty hunters looking for you?”

McCree shrugged. “Then I’ll deal with ‘em when they show their ugly mugs. I’m not about to let a lady in your condition walk home on her own, ‘specially with dangerous folks out for blood. Speaking of which…” He began straightening the chairs and let out a soft sigh when Bunny joined him. Good to know that, despite her anxiety, she was still able to tend to her store. “Never mind. We can discuss it once we get you home.”

. . .

Bunny’s apartment was small, but cozy. McCree was surprised to see there was a balcony; he wasn’t sure how much Bunny made, but usually a balcony like that would hike up rent considerably. It was small, though, and covered in foliage. Potted plants, both green and flowered, dotted the railings and the floor. McCree had never been to the rainforest, but he imagined it was similar.

The inside was just as much of a menagerie, just for fauna, not flora. As soon as Bunny had unlocked the door, an overweight house cat had come to greet her before running off at the sight of McCree. Bunny explained that he was skittish around guests, especially men. McCree wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not. He did think the bearded dragon lounging on a hammock was better company.

Bunny was headed for the kitchen when McCree intercepted her. “Just tell me where everything is and I’ll make ya a cup of tea,” he said kindly. “Unless if doing somethin’ll help you keep your mind off things.”

“I think it might,” Bunny replied, reaching for the cupboard. “Is there anything you’d like? I realize they don’t compare to cupcakes, but… I think I have some, uh, stronger stuff.” She pointed towards the top shelf.

McCree pulled out his flask. “I’m fine, but I appreciate it.” Bunny nodded and busied herself with preparing the kettle. While she worked, he sat at the kitchen table, watching her work. She was a pretty young thing, wide eyes and dirty blonde hair. Short, too, making her look even younger than she was. McCree couldn’t relate. “So… what Naomi said. About you sellin’ me out.”

Bunny sighed. She didn’t answer as she set the kettle on the stove. “I didn’t realize,” she eventually began, laughing bitterly. “I didn’t even know about the bounty. They came, asked about you, and I thought maybe they were friends of yours. I try to assume the best in people, but maybe… maybe I shouldn’t.”

McCree shook his head. “No, it’s good to be an optimist. But ya need to be careful. There are bad people out there,” he said slowly. “But for every single bad folk, there’s at least three good’uns. Trust me, I’ve met a lotta ‘em.”

Bunny nodded and finished making their tea. “It’s just lemon flavored, I hope that’s alright. Sugar?” she offered, passing a cup to McCree. They both added their sugar, Bunny pouring in a small portion of milk. McCree did the same, but with a shot from his flask. They both drank in silence, letting the warmth of the tea calm them down. “How did- never mind, it’s probably not something you want to talk about.”

“If it’s about my arm, then yeah, that’s a bit personal,” McCree replied. “But if you’re wonderin’ about the bounty… well, it’s a long story.”

“That’s alright,” Bunny told him. “I’m patient and we have time.”

“Alrighty then, where to start… how much do you know ‘bout Overwatch?”

Bunny stroked her chin, thinking. “They were a military-like group who rose to prominence during the first Omnic Crisis, and were recognized as heroes… but something changed and the public turned on them. I was a child when the last of them were disbanded. Why?”

“See, I was part of Overwatch,” McCree explained. “Not at first, mind you. When I was around your age, I… well, I was one of the Deadlocke Gang’s founding members.”

“A gang?” Bunny gasped, nearly dropping her cup. “You- did you-”

McCree sighed. “I ain’t proud of what I did back then, not anymore. But at the time… Deadlocke was my family. If it felt that right, it couldn’t be wrong. But then we got busted by Overwatch and they gave me a choice: join them or rot in jail.”

“And you chose the former,” Bunny concluded. Her shoulders were haunched, like she was still prepared to run. Maybe explaining this wasn’t the best idea. Too late to stop now.

“Bullseye,” McCree said. “Put me in Blackwatch, Overwatch’s covert ops group. Second to Gabriel Reyes. Now Reyes… hoo, that man. He could shoot like the best of ‘em but had a temper a mile wide. Both he and Jack Morrison were in the runnin’ to be Strike Commander. Basically the head honcho of the whole organization,” he elaborated at Bunny’s blank expression. He paused to take another gulp. The burning on his throat reminded him of his cigars. Maybe he’d sneak off to the balcony for a smoke later. “Morrison got the job, and Reyes was shipped to the rejects in Blackwatch. And then… things got nasty.”

“What do you mean, ‘nasty?’”

“I don’t remember all the details, but there was another Blackwatch agent- Moira. She and Reyes did some science-y stuff I still don’t understand, and at some point both became double agents for Talon.”

That got Bunny’s attention. “Talon- the terrorist organization? The ones responsible for Mondatta’s death? I was watching his speech on TV when… oh my gosh,” she whispered, gnawing at her lower lip.

“Shit hit the fan, as it were. Overwatch was disbanded, and I… well, I had years of covert ops under my belt. And I was a former gang member. Still, sixty million…” McCree took another sip of his tea. “Gosh, it sure build up quick, don’t it?” He laughed, but there was no humor behind it.

Bunny rubbed her arms. “I’m harboring a wanted criminal. A very attractive criminal, but I’m sitll-” “Hey now, don’t think of me like that,” McCree teased. “I’m just passing through. A houseguest for the night. Not even that, if you don’t want. Don’t stop with the compliments, though.”

Bunny looked away shyly. “Just for the night… and s-say I did want you to stay the night.” Slowly, delicately, she reached across the table and took his flesh hand in hers. “And maybe future nights, too.” “Oh darlin’, you flatter me,” McCree said earnestly. He felt a little warm. “But you’re not doing all right in the head right now, that incident must be playin’ with your mind. Savior complex or somethin’, Winston would know what it’s called.”

“It’s not- why do you think I was so eager to talk about you in the first place, Jesse? When they said that you were coming back, I was so excited- I made those cupcakes especially for you. I mean, I was planning on testing the recipe soon anyway, but-” Bunny grew more animated as she spoke, blush spreading across her face. McCree had a feeling his was a mirror reflection. “But I wanted you to be the first to taste them, Jesse.”

Hearing his first name was a lot for him. Most people only ever called him McCree, especially after Overwatch ended. “Ah, shit… you’re gonna make this ol’ cowboy soft yet, Miss Bunny.” He stood from his chair, teacups rattling as he pushed away from the table. Bunny blinked owlishly as he approached. He quickly pulled off his hat and set it on her head. She pushed it up with one finger, giggling. “Alright. I always thought I was coming back for the food, but I guess there was another reason I kept visiting… and while I can’t stay for long, that means we gotta make the most of our time, right?” He picked her up, bridal style, and spun her around.

Bunny laughed, hat flying off as she threw her head back. “J-Jesse! Put me down!”

“Whatever you say, pumpkin,” he answered in the most arrogant voice he could muster. He carried her to the couch and laid her down, kneeling beside it. He kept his hand in hers. Bunny smiled up at him, using her free hand to caress his cheek. “You know, I’ve never met a bunny as cute as you. Real rabbits’ just don’t compare.”

“Is that supposed to be an attempt at flirting? Or are you trying to make me laugh?” Bunny joked, stroking his jaw.

His metal fingers danced across her stomach, eliciting a number of giggles. “Nah, if I wanted to make ya laugh, I think I have a few options. That was a genuine compliment.” He kept tickling her until she threatened to fall off the couch. Distantly, he heard the cat meow in irritation.

Between her laughs, Bunny managed to guide McCree’s face closer to hers. “I could think of a few compliments for yourself, Jesse,” she said in the air between them before pressing a kiss to

his lips.

She tasted sweet, with a sour undercurrent that threatened to sweep McCree away. Lemon and milk filled his nostrils and he breathed her in. It was an innocent kiss, in all honesty, with only the barest heat behind it. Still, the touch of another human so intimately was something he craved. He kissed her back, just as tenderly as she did.

He pulled away slowly. “As wonderful as this is, kneelin’ like this ain’t do my knees any favors. You mind scooching over?” She did, and McCree joined her on the couch. “Thank you. Now, where were we?” He was still cupping her cheek, smiling like she was the only thing that brought him joy. Her eyes were half-lidded with desire, pupils wide.

“Oh, I think I remember,” she teased, kissing him again. She grabbed fistfuls of his hair as they kissed, pulling gently. McCree hissed at the sensation, letting Bunny slide her tongue in. They stayed like that for several minutes, kissing and pulling each other close, until Bunny was basically straddling him. “I don’t… even if we just have tonight,” she whispered, kissing his jaw gingerly. “Even if it’s just tonight, I don’t want to rush this. I don’t-”

“Hey now, darlin’,” McCree reassured her, rubbing her back. “We don’t have to do anythin’ you’re not comfortable with. But it’s startin’ to get late… should we head back to your bedroom? Again, don’t need to do anything. You can always say no or change your mind.”

Bunny nodded. “No, I’d like that very much. Please… promise me you’ll still be here in the morning. I know you have to go, but I don’t want to lose you just yet.”

Another quiet kiss. “I promise, Bunny.”

And he stayed. And he always came back.

#noodle writes #my commissions #jesse mccree #mccree x oc #female oc #overwatch #overwatch fanfic #overwatch mccree #overwatch oc

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everlarkficexchange · 5 years

Text

Extended Office Hours

Author: @hutchhitched

Prompt 22: Student/Professor. Katniss is stressing out about an assignment and decides to go and talk to Professor Mellark about it, as he’s always been understanding and patient in class. However things turn awkward when Katniss stumbles upon him in his office after hours watching porn on his laptop. Is it deliberate, maybe he needed to relieve some stress or did his brother/friend send him a link to something that he shouldn’t have opened?? It’s up to you writer :) [submitted by @peetaspikelets]

Rating: M

Summary: Peeta Mellark, an English PhD student, teaches at Panem Community College. Seeking help from her professor, Katniss Everdeen visits his office just when Peeta opens an email that probably should have been read at home.

“Remember, your essay is due next Monday. I’ll be in my office during office hours, and feel free to swing by other times if you’re near the building,” Professor Mellark announced as the class packed up their notebooks and paper drafts.

“Will you be there?”

Peeta tried not to laugh as Katniss, one of his better students, rolled her eyes and shoved her stuff into her bag. Cashmere was easily the most irritating girl in the class and clearly not very bright if she’d just asked that question.

No, of course I won’t be there. That’s why I told you to stop by.

He cleared his throat and studied Cashmere, unable to tell if she was really that vapid and unaware or if she was being coy. Struggling to keep his expression and tone neutral, he confirmed, “I’ll be around a lot this week, yes.”

Katniss had no intention of swinging by to see her professor during office hours or otherwise. He knew that. He’d overheard her one day as she left the class explaining to a friend that she was “doing fine in the class, thank you very much.” She seemed pretty shy, too, so he doubted he’d ever have the pleasure of seeing her in his office.

He watched her leave and sighed in frustration when he was finally alone in the room. Disgusted with himself, Peeta sank into a chair and took several deep breaths. He’d never been so attracted to someone—especially not one of his students—and he was both dreading and excited for the end of the semester when he wouldn’t see Katniss again. He’d done everything he knew how to do to control his interest in her, but she was lovely and interesting and peculiar in a really good way. He’d never been that conventional, and Katniss wasn’t either. He needed to not have her as a student anymore—not if he wanted to maintain any sort of professional integrity.

Not that he��d done anything. He certainly hadn’t. That would be breaking the ethical responsibilities of his job, and Peeta was unquestionably responsible. He always had been—all during childhood and high school. Even through college when he’d turned down an athletic scholarship at Panem State University, so he could stay close to home and help out at the family bakery. He’d attended his parents’ alma mater and worked the opening shift at Mellark’s every day until he graduated and broke the news he was going away to graduate school. He’d put his own dreams on hold for long enough, and it was time for him to leave the small town where he’d been raised.

By the time he was 27, he’d landed a job as an adjunct professor at Panem Community College as he finished his degree and become a full-fledged PhD. It was only his second semester when Katniss Everdeen walked into his classroom and made his heart skip a few beats. She was reticent and quiet, but her papers showed depth and insight that made him want to call her into his office and juice her brain until he knew everything about her.

For the most part, he was able to control himself, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to having a few fantasies about her. He didn’t watch porn that often, but when he did, he tended toward ones with dark-haired students who frequented office hours. And if he couldn’t find one he liked, he allowed himself to imagine for a few minutes…

Peeta shook himself and packed up his papers, folders, and pens. He wasn’t going to give into a lewd fantasy about one of his students in a classroom where anyone could walk in and see his arousal.

Maybe it would be easier to deal with the situation if he hadn’t, in a moment of weakness, confided in his friend and colleague, Finnick Odair, another young professor whose philosophy classes filled up seconds after registration opened. Dr. Odair’s popularity with the female student body was legendary, and Peeta didn’t mind that his own status had increased from the fall to the spring. His schedule for the next fall was already almost full, and early registration had been running for only a few days.

He entered his office and flung his bag on the floor at his feet. As he powered up his desktop, he shuffled a stack of essays he needed to grade for the next day’s class in hopes of finding his reading glasses. He answered a few emails and then turned his attention to the papers. Losing himself in his work, he didn’t look up until a chime indicated he’d received a new email.

“What does Finnick have to say now?” he mused as he bit the cap of his pen. He clicked on the attachment and blinked at the screen when a half-naked woman in a short plaid skirt who looked exactly like the student he couldn’t get off his mind spread her legs and leaned back on her elbows on a wooden desk. Fascinated, he watched a clothed blonde man cross to her and caress her legs.

“You know your homework scores are much too low,” the man reprimanded.

The Katniss look-alike blinked rapidly and arched her back so her exposed breasts jutted upward. “I’m so sorry, professor. I’ve been a very naughty girl, but I simply cannot fail anatomy. Can’t I do something to make up my grade?”

“I might be able to offer some extra credit. If you’re willing to help me study a specimen.”

Peeta’s mouth dropped open as the man flipped up the girl’s skirt and spread her lips. He alternated fingering her hard and licking his fingers. The action repeated several times with the girl begging him in breathy moans to make her cum like the bad girl she was. The camera cut to a close shot of the girl’s pussy, and Peeta sucked in his breath at the moisture seeping from her. It was so wrong to watch this, but it was so, so, so hot to see someone who looked so much like Katniss building to a climax.

His eyes were riveted on the screen when the man shed his pants and rubbed his cock between the girl’s legs. Peeta shifted in his seat and adjusted himself as the male porn star entered his make-believe student. They fucked for a while before he directed her onto her knees and the pace quickened.

For a fleeting moment, Peeta’s thoughts flickered to the cracked door and the possibility of being overheard. However, it was late and the last week before finals. Campus was practically deserted, and he was almost always alone in the building by himself by this time in the evening.

The brunette begged to be fucked on the computer screen in ever-increasing decibels when Peeta finally slipped his hand into his own pants. He groaned at the sensation and pumped himself in rhythm with the two on his screen. He bit his lower lip as he jacked off. There was something weirdly freeing about doing something so private in a public building, and that only made him more determined to—

“Professor Mellark?”

“Oh, fuck,” Peeta hissed at the sound his name in a feminine voice. He tucked himself back into his pants and slapped at the keyboard to mute his computer while calling out, “Just a second! Let me just finish this—”

The door swung open, and Katniss stood there, her brow furrowed in concern. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No! No, you’re fine,” he yelped and frantically refastened his belt below his desk. He wiped his palm on the side of his pants before motioning for her to enter and take a seat in a chair facing his desk. “Sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was out there. I was, uh… Yeah, anyway. What can I do for you, Katniss?”

She clearly didn’t believe him—probably because his face flamed in what must have been the brightest shade of red known to man—but he refused to acknowledge what he’d been doing. She shifted back and forth on her feet a few times, and he willed himself to think of really, really unsexy things to help deflate his erection. Thank fuck for the desk. Otherwise, his favorite student would have gotten an eyeful of his junk in a very inappropriate way.

Katniss glanced over her shoulder and finally stepped into the room and crossed to a chair. She stared down at him for a few seconds before sinking down and perching herself on the edge of the seat. She looked like she would flee at any moment, and Peeta yearned to make her comfortable.

“Are you having trouble with the final essay?” he coaxed when she remained silent. Her gray eyes penetrated him and made him squirm. It was as if she could see inside him where he hid his past hurts, imposter syndrome, and insecurities.

“I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

He flushed again and waved away her concern. “No, no, no. I was listening to a podcast. You didn’t interrupt a thing.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure, Katniss. Absolutely positive,” he assured her in a rush. “It’s a pleasure to have you here in my office. I-I mean, so glad you’re seeking me out. For help. With the paper. Or whatever.”

Peeta’s face flamed, both for his unintended sexual innuendo and his inability to hide his nervousness. He’d allowed himself one too many fantasies of her alone with him in his office and working out something that had nothing to do with academics. One too many times speculating about the feel of her smooth olive skin under his hands, the sounds she’d make, how good she’d feel, how being with someone like her would make him feel whole, how building a life with her would fulfill all his dreams. He was a complete wreck.

Katniss reached down and pulled a stack of papers out of her bag and thrust them at him. She twisted her hands as he flipped through the pile and spoke only when he stopped to look at her.

“I’m trying to get into Panem State next year, and I need a recommendation letter. I don’t really know too many faculty here—non-traditional student and all that—so I didn’t know who to ask, but I’ve really enjoyed your class, and you did say you could help with anything we needed.”

Peeta leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. “Of course, I’ll write a letter for you! I’m happy to help.”

“Really?”

He nodded as she twisted her braid around her palm and tugged on it nervously. “Absolutely. I just need a little more information.”

“L-like what?”

He flashed a grin at her in an attempt to ease her anxiety, but he wasn’t sure it worked. She still looked like she wanted to sprint from the room at any second.

“I didn’t realize you were a non-traditional student. Can you tell me a little bit more about your story? I’d like to reference your circumstances in the letter.”

“It’s not much of a story,” she mumbled.

“Everybody has a story, Katniss.”

“I guess that’s true,” she grudgingly admitted and then smiled softly. “My father died when I was in middle school, and my mom took it hard. She was practically catatonic for most of high school, so I raised my younger sister and worked odd jobs until I was old enough to get real employment. When I graduated, I took on as much work as I could until she went away to school. Then I decided it was time to get a degree, so I’m here.”

“How much younger is your sister?”

“Four years.”

“So, that makes you…24?”

“Yeah, although I look like I’m 16.”

Peeta chuckled at her wry assessment. “You look lov— I mean, I just hadn’t realized how similar we are in age. I’m 28, and I’m sure at any second everyone is going to realize I don’t really belong here. Professors are supposed to be old and gray, not bumbling around like the twenty-something I am.”

“You’re a great teacher,” Katniss said softly. “I’ve never been good with words, but in your class…”

“Well, that’s a wonderful compliment. Make sure to put it on the teacher evaluation at the end of the semester.”

“Oh, I-I will.”

“I’m teasing, Katniss. No coercion here.”

“No, but I mean, you really are a great teacher. Normally, I’m not a very verbal person. I’d rather do things than talk, but you make me want to do both.”

The double entendre hung in the air between them, and neither spoke or broke eye contact. Peeta wasn’t sure if she’d meant to hint at something other than his teaching, but the flush on her face indicated she realized what she’d said.

He jumped at the sharp rap on his door and glanced up to see Finnick grinning at him. “Peeta, my friend, want to grab a beer? Oh, I didn’t realize you had company.”

“I was just leaving,” Katniss blurted and jumped to her feet. “Thanks for writing the letter for me, Professor Mellark. See you next week at the final.”

“No problem, Katniss. I’ll have it for you then. And keep working on your essay. I’m sure you’ll do well. You always do.”

Katniss slipped through the door, and Finnick perched on the edge of the desk. His eyes sparkled as he observed his friend.

“Katniss, huh?” he mused. “Is that—? That’s the girl you told me about? The one who makes you want to throw your career to the wind and do her on the classroom floor?”

“Shut up, Finn.”

“But that’s her?”

“Yes, it’s her! And thanks for the email earlier. I just happened to open it right before she knocked on my door. Talk about awkward.”

“What email?”

Peeta turned his computer screen so Finnick could see it and brought up the link. When he clicked it, Finnick guffawed. “She’s the spitting image.”

“I know. Thanks for sending porn to my work email, asshole.”

Finnick laughed and slapped Peeta’s shoulder. “I must have copied the wrong link. That was supposed to be an invite to the end of the semester party at my house next week.”

“Well, that makes more sense.”

“Come on. I need a drink after grading that last set of essays, and my wife’s out of town.”

“Give me a second.”

“What could possibly be more important than drinking alcohol with me?”

Peeta grinned at his friend and answered, “I’m forwarding that email to my personal account. No sense letting good porn go to waste.”

#Springtime Edition 2019 #submission #hutchhitched #peetaspikelets #prompt 22

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porkchop-ao3 · 5 years

Text

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 18)

The Course Of True Love

Catching up with Beau and Penelope. This chapter is rated mature for some suggestive content.

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

Pearson had cooked up the fish the boys had caught by the time Arthur and I went back to camp. Nobody seemed to notice anything was different, not that they would, but it was surreal surrounding myself with all those people, having meaningless small talk while all the time my heart and mind was buzzing. Arthur sat by my side around the campfire for the remainder of the evening, through dinner and through the gradual dispersal of the gang members as they retired to their respective bedrolls.

It seemed so funny to me, to sit next to him and join in on conversations about how tasty the fish was, and how nice it was to eat something other than venison, and how much muggier the air was here compared to near Valentine. When mere hours ago we'd been making out with each other, completely alone and exploring each other for the first time in such a new, wonderful way. It never left my mind, keeping my body up a few degrees higher than usual and making me smile for no apparent reason, as far as anyone else was concerned. When asked about it by John, I just told him I was happy to be settled in at the new camp. It wasn't a lie, really; just not the entire truth.

The night wound down and it was the latest I'd stayed up, Arthur and I still sitting side by side around the campfire, opposite Javier who was playing his guitar, long after everyone else had gone to bed. Micah was still up, though he wasn't anywhere near us, choosing to sit leaning up against the big tree in the middle of the camp whittling a piece of wood by lantern light. He'd been keeping his distance since Jack had come over to ask him what he'd done with the flowers he asked him to pick. I'd cocked a brow at him, but it really didn't shock me. Micah didn't strike me as the type to go out picking flowers himself.

Nobody was speaking, we were just enjoying the peace of the night-time ambience by Flat Iron Lake; crickets, frogs, the occasional hooing of a distant owl, and of course Javier's peaceful tune. I wanted to tell him how much I appreciated his music, because it definitely helped me sleep since he would often still be playing whenever I went to bed, but I felt it might disturb the atmosphere so I kept quiet.

Arthur and I would likely have gone to sleep hours ago, but I got the sense that neither one of us wanted to move. Well, I knew that I certainly didn't. I was exhausted, but sitting shoulder to shoulder with Arthur, leaning up against a log with our legs stretched out long, I was reluctant to leave. It wasn't the most comfortable position to be in, my backside kept going a little numb against the hard ground, but it was warm by the fire and I wanted to be with him. I was still thinking about our kiss, wanting more than anything to do it again but I wouldn't have dreamt of bringing that kind of attention to us at the camp; even if it was just Javier and Micah around to witness it. I was content just feeling his arm and side pressed against mine, even that gave me a giddy feeling in my tummy.

We fell asleep like that, sitting next to each other, though of course I didn't know anything about it until morning when we were woken up by Pearson. He found it amusing, and to my surprise he didn't seem to think anything of it. I woke up at the sound of his chuckle, then Arthur jolted awake when Pearson kicked his foot. My neck was sore and I groaned as I lifted my head from Arthur's shoulder.

"I beat you two this morning, you been here all night? I thought waking you'd be the kindest thing, twisting your necks like that. Coffee's ready," he told us, walking back over to his station.

I felt groggy and stiff and gingerly rolled my neck a couple of times before looking up at Arthur who'd sat forwards and was rubbing at his eyes. I smiled a little, my mind clearing up as I realised where I was.

"Good morning," I said to him, watching him lift his head to look at me and give me a sleepy smile. I reached out and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, my hand lingering a moment too long before I let go and stood up. "I'll grab us some coffee."

"Meet you down by the lake?" He suggested, looking up at me from his spot on the floor. I noted a look in his eyes, something hopeful and bright behind the tiredness. I grinned, nodding before heading off.

I filled two cups with fresh coffee and headed down towards the water's edge, spotting Arthur sitting at the end of the jetty, where I had been the previous evening. I joined him there, handing him his cup before sitting down cross-legged beside him. It was a little cooler that day, the sky white with light clouds, a breeze coming off the lake, but it wasn't by any means cold. I watched a group of ducks nearby as we sat quietly; I liked that about Arthur, he wasn't one for forced chit-chat. He was happy to sit in silence, as was I. Though, I didn't mind at all when he broke it.

"Your neck as stiff as mine?" He suddenly asked, a small wince on his face as he turned to me. I chuckled a little.

"Yes. I don't even remember falling asleep," I said, and Arthur shook his head.

"Me neither. Though I do remember feeling toasty warm and not wanting to move, that probably had something to do with it."

"Mhm, I was more than content to stay by your side," I admitted, watching his eyebrows jump a little in surprise.

"Really? Oh, well I'm glad it wasn't just my company boring you to sleep," he joked, swaying his body towards mine to bump against my shoulder.

"'Course not," I smirked. "You were a comfy pillow."

"You're used to sleeping on the ground, I'll take that with a pinch of salt," he chuckled.

"Arthur, are you heading out to find out more about the Grays today?" Dutch's voice startled us both, and we turned to watch him strolling down the edge of the lake towards us, coffee in one hand, a cigar in the other. Molly was with him, loyally standing by his side like she did so often. She was one member of the camp I had barely spoken to.

"I was planning on it, yeah, unless you got something else?" Arthur replied, leaning back to look past me at Dutch, his hand coming down to hold himself up behind me, his body easing closer to mine in one of those ways that was entirely innocent yet set my pulse racing.

"You go do that, but I'd like you to meet me at the sheriff's office again some time, I reckon we should get a little more acquainted with him," he said, a smile forming on his face that was just slightly unsettling. I did not know what to make of Dutch Van Der Linde.

I heard Arthur let out a breath behind me, not loud enough for anyone else to hear. "Sure. But I don't know why you think–"

"Hiding in plain sight, Arthur. Like I said," Dutch said, then turned to leave before Arthur had a chance to respond.

I caught Molly's eye before she left too, and offered her a smile; the one she returned was friendly, though a little tense. I knew she and Dutch had been arguing, they certainly didn't make much of a secret of it when they yelled at each other across the camp. I never said anything or asked anyone, though, it wasn't my business. Molly tended to isolate herself away from the other girls, spending a lot of time in Dutch's tent. I told myself then and there that I would avoid doing that if this thing that Arthur and I had began went any further, I enjoyed the company of the girls far too much to cut myself off from them. It was plain for me to see that Molly was completely smitten with Dutch, though, so I could hardly blame her.

Arthur sighed again, breaking me from my thoughts. I turned to him, concerned. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I guess. It's jus' Dutch wanting to get into bed with the local law, I can't understand it," he told me under his breath.

"I'm no one to talk on this subject but I will admit, it does seem rather strange given why we're here," I shrugged and Arthur nodded at me, giving me a look.

"Don't take a genius. You've been here just a few weeks and you can see that, but I suppose I should trust that Dutch knows what he's doing. He's got us out of a hell of a lot of sticky situations, I don't always understand his methods but we seem to fall on our feet," he acquiesced, finalising the topic before looking up at me.

"So I guess I'm paying the Grays a visit today."

The name hadn't triggered much before, but when I remembered where we were, my brows raised. "Oh, the Grays! I know of them."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I worked for them a little when I was staying out here last. They had a vermin problem, paid me to shoot rats in their stables," I explained, and Arthur just stared at me for a moment, cogs turning in his head.

"You particularly close to 'em?" He asked. It would've been an odd question if I didn't know the Van Der Linde gang well enough to realise they were probably planning on robbing them blind.

"No. I was most friendly with the sheriff's nephew, Beau, he kept me company sometimes, out in the stables. If you're worried I'm gonna try and stop you folk from doing what you need to do, I won't. That whole family, besides Beau, is awful. I reckon even he'd hesitate to stop you from screwing 'em over," I laughed.

"Awful, how?" Arthur raised a brow, curious.

"According to Beau, they're violent, greedy, stupid and intolerant. I only met a few of 'em but the ones I did meet weren't all that nice to me; perverted," I shook my head as I recalled it. "One of his cousins got mighty friendly with me, he was nice at first but it got real creepy."

Arthur cocked his head, frowning a little. It prompted me to explain.

"He'd hang around when Beau weren't there. Ask me a bunch of weird stuff, kept telling me I could take my shoes off if I wanted," I snorted. "Out in the stables, like I'm gonna."

"Okay…" Arthur squinted and drawled the word slowly.

"He offered to fill me a bath one day. Like an idiot I jumped at the chance, I rarely got to take hot baths, I'm sure you understand. I washed in rivers and lakes, mostly, a hot bath in a house sounded too good to pass up. But the whole damn time I swear I could hear him outside the door, just waiting there, probably watching through the cracks or… something," I shuddered, shaking my head.

"That's…" he trailed off, seemingly stumped at how to respond.

"He never tried anything; never touched me or nothing," I shook my head. "I think he just like watching me."

"Well I'm glad it never went further than that," Arthur said.

"I have a lot of stories like that. I tend to attract a certain brand of gentleman, it seems. And I wonder why I've never been interested in romance," I laughed, then looked at him and put my hand on his knee. "'til now, of course."

"Just tell me if I get creepy," he laughed.

"You're far from creepy," I assured him with a smirk. "Anyway, you want me to come with you to the Gray's?"

"You think that's a good idea?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind seeing Beau again, and they know me there so you'll get in easier," I explained, and Arthur nodded in understanding.

"That's a good point."

"Then it's settled," I smiled.

I took a bath in the lake in a secluded area a short distance from camp before we left, and my hair was still damp when I mounted up with Arthur, I left it down and it occurred to me that he had never seen me that way. He took a double take when he saw me, but waited until we were away from the camp to tell me that I looked pretty with my hair down – not that I didn't look pretty otherwise, he was hasty to add – and his words made me blush something fierce.

Beau seemed surprised to see me, after all, it had been a long time and he knew my lifestyle; that I moved around an awful lot. He also seemed pleased, however, welcoming me with a firm squeeze of my hand and an array of questions about how I'd been keeping. Beau was always very fanciful and unrestrained with his words, babbling on and at times barely letting anyone else get a word in. But he was an easy conversationalist because of that, it was easy to get him talking and give yourself the chance to just sit and listen without having to say much yourself.

Especially when Penelope was mentioned. After introducing Arthur as a good friend of mine, I asked him how she was doing, and watched his whole demeanour shift into something hopelessly enraptured. The man was completely devoted.

"Oh, she is as usual trapped by that god-awful family of hers, as am I. Seeing her is getting harder and harder, they've got guards all over and she can't leave the place without being interrogated," he was saying, glancing around as he did.

"But you're still together? That's a testament to your commitment to one another, that says to me that you'll find a way," I offered, watching his face soften into a hopeful smile.

"How I wish you are right," he sighed.

"Why don't you pair just flee?" Arthur questioned.

"Well, between you and I, that is the plan. Eventually," he told us, peeking around the edge of the storage building we were behind before coming back and pulling out a letter. "Would you be so kind as to… to do me a small favour?"

Arthur and I shared a look.

"I will pay you for your troubles. Would you deliver this letter to her? She likes to spend time out in the gazebo by the lake over there. I have this bracelet for her, too,” he held a small box out along with the letter, waiting for one of us to take them. "You've met Penelope, she knows you. Perhaps if you tell the guards you're visiting as a friend?" He suggested to me.

I considered for a moment, then reached out to take the items. "Sure, Beau."

"Oh, thank you! You're a treasure, I always knew so," he beamed at me. I nodded awkwardly, keeping my head down at the flattery. I waved a hand at Arthur and started heading back towards our horses.

"Come on, Arthur," I said, noting his look of disbelief.

"Good luck!" Beau called after us as we mounted up and made to leave the Gray estate.

"You're helping them? With this?" Arthur asked me, cantering alongside me.

"Yes, wouldn't you have?" I retorted.

"Well… sure, I guess. He did say he'd pay. But you're gonna put yourself on the line like that, with all those guards?"

"I'm a friend of Penelope's, dropping by for a spot of tea in the gazebo," I shrugged.

"I could just sneak in, you know," he laughed, a little bewildered at my attitude.

"And if you get caught, you get shot," I pointed out to him. He bobbed his head from side to side in consideration. "If I go in it'll be a lot safer, they ain't gonna shoot at a lady who meets them head on, intentions transparent."

"Fair enough, I won't argue with that logic. But I'll be staying nearby, just in case," he said.

"Of course," I nodded, then grinned at him. "Some things just need a woman's touch."

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure."

We approached the Braithwaite's estate, where Penelope would be, and Arthur hung back so he could wait nearby while I rode up to the entrance and dismounted my horse. The guards perked up when they saw me coming, gripping their weapons and keeping their eyes on me. I strolled up to them, my smile easy and perhaps even a little naive.

"Afternoon, fellers. Is Penelope about?" I asked. The guards glanced between each other, and one of them eventually spoke up.

"We've been told not to let anyone on the property without approval," a guard with an impressive moustache told me.

"I'm sure if you gave Penelope my name she'd give you her approval. I'm an old friend of hers and was just passing through, I wanted to drop in on her and see how she was," I suggested, and gave the guards my name.

The moustachioed guard nodded to one standing nearby, who left us; presumably to seek out Penelope. I could only pray that she actually remembered me, we had met a number of times when I was staying around Rhodes. I was fond of her, and hoped that the feeling was mutual enough for her to tell the guards to let me in. Otherwise, Arthur and I would have to resort to plan B and sneak onto the property somehow. I hoped it wouldn't come to that.

I also had to admit that I wanted to prove to Arthur that I could be useful.

I stood in silence with the guards staring at me. I rocked on my heels, glancing around the place as we waited. While silences with Arthur were rarely awkward, this silence certainly was, and I felt myself scrambling for something to say or do to fill the space. I glanced at the head honcho guard with the moustache, and cleared my throat.

"How are you, sir?" I asked. He cocked a brow, glanced at the other guard. Christ, had these men never had a conversation before?

"Fine, miss. Yourself?" He said after a long pause. I smiled at the response.

"Very well, thank you," I nodded. "I'm passing through on my way to Saint Denis. First big city I've ever been to!" I spun a little yarn, just for fun.

"Oh? I hope you enjoy it. I actually have a sister who lives out there," he told me, shoulders loosening, his grip on his weapon becoming more casual.

"Really? Does she like it out there?"

"Loves it. I've never been much for the place, personally, I'm more of a country man. She met her husband there and never looked back," he told me, and suddenly we were like two friendly strangers having a chat on the street.

"Maybe I'll get lucky and meet my future husband there too," I laughed, watching his brows raise and his attitude shift.

"You're not married?" He queried.

"No, not me," I shook my head, feigning sadness.

"Oh, me neither," he told me and I nodded, stalling at where to carry on from there. The other guard cleared his throat and casually strolled away, mentioning something about patrolling the estate.

Well, shit.

"How long are you staying in Saint Denis, miss? Perhaps I could find some time to show you some points of interest?"

Shit!

I continued to just look at the guy, an awkward smile plastered on my face, my bullshit falling through as I clocked what was going on. Luckily, I spotted movement over the guard's shoulder.

"Oh! Your friend's back, look," I pointed to him as he jogged back over to us.

"Come on in, ma'am, apologies for the hostility. Penelope is out at the gazebo, just over there. Would you like someone to escort you?" The returning guard told me, and relief filled me to the brim.

"No, that's quite alright. Thank you kindly!" I said, grabbing the opportunity to speed away from the moustache, heading in the direction the guard pointed me in.

I found Penelope sitting down in the gazebo with a cup of tea, looking as beautiful and put together as I remembered her, with her curled and styled blonde hair and her powder blue frock. She rose to her feet and called my name when she spotted me, and I rushed over to her to give her a gentle hug and a peck on the cheek.

"Penelope! It's good to see you, you look well," I told her and she gave me a once over.

"As do you! When I saw you last it wasn't long after your brother's passing. You look much happier, now, I'm glad to see," she said, beaming at me. "I must admit, I had quite the surprise when they told me you were here, I never expected to see you again."

"I hope you don't mind me just dropping in, you see…" I glanced around to check that we weren't being watched before I pulled the letter and the gift from my satchel. "I met with Beau today, he asked me to give these to you."

"Oh, Beau! He's such a sweetheart," she swooned, sitting down and tearing open the letter. I took a seat next to her and watched as she read. "How I wish things were different," she sighed, shaking her head.

"I think you will find a way, Penelope. You and Beau certainly belong together," I assured her and she looked up and smiled at me.

"I'm glad somebody can see that. My family are just foul, I hope they get what's coming to them… I'm sorry, they just make me so mad," she tutted and put the letter down. "Where are my manners? Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you. I shouldn't stay too long, I have somebody waiting for me," I explained and she cocked her head.

"Really? Pardon me if this sounds rude, but I was under the impression you kept with your own company?"

"That was true, until recently. I have made a few friends," I said, feeling sheepish all of a sudden.

"Oh? Does one of those happen to be a gentleman friend?" She gave me a knowing smile and I chuckled. "I can see that look in your eye, madam. There's no fooling a hopeless romantic like yours truly."

"Well, perhaps," I said quietly and she laughed a very ladylike, tinkly laugh.

"Alright, I won't grill you. But I wish you the best."

"I wish the same for you," I gave her arm a gentle pat and she glanced down.

"I'm sorry to ask," she started.

"You have something for me to give to Beau?" I guessed, and she nodded. "Of course."

"Thank you. You're a kind soul," she smiled, handing me a letter.

"You're most welcome. Take care of yourself, Penelope. It was lovely seeing you," I rose to my feet and she stood up too, giving me another quick hug before letting me head back.

I made sure to make my exit as quickly as possible to avoid being flagged down by the moustache; I absolutely hadn't intended to give him any ideas. That was a total accident. I met with Arthur again away from the property, not far from the tree-lined road leading up to the manor. He was smoking a cigarette, but stubbed it out when he saw me approaching. I held up Penelope's letter to Beau and he raised a brow.

"We turning into messengers, now?" He laughed.

"We gotta go back to Beau to get our payment anyway," I shrugged.

"Everything go smoothly in there?" He asked.

"Of course," I smirked. "Why wouldn't it?"

"No reason," he said, taking a few steps towards me.

"I'm a fantastic bullshitter, Arthur. If running in this gang has taught me anything about myself, it's that."

"Yeah? What'chu spin this time?"

"I'm off to Saint Denis, hoping to find a husband, apparently. Though, I should be more careful with what I say. The poor guard thought I was flirting, I reckon."

"Do I gotta keep an eye on you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snickered. A devilish smirk crossed his lips as he closed the gap between us and pinched my chin between his fingers. My heart rate skyrocketed.

"John, Micah, the guard… who else you trying to seduce?" He teased me, pressing one of my buttons so easily. I sputtered and shook my head.

"Arthur!" I hissed, and he laughed at my response.

"I'm just kidding, princess. Relax," he whispered, making my body feel like simmering water, all loose and unstable. "We've been out here alone for hours and I ain't kissed you once, we're wasting opportunities here."

"We've been busy," I murmured half-heartedly, my mind going all foggy as he came closer, his lips inches from mine. He paused there, looking into my eyes as if asking for permission, I nodded just slightly and he closed in.

Gosh, it was just as new and wonderful as the first time. Arthur's lips felt plush against mine; not the softest in the world due to a healing cut, but certainly soft as in gentle. They moved so nicely with mine and I mewled quietly against them, taking his free hand in mine and pressing our palms together, squeezing him and running my thumb over the back of his hand. I was panting in moments and letting out the occasional little sound, eventually prompting Arthur to pull back and chuckle.

"Are you always this vocal when you kiss?"

"I guess we'll find out," I breathed.

"Oh, I forgot, this is…" he trailed off. "Everything feels even more new to you than it does to me."

"Should I try to be quiet?"

"No," he told me, then kissed me again, cupping the back of my head and pushing his fingers through my loose hair. I pushed my body up against his, completely forgetting our surroundings. For all I knew we could be on a stage in front of thousands and I would still be focused on nothing but him and the way he tasted.

I didn't quite know what to do when his tongue pressed against the seal of my lips. By the time I'd made the decision to open my mouth, his tongue had already retreated and Arthur was reining himself in, pulling back to catch his breath.

"I like the sounds you make. Makes me wonder what you'd sound like–" he stopped and closed his eyes for a moment. "I will stop there before my mouth gets me into trouble."

"Arthur," I whispered, wrapping my free hand around his suspenders.

"I forget myself when I kiss you, I fear I'll do something to upset you if I'm not careful," he admitted.

"I'm a grown woman," I reminded him, and he opened his eyes to look into mine. "This might be new to me, physically, but you best believe it ain't new to my mind. I've wanted to experience this for so long."

"I would hate for you to think I'm being disrespectful, but everything you do when we kiss has me feeling… thinking… I can't say the words. This is happening real fast and I'm struggling to control my thoughts, among other things."

"Are you talking about the fact that it feels like you're wearing an extra revolver on your belt?" I whispered meekly, almost like I didn't want him to hear me.

Arthur went beet red and started leaning back, but I kept him close with the hand on his suspenders.

"Yes," he confessed.

"Don't worry about it," I reassured him, feeling my own body stir at the thought of him becoming aroused because of little old me. Arthur visibly relaxed.

"I haven't had this kind of attention in a long time and I guess I'm just a little sensitive," he said sheepishly. I shook my head and kissed his jawline.

"You don't have to justify nothing," I said.

"I feel like a damn teenager," he laughed breathily and I smirked.

"You should know I feel just the same."

"Then I reckon we ought to, uh, to leave each other alone for a while," he suggested. I pouted a little, but nodded anyway.

"I guess," I sighed. "Though, it was your idea to kiss me."

"Guilty as charged," he laughed, then slowly slid away from me. It was oh so tempting to glance down and see what I was feeling against my lower belly, but I forced myself to behave. "Come on, let's go give that letter to Beau."

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