#THIS SEASON’S THEME WITH HER SPECIFICALLY?
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One Moment Per Episode With Dick Grayson
Season One, Episode Two: "Hawk and Dove"
Summary:
Even though Dick denies that he needs your help, you can't let other innocent people - like Hank, Dawn, and Rachel - get caught in the crossfire of his stubbornness and annoyance toward you.
So when you have a vision of Dick fleeing back to some of the only friends he knows, you don't hesitate to chase him. And yes - you make sure to bring coffee this time.
Dick Grayson x Fem!Powered!Reader. Childhood Friends/Exes to Lovers. Emotional Angst and Bantering/Humor. Set during Season 1, Episode 2.
Word Count: 6,000
DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist
Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.
Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns - I still want to warn that some people might accuse this character of being an OC/might consider this an OC, but the reader received a great reception in the last chapter, so you guys might like her uniqueness if you read this; as usual with my stories, the majority of pronouns used in the fic are you/yours; and other than clothing style and a scar that informs her backstory, the reader's looks are not described and are left vague (as far as race, body type, hair colour, etc. - those things are not described); the reader character does have powers - the reader character is psychic and can see glimpses of the future in dream-like visions; the reader actually has a vision in this one (and there is more descriptions of her visions in general) (looking back, I wish I would have opened the first chapter on a vision of the apocalypse but oh well); the reader and Dick are 'exes' - their relationship was never official (they never explicitly called each other boyfriend/girlfriend), but they used to have sex often (and they both have feelings for each other that they never openly spoke about), and they are childhood friends, so there is a lot of emotional history there; this fic uses Y/N; this whole chapter (and this whole series, really) involves intense criticism of Dick's character - the Titans version specifically - so if you don't like that and if you don't like the Titans characterization of him, then turn back now; mentions of canon-typical violence; non-graphic descriptions of Dick having an infected wound as a child (speaking to his characterization); mentions of non-canon character deaths - happening in non-canon branching paths in the reader's visions (things that don't come true, but have the opportunity to come true if she doesn't interfere); mentions of gun violence; lots of stereotypical monogamous jealousy going on here - some canon, and some not (not the kind of thing my poly ass typically writes, but it does well with Dick's toxic personality, so I like it) - Hank being jealous of Dick and Dawn's reunion, and Dick trying to evoke jealousy from the reader over his past relationship with Dawn (though I have made it clear in the text that Dick doesn't have feelings for Dawn anymore); Dick accidentally pointing a gun at the reader (because of mistaken identity); this time there is equal pining and horniness between Dick and the reader (mostly because I am a simp for Dick in that navy button down shirt, unf); mentions of Dick's past trauma (the death of his parents) and his PTSD reactions because of it; mentions of Dick and the reader having sex in the past and their sexual desire toward each other and some mild sexual themes, but there is no explicit smut in this chapter (there might be some in future chapters); the reader gets injured in a fight with The Family; mentions of Dawn's canon injuries and subsequent coma; I believe that's it for this part.
A/N: I actually wanna say that this chapter was complete and ready to be edited in my drafts, and because of the comments and feedback I got on the last chapter, I actually went in and made some additions to this chapter. People really seemed to like the banter between Dick and the reader character, and there wasn't much of it in this part, so I made sure to add more of it - because if you guys tell me that you like a certain aspect of a fic, I will play up that aspect in future chapters or in future fics. That is why commenting matters. Writers listen to your detailed feedback and put it into future stories - we aren't just looking for comments to stroke our egos. So if you guys like this chapter and the banter in it, know that you helped shape it from what it originally was!
...
Dick had basically told you to fuck off - he didn’t want to be involved, but he already was.
The events were already set into motion around him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it now. So - rather than turn around and go all the way back home, you had simply gotten a hotel room in Detroit, waiting for him to ask for your help, or waiting for some signal that he would truly need you.
You fell into an easy sleep, and soon - that signal came to you.
…
A rooftop. Two old friends. Tense smiles under a beautifully bright day that didn’t suit them.
“She killed someone?” Dawn nods toward Rachel, who is sitting beside the large dove house that Hank built, looking at the gentle animals in quiet fascination. She feels peaceful in their presence. “She’s just a kid.”
That’s what he wants. He wants everyone to underestimate her.
“Whoever they are, they’ve got people in the department.” Dick replies.
He’s talking about the people who kidnapped her right out from under his nose - the ones who nearly succeeded in making her a ritual sacrifice. Just one of many forces that were coming after her. One of many forces that seek to harm her.
“We needed somewhere safe to regroup.” He adds on. “And think about what I’m gonna do.”
Somewhere safe?
“What about Bruce?” Dawn poses.
Of course Dick wouldn’t go fleeing back to him. Daddy issues. He thinks of Dawn and Hank as his true family. The Titans have always been his true family. Since losing the Circus, it’s the only family that he’s known.
Oh. Somewhere safe. Of course.
Dick visibly shudders at the thought of going back to Bruce. “He’s no good with kids.”
That's an understatement.
“A cop, huh?” Dawn gives him a small grin. “That’s one I never would’ve figured.”
Well, he seeks out order. But he's a stubborn, bull-headed person who demands to be the leader at all times. He’s terrible at following rules that he hasn't made - terrible at falling under someone else's authority. He thinks that being a police officer is bringing forth real justice.
It was never meant to last.
Dick knew this. He doesn’t like admitting his own faults. So, he rushes to change the subject.
“How are you?” He asks Dawn, clearly curious.
It’s almost as though he wants her to say that her life has been notably worse without the Titans. Just like his has been.
It's been too long since he's spoken to her. He loves running without looking back. It’s something that he’s very good at.
“We’re great.” Dawn answers, flashing him a smile. She's insistent on this ‘we' - reminding Dick that she's not alone. She's not a single person anymore. “Hank’s feeling the life a little. Age waits for no man, and all that.”
Of course. This should have been obvious to him, but he’s a little too absorbed in his own problems to consider it.
“How bad?” Dick asks the obvious question.
“Two fractures, three concussions in the last year, and a herniated disc.” Dawn replies honestly.
Dick has been through worse. He acts like it’s nothing, but it’s not. He’s the type of man to attempt to put a band-aid on a bullet wound. While traveling with the Circus, he stepped on a nail once, and tried to hide it from his parents - pulled it out himself and only told them when the wound began to fester and get infected.
Fiercely independent and stubborn, even back then.
“Jesus, Dawn.”
Yet, he acts as though this is surprising. He acts as though this isn’t the norm when you exchange your bodily safety for the safety of others.
“We’re still good out there, Dick.” She presses, sounding as though she is trying to convince herself. They need the team. That’s what’s missing. The downfall of her confidence. “Really good. But one slip-up-”
“You should quit.” Dick declares this firmly, confidently. He always believes his own authority as fact. “You both should.”
Deep down, he knows that both Dawn and Hank will never quit. Like himself, they do not take well to ‘retirement’. They will die doing this job or they will find quieter ways to keep doing good - but they will never rest. Rest feels too selfish.
“That’s the plan.” Dawn replies. It feels like a lie coming out of her mouth, and she smiles around the discomfort of it. “As soon as we take out these gun suppliers he’s obsessed with. One more chance to do some good and then he promised he’s out.”
Suddenly, there was a flash of something else.
Guns. Piles and piles of guns. Dawn being shot in the head from behind. Bright red blood soaking into white hair. A sneak attack while they have their guard down. Hank, overwhelmed by grief, unable to consider his own life as enemies surround him.
He is forcefully pulled off her limp body.
His screams bounce off the concrete walls as he is chained up and tortured.
Things never go according to plan, do they?
Dick gives her a sharp look as he considers the possibilities. Almost as if, due to his paranoia, he too can see the future.
He wants to offer his help, or tell them simply not to go, but Dawn steals the words off his tongue.
“You could help us out.” She remarks brightly.
Yes, he could. He should.
Another flash of similar events.
This ends just as bloody. Similar howls of pain echo through the warehouse. Hank is limping as Dawn supports him, but all three of them are alive. They all make it back to the apartment alive.
Dick is working on his personal definition of justice. It’s not exactly clean. (But it works.)
But still, he hesitates.
“I’m out of the life, Dawn.”
Liar.
Suddenly, Hank appears. He is surprisingly quiet for someone so large.
“The hell are you doin’ here, Dick?” He barks out the name like poison - in a harsh, jutting way that many others have done before him.
Everyone becomes tense. It’s an unwelcome reunion.
“Hank.” Dawn speaks his name curtly - a reminder. Mind your temper.
“I had a situation.” Dick tries to explain himself, being far too vague.
But again, how does one cleanly summarize encountering a young girl with powers like Rachel’s and being so unsure how to handle it? And of course, Dick hates to admit being unsure of himself. He hates to admit needing help. He prefers to phrase things delicately - as though this were a choice, a fun day trip, rather than the desperate fleeing that it truly is.
“Nice little reunion you got goin’ here.” Hank says sarcastically.
“You know it’s not like that.” Dick replies.
He is right, but poor at defending himself against Hank’s flare of jealousy. He is so walled off that he doesn’t dare to admit he doesn’t have eyes for Dawn anymore, even in the slightest. That relationship was nice, but those feelings died out long ago. He simply can’t see her in a romantic light anymore because his heart belongs to someone he believes could never want him in return.
Follies for another time.
“Sure looks like it to me.” Hank grunts in return.
“Hank.” Dawn says his name sharper this time, capturing his attention as he stares at Dick with fire burning in his eyes.
She nods toward Rachel, who is staring at all of them with confusion.
It’s her. She’s the reason why we’re all here. She’s the reason we’re all going to be alive years from now.
“What the fuck?” Hank is confused. Reasonable.
“Can we just go back inside, please?”
Good idea.
…
You woke up in a cold sweat, fumbling around numbly to turn on the lamp of the hotel room that you were staying in. Having your mind widen across the astral plane could be absolutely exhausting.
Of course Dick had gone back to them.
Looks like you were headed to DC.
…
“Dawn, you can’t hit this job. Look at the number of security contractors here-”
“Come on, don’t change the subject.”
Dawn was cut off from speaking any further by a loud thud coming from the front door. Something almost akin to a knock. Hank (who had gone out to pick up some beer) had a key, so - that definitely wasn’t him. Rachel was in the guest room watching Game of Thrones -
Dick and Dawn exchanged a look, both thinking the same thing.
There was someone at the door. Someone unannounced.
And whoever was at the door might be someone looking for Rachel - someone seeking to harm her. In the kind of silent communication that had only been developed over years of working together as a team, Dick gave Dawn a nod and she calmly raised from her chair to go and check on Rachel. And then he grabbed his service pistol, flicking the safety off and cocking it - he swiftly walked to the front door, and while pointing the gun at whoever was outside.
It was a clear warning, and also ready to fire if the person tried barging in. Dick opened the door slowly, and peered into the hallway, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he waited to see who it was.
You.
It was you.
He let out a sharp breath of relief when the information fully penetrated his brain - the fact that it was you standing there, and not someone intending to do him or Rachel harm. Not an enemy.
You were standing there as innocently as ever, wearing a red dress with a beautiful paisley pattern on it - still sporting those same brown leather boots and that same cozy jacket. Again, you looked so damn beautiful, and it shouldn’t have been comforting, and Dick shouldn’t have been filled with want. You were holding a paper tray full of coffee cups - which you had pressed against your breast for balance, and in the other hand, you had a large brown bag that seemed to be full of pastries from the smell.
“Fuck.” He swore sharply, his arm still holding the gun up stiffly - his body still filled with the conflicting fight or flight response pumping through him, unanswered.
You let out a bright laugh at this, seemingly amused by Dick’s tense aura.
“Your greetings get more pleasant everytime I see you, Dick.” You said, nodding toward the gun that was still extended in your direction.
He let out another tense breath, and forcefully unlocked his forearm then, in order to put the gun down. He put the safety back on and tucked it into the back of his waistband as he opened the door fully to let you inside.
“You really are such a warm and welcoming person.” You added on, sarcasm ripe in your voice.
“You’re an asshole.” Dick replied, still feeling the ache of a fight or flight response tearing through him as he tried to calm down.
He knew that you hadn’t meant to scare him - or maybe you had, seeing as you hadn’t apologized, and seemed to find the whole thing entirely amusing. But at least you weren’t someone that he actually needed to shoot. So that was a plus.
“I am not.” You replied snarkily, stepping past Dick and making your way into the apartment. “I’m nice. You told me that next time I should bring coffee, and I did. That’s the farthest thing from being an asshole.”
“Dick, what’s going on?” Dawn called out, stepping out from the guest room with Rachel hot on her heels.
Realization spread across her features when she saw you placing your goodies on the counter as Dick closed and locked the front door.
“Y/N,” Dawn smiled, walking over to give you a hug after you had set everything down.
You embraced her tightly for a moment before she pulled away with a smile. Dick rolled his eyes at this - still annoyed at your presence. He would never admit it, but he was upset that Dawn was much happier to see you than she had been when he had arrived.
“Another friend?” Rachel asked, hovering at the edge of the kitchen, slightly hesitant of you.
“A good friend.” Dawn confirmed, shining her smile toward Rachel. “Rachel, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is-”
“Rachel. Hi.” You cut off Dawn as she made the introduction, giving a gentle wave toward Rachel while she nodded shyly at you.
“A friend who’s not supposed to be here.” Dick added on gruffly.
“Grumpy grumps don’t get danishes.” You said, holding up the large brown paper bag.
Dick sighed and rolled his eyes, wanting to protest about you distracting from the larger point with pastries - but technically, he had asked you to bring them.
“We’ve got… a medium vanilla latte for Dawn,” You pulled the cup out of the tray, now doling out the coffee orders. It was something that you knew partially from memory, and partially from the omnipotence that came with your powers.
She took it with a quiet ‘thank you’.
“A small black coffee with extra sugar for Rachel.” You offered her the paper cup, and she loosened up on her hesitance toward you, eagerly leaning in to grab it. She smiled at the fact that you knew her preference and didn’t question her for drinking coffee at such a young age.
“Thanks.” She said brightly.
“A large black coffee for grumpy pants.” You said, holding out a cup towards Dick.
When he reached for it, you teasingly swiped it back before you actually gave it to him, and he heaved out another sigh.
“Are you gonna tell me what you’re doing here?” He asked sharply as he popped open the lid on the cup and took a sip.
You decided to ignore him.
“And an Americano for Hank.” You went on speaking about the coffee, rather than answering Dick’s question. “What kind of sociopath drinks watered down espresso anyway?”
“He-” Dawn spoke up, about to tell you that Hank was at the store, not even there to enjoy it while it was still hot. But then, there was the sound of lock and key in the door and it came bursting open.
“Dawn, I got your stupid fru-fru coconut ice cream. I had to go to three different stores for it, and-”
When Hank saw everyone gathered in the kitchen, including the surprising addition of you, he glared as he kicked the door shut behind him.
“Well, isn’t this a real goddamn-”
“A real goddamn summer camp.” You cut him off, literally stealing the words out of his mouth.
“God, I fucking hate it when you do that.” Hank sighed, a visible stiffness running through him - similar to the way Dick looked when you said ominous things. He was creeped out and defensive at the same time.
“Would a pecan cinnamon roll make you feel better?” You posed, pulling a smaller bag out of the bag of pastries and offering it to him.
“You know, you always were my favorite.” He replied, quickly changing his tune as he came to grab the treat from you, a snarky smile spreading across his lips.
Dick reached for the brown bag sitting on the counter to get one of those danishes you had mentioned. You saw this out of the corner of your eye, and you snatched it away from him. You had meant what you said. He tensed up visibly but didn’t argue.
Dawn giggled, pointedly looking between the two of you before she reached into the bag herself - of course, only for you to slide it closer to her.
Dick sighed harshly and tried to move on from the subject. “Now, are you gonna tell me what you’re doing here?”
…
It wasn’t long before Dick sequestered you away, demanding answers. He dragged you into Dawn and Hank’s bathroom, actually. This left Dawn to awkwardly fill the space with Rachel, who was wondering who you were, and was asking more questions as she sensed the tension between you and Dick. Meanwhile, Hank scarfed down his pecan bun without a single care about the circumstances of your visit now that he was fed.
You sat on the edge of the bathtub with your arms crossed, looking at Dick with firm calculation, just like you always did, waiting for him to speak. He shoved his hands in his pockets - something that made his whole stance tense and broad and horribly appealing. It was something that reminded you that he had stayed perfectly fit since you had last seen him - and he had nothing but fine, firm muscles under that shirt.
You forced yourself to focus as he stiffened his jaw and stared right back at you.
“Well?” He scoffed.
“‘Well’ what, Grayson?” You nagged back, knowing fully well what he meant.
He sharply rolled his eyes. That seemed to be a reaction that you invoked from him quite frequently.
“Why the hell did you follow me?” He sighed, his breath too tired to be as fully demanding as he intended.
You wondered when the last time he had slept was. He was someone who wore insomnia strangely well, especially considering that Bruce had driven him to be sleepless since his teen years. It was something that he was accustomed to by now, so he never got the ‘bags under eyes’, ‘half dead’ thing that most other people did when they didn’t sleep. He simply looked like himself.
You hated how much internal destruction and self abuse suited him.
“Who says I followed you?” You replied, your natural instinct toward snark acting up again. “Maybe I just felt like dropping by. Dawn and Hank are my friends, too.”
You almost added on ‘apparently they like me more than they like you, anyway’ - but you didn’t feel the need to kick him so badly when he was already down.
Dick let out a quiet growl, reaching up to firmly pinch the bridge of his nose with his finger and a thumb.
Already, you were wearing his patience thin.
You knew that you couldn’t tell him the truth.
One thing you knew for certain - Dick Grayson was a control freak. It was something that had been carved into him by trauma and fully solidified by years of training with Bruce.
That night, so long ago - having his parents slip out from his grasp when he had been so young, while performing a routine that they were known for courageously doing without a safety net. A routine that they were so certain of and knew so well, having never factored in the act of murderous sabotage that ultimately killed them - it made Dick want to obsessively control every single aspect of his life and everyone else’s around him.
Not only did he want to help those around him avoid danger, but he wanted the people around him to behave exactly how he imagined that they should at all times.
He was constantly on the lookout for frayed ropes - for the unexpected variables that might be the downfall of someone that he loved. He felt that his parents’ death had been his fault, that he hadn’t been diligent enough that night, so he needed to be hypervigilant in every other aspect of his life to keep more people from dying.
It was part of the reason that you bothered him so much. You were always unexpected - always a wild variable that he had to chase down. Whether it was your actions, your words, or your reactions to the things that he did and said - he felt like he could never predictably nail you down, and he absolutely fucking hated it. (It was probably also one of the reasons that he got such a fantastic release from fucking you - but that was a box of emotional issues he was not yet willing to open.)
But - being the control freak that he was - he liked to try and control the outcome of your visions.
Yes, you did see the future in your visions. And yes, the version of that future that you saw could sometimes be changed. It was part of the reason that you tried to interfere to stop bad things. You had seen many things before that had never come true - both good things and terrible things.
But you had warned Dick time and time again that the future is not random. You never saw simple flashes of random possible outcomes and one of those realities might come true. No - you saw people’s intentions. You saw the results of the choices that people make.
If someone intended to commit a murder - you would see death. If they changed their mind - you would see life. If someone interfered to stop that murder - the future could change in a lot of strange ways because of it.
Life is a winding path with a lot of branches to it, and when someone makes a choice, some of those branches die off.
Dick Grayson’s controlling, all mighty, ‘need to interfere’ mindset certainly had a way of changing the future. He constantly felt the need to use the information from your visions to force people into making the ‘right’ choice. But sometimes, on the path we choose to avoid our fate, we run headfirst into it.
You were never going to tell him - but Dick and his controlling nature had gotten people killed before.
You had discovered over time that it was better to simply not tell him things - to hold back information until it was the right time for him to hear it.
“Do you actually enjoy being irritating?” Dick rasped harshly at you. “Or is it just something that you’re good at?”
You shrugged. “Probably both.”
He let out another stiff breath.
“Look, I’m here for Rachel.” You said, trying to correct course. “She’s mourning, she’s confused, her powers are out of control. She needs someone to help guide her. Someone who might be able to show her how to keep her powers under control.”
“O-kay.” Dick said, clearly dubious, not fully convinced. He looked at you with his brows firmly knit, and you felt the need to further convince him.
“Look, I’m not stalking you if you think that’s what it is.” You added on. “I had a vision, I saw you and Dawn on the roof-”
“Okay, okay, I get it now.” Dick smirked sarcastically, crossing his arms firmly over his chest, making his biceps bulge inside of his button down shirt in a way that was far too appealing.
Focus - you reminded yourself. Focus.
“What?” You replied, genuinely confused.
“You don’t like me spending time with Dawn.” He declared, continuing to smirk at you as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
More than anything, this left you utterly fucking confused.
“What?” You chuckled, repeating the word like a gaping parrot - a nervous, awkward edge in your voice.
You liked Dawn. She was one of your best friends.
And you didn’t give a rat’s ass if Dick and Dawn spent time together. Especially because you knew that Dick coming here was him fleeing to a friend while in crisis, not him looking for a hookup. Especially not while Dawn and Hank were together. Dawn was nothing if not intensely loyal.
And nothing would have happened while Hank was in the apartment. You had never seen Dick and Hank fight - but Hank was just a bit bigger, and because of his upbringing, he had absolutely no qualms about fighting dirty, even when he was fighting a friend. So you knew who you would bet on in that fight.
So - what the hell was Dick talking about?
Even with your strange sense of omnipotence, you couldn’t tell at the time - Dick was baiting you. Hard. He wanted you to flip out, to get jealous.
It was the emotionally stunted thing to do, but he wanted to see some sense that you cared.
At least Hank going full cave-man mode upon seeing Dick meant that he thought what he had with Dawn was precious and worth protecting. It meant that he saw Dick as a threat.
When you continued to stare at Dick with nothing but confusion, gaping like a fish, he flailed, realizing what a terrible move this was. And for some stupid reason, instead of dropping the subject altogether, he dug himself deeper into the hole.
“You know, the thing with me and Dawn is all in the past.” He said, mentally squirming, waiting to see how you would react. “There’s really nothing going on between us.”
“Yeah.” You smoothed your lips into a firm line, completely uncaring about this line of conversation. “Good for you.”
Perhaps mistaking the annoyance in these words as the jealousy that he was so urgently seeking, his tone completely changed then. Like a child throwing a tantrum, he had gotten the negative energy that he wanted from the interaction - so he kept on digging in.
“Okay, you know what?” He snapped. “If you’re not gonna tell me why you’re really here, then I’m just gonna have to assume that you’re bullshitting.”
“Oh, I’m bullshitting?” You replied, resisting the urge to break into a grin.
He had seen solid proof of your powers on many occasions. He had seen you do things that couldn’t be proven by science. So why was he only accusing you of ‘bullshitting’ right now?
“Yes.” He replied stoically. “You didn’t see anything - you don’t actually know anything. You don’t know shit. You’re probably just guessing, and making shit up as you go along and hoping people will believe you.”
“Okay.” You shrugged.
You were unphased by this declaration. You knew by now to trust your visions - even if Dick was revoking that trust. You knew that you had solid information, and if you didn’t follow it, the lives of the people that you loved were at risk.
You guessed that this was just Dick throwing a tantrum because you wouldn’t share that information with him.
Dick ground his teeth. Unconsciously, he was still intensely frustrated that he hadn’t gotten more of a reaction out of you. Whether it was the information that he was looking for - or some greater sense of anger or urgency that he felt when you were around. But he needed something. He needed to know that you still felt something because of him.
You were always so damn calm. Far too calm for his liking.
“You’re just guessing.” He pressed on. “It’s not that hard to know I would come here. You just fucking followed me because-”
“So you’re saying that all the military tactics Bruce taught you never paid off, and you’re intensely predictable when fleeing under pressure?” You chuckled, pointing out the flaws in his own logic.
Dick flinched.
He hated how uncomfortable your words made him. Squirming in that discomfort - he went low.
“And you’re admitting that you’re just a bullshit carnival psychic like your mother was?”
It was a tender wound.
The moment that your face fell - shifting from mild amusement at your own joke to intense pain and hurt - Dick’s insides recoiled with regret.
“Y/N-” He sighed.
“Nope.” You cut him off sharply, shoving past him.
He let you, finally allowing you to escape the tense air of the bathroom so you could go out and properly catch up with Dawn while drinking your coffee.
…
No matter how angry you were with him, you couldn’t let him die.
Even as you laughed and chatted with Dawn, and got to know Rachel a bit, you couldn’t get the flashes of horrifying possible futures out of your mind.
…
Where is Dick Grayson? Where is Dick Grayson? Where is he?
A crazed family singing showtunes. A skipping rope being used as a whip - knives plunging through flesh. Torture. Pain. Screams.
You saw Dick fleeing with Rachel in the night, believing that he had made the right decision to protect her. Believing that he was keeping you, and Dawn and Hank safe. You heard a sharp screech of tires as he was cut off on a dark backroad by an old-fashioned station wagon with wooden paneling. A car crash. Dick flew through the front windshield - and as he bled to death, his last moments were spent hearing Rachel’s cries for help as she was dragged from the car.
Bad decision.
Dick spoke about ‘some job’ that Hank and Dawn were planning and instantly, there were flashes through your mind of Dawn shot in the head, laying on the floor in a pool of her own blood - Hank’s screams of anguish as he was chained and tortured.
They need his help.
Why were you there?
To stop those bad decisions. Hopefully.
You couldn’t explain it all to Dick - you couldn’t play it all out for him so simply. He was a control freak. If you told him all the details, then he would insist on making a choice. He would insist on running the play. And he might make one of those stupid choices. You had to avoid making the same mistake that your mother had. Don’t give those stubborn, powerful men too much information and trust them to use it wisely - because they most likely won’t.
“You should go with them.” You told Dick, your voice curt - the first time that you had acknowledged him in hours.
He seemed shocked by you even looking in his direction, let alone speaking to him after the comment he had made.
“Look, Y/N-”
“I’ll stay with Rachel.” You added on.
When Rachel eagerly agreed to this, it seemed to seal the deal for him.
He acted as though it was his plan all along.
Whatever made him feel better about it.
…
You and Rachel ended up on the rooftop. She gravitated toward the doves - she found them calming, as she told you.
“How do you know Dick?” She asked you, clearly unable to keep down that curiosity that was naturally biting at her.
With the cool night air whipping at your cheeks, you found it easy to be vulnerable with her.
“We grew up together.” You told her.
“You were a part of the Circus?” She asked, giving a small amused grin at the thought.
“Yes.” You confirmed, mirroring her smile. Sometimes the nostalgia was painful, but unlike Dick, you didn’t try to forget it. “My mother was a fortune teller - a psychic. She was considered one of the best. People would come from miles around, or even follow the Circus from place to place just to have their palm read by her.”
Rachel laughed at this, clearly amused.
“So what - she had a big crystal ball, and she would read the lines on your hand to tell you how long you’re gonna live?”
You shrugged.
“Something like that.” You confirmed.
There was a beat of silence. Knowing what Rachel was going through, you felt the need to confess something to her.
“My mother - she died when I was about your age.” You told her, knowing that it was likely something she needed to hear.
It can always be comforting to know that you’re not alone.
Rachel looked at you with large, piercing eyes - heavy grief still dancing there. It was still so fresh. Your heart ached for her.
“What happened?” She asked.
With her powers, you were surprised that she didn’t already know.
But you thought it apt to explain it to her.
“My mother didn’t just do card tricks and read palms.” You said. “She was special. Special like us, special.”
A distinct look of dawning came across Rachel’s features.
“She had powers.” She said softly.
You nodded.
“So, wait - are these kinds of powers… genetic?” She asked eagerly, seeming to perk with interest at this.
Suddenly, a million long-dead questions about a father she had never known overtook her like a tidal wave.
Obviously, her mother had been perfectly normal. Had she gotten her powers from her father? If she found him, would he be able to tell her who she truly was?
“I suppose so.” You answered meekly, hating that you didn’t know for certain. “I hate that I can’t say for sure.”
Rachel’s face fell at this.
Then, something occurred to her.
“How did your mom’s powers kill her?” She asked.
“It - it wasn’t really her powers that killed her.” You began to explain. “It was more… the way she used them.”
Rachel looked at you expectantly, and you continued.
“Before she died… she saw what happened to Dick’s parents in a vision. How they died.” You explained. “She tried to stop it, and the people who were intent on killing them weren’t too happy about it. So they killed her too.”
It was a fate that you were constantly trying to avoid - stumbling into death while trying to save those that you loved. It was one of the reasons that you put up with so much attitude from Dick Grayson. You would much rather have him alive and giving you lip than have him dead because of some mistake that you made.
Rachel looked pensive for a moment - watching the birds as they rested in their large cage.
“Is that why you’re helping us now?” She asked quietly. “You’re trying to keep us from getting killed?”
“I’m doing my best.” You remarked, anxious hope ripe in your voice.
…
Clustering voices. A tense argument.
It was broken up by -
“Hello there.”
The faux sweetness of a dangerous stranger.
Fear shook you. The sound gave you a sense of deja vu. You recognized them from a far off vision.
Before you could warn the others, it broke into a brutal fight.
You used all the training you had, but you were distracted by Dick being thrown off the roof. Something hit you in the head, hard - you heard Dawn cry out for help, and you saw a cluster of blonde hair and limbs as she went flying.
Rachel screamed and reached out for you and you desperately reached back - you were dizzy and blinking heavily and didn’t even remember being knocked down.
“Dawn! Dawn!”
You heard Dick shouting urgently and then you realized in horror that she might be dead.
Dawn.
You were sluggish and felt wetness on the side of your face that must have been blood, but you forcibly peeled yourself off the ground, stumbling toward the sound of Dick’s voice - toward the fire escape. You tripped down a few of the stairs, your blurred eyes only focused on the shape of them - him crouching over her body, blonde hair splayed across the pavement, limp legs.
She’s not dead.
She can’t be.
When you made it to her, you fell to your knees beside her. With the last of her energy, she locked eyes with you.
Fear. Anxiety. Terror. Trust.
She knew that you would help her.
Her eyes drifted closed, and Dick panicked.
“Dawn, Dawn!”
“Be quiet.” You barked at him.
You needed to concentrate.
“You’re telling me to shut up?” He griped back, his fear and panic foaming up through his lips as intense anger directed towards you. “Shouldn’t you have seen this coming? What happened to-?”
“I don’t appreciate the attitude.” You ground out, looking up at him to find nothing but pure fear staring back at you. “Now - Shut. Up.”
You placed your hand gently onto Dawn’s forehead - you concentrated hard, focusing your powers on her. You couldn’t do anything about her physical injuries, but you could preserve the parts of her that mattered the most. You could keep her spirit alive. You could lock her memories away in a safe place so that she would be whole when her body healed.
“What kind of voodoo bullshit is she doing?” Hank huffed out, having just made it down the fire escape himself.
“Be quiet and let her work.” Dick told him, waving a dismissive hand in Hank’s direction.
For once in their lives, both of the men sat in silence, actually deferring to you and following your lead.
They trusted you to do something good for her, rather than doing more harm.
...
A/N: If you want to be tagged in future parts of this, you can sign up for my DC Titans taglist - just let me know that you want to be a part of that taglist by commenting below, and keep in mind that I have taglist rules. Also, I only have a general taglist for DC Titans fics, not a specific taglist for this series because this series updates sporadically and not on a schedule.
Please do not ask me when this fic will be updated - this fic does not have a schedule.
While this is technically part of a 'series', each chapter is meant to be enjoyed on its own. The overarching plot of the series is still that of the original Titans show, and I won't be making any major changes to the canon of the show - I just intend to showcase smaller emotional moments between the reader character and the canon characters. This is something I want to work on casually in the background between working on other things. This fic is not my main focus, and I will not be rushing to update it or complete it.
To me, this fic is a nice slow casual walk through the woods to enjoy the scenery, rather than a marathon with a clearly outlined route and a specific finish line as other series have been for me in the past.
Comments and reblogs are encouraged, and I am thankful for them - but please keep those comments focused on the actual content of the series - it's plot, the characters, their dynamics, even predictions for the plot of future chapters are okay, as long as you are not asking when the fic will be updated. Please do not spam me asking me to update this or asking me when I will update this - because I am not in a rush to do so. I have a lot of ideas for this series that I am excited about, but I want to work on it slowly and casually because I don't want to lose my enthusiasm for it and I know that rushing will take that enthusiasm away.
If you enjoyed this - great, thank you, I am so glad that you do. But if you expect this to be updated weekly like a factory pumping out stuff on a clearly outlined schedule - then you are in the wrong place. If you are expecting constant updates of this fic and you will be disappointed if it doesn't get updated regularly - you should just block me now and pretend you didn't read it.
But if you are a patient person - feel free to read and enjoy my other Titans works while I am working on updates for this (and working on other exciting things). I particularly recommend reading Your First Kiss With Dick Grayson to scratch that emotionally constipated Dick Grayson itch if this fic left you feening. Also, feel free to send me a message telling me what you thought of this fic or other fics in general.
Also - if you can't get Dick Grayson off your mind - my requests are open. And I would really love some requests for shorter fics with Dick, like headcanons or reactions. Otherwise, comments are appreciated and I really hope that you have a great day!
#sundrop writes#dc titans#titans fanfiction#dc titans fanfiction#dick grayson#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson x y/n#dick grayson x female!reader#dick grayson x you#bat boys x reader#dick grayson imagine
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Family Units and Foreshadowing in "Too Far Gone" (TD)
I'm not entirely sure what is happening, symbolically, in episode 4.8 "Too Far Gone," but looking back on it now, it is providing a lot of very interesting foreshadowing for the remainder of the series. What happens in 4.8 essentially symbolizes a massive schism in the prior established "family unit," ie: the patriarch, Hershel Greene, is beheaded, and all of his children, devoid of home and purpose, scatter to the wind, forming smaller, separate family units. The "way" in which they scatter is important, as is everything in Scott Gimple's first season as showrunner, and that's what I want to talk about today.
The family units we see escaping the prison foreshadow in many ways the formation of similar units and dynamics going forward, mostly. That "mostly" is important. Here are the groups, exactly as they leave the prison:
Maggie, Sasha, and Bob
Tyreese, Judith, Lizzy, and Mica
Daryl and Beth
Rick and Carl
Michonne
Glenn and Tara
Carol is not at the prison during the showdown with the Governor or when it falls. She has been driven away and exiled by Rick. Though she will quickly converge with Tyreese and the girls, it's important that, at the time of the prison's fall, she is not there.
(Note that in this post, I'm ONLY going to discuss the original main characters who lived at the prison with Rick, under Hershel's guidance, and who lost their home in 4.8. I will not NOT be discussing the new characters who show up between 4.8 and 5.8, ie: Abraham, Rosita, Eugene, or Father Gabriel. I also won't really be discussing Tara, as even though she groups immediately with Glenn, she is not a part of the original family unit.)
We know that Gimple had very specific plans and choices for these groupings, or what I'm referring to as family units. In terms of the situations they encounter, symbolically, let's see what happened and what's still going on, with particular attention to the characters that we know are still alive:
Maggie: Maggie tries to leave Bob and Sasha continuously during her search for Glenn after the prison falls. She searches for Glenn to the detriment of whatever connections she has left, and not once does she consider that her sister may also still be alive. She has a hard time relying on other people and doesn't want anyone else to feel responsible for her burden. Maggie's tendency to isolate herself from and even actively fight those who want to help, and her persistence at going it alone has only worsened over the seasons. Further, and perhaps most importantly, Maggie and Glenn each have a difficult time existing independently of one another in 4b. Maggie refuses to accept that Glenn could possibly be dead, and her lack of acceptance of the current situation, though it is romantic in some sense, foreshadows her current lack of acceptance and ability to move on. The entire fact that they're separated at all is foreshadowing for Maggie's entire future arc. She gets lucky in 4b, finding Glenn again, but she knows now that this is no longer a possibility, as she watched him die, and so her inability to move on, to move forward with her life and to let go of the past has become perhaps her most glaring flaw.
Judith: Judith was just an infant in 4b; however, her situation, basically right up until the final moments of The Ones Who Live 1.6, has stayed almost exactly the same. Raised by surrogates, with surrogate siblings, missing mother, missing father, setting down, then uprooted again and again and again. AND YET, she is somehow immune to mortal danger. Everyone around her is basically willing to die for her. Even when she IS in danger, she is saved and saved again, sometimes without even knowing it. A blessed and well-loved child.
Rick: In "Too Far Gone," Carl saves Rick's life. When the two escape together, Rick is horribly injured and seems to "die." He is dreaming. Carl as Rick's savior, and Rick as the sort of sleeper king is a theme that crops up in both AOW and again in TOWL, when we learn that it was Rick's dreams of Carl that kept him sane and alive for so long while held captive by the CRM. Carl's encounter with the dead canary in "After," I believe, foreshadows his death. The dead canary is a nod to the old adage "a canary in a coal mine," meant to warn coal miners of the deadly presence of carbon monoxide. Carl's death in season 8 is a grave warning for Rick. Losing his dreams of Carl while at the CRM is also one of the main precursors to Rick's most suicidal moments.
Michonne: Michonne escapes the prison alone, because Michonne, though she is a romantic, maternal character, defaults to an intense, very guarded form of safetyism when she loses someone she loves. She shuts down, eschews socialization and all alliances. We see this pattern repeat itself after Rick dies in season 9, and she cuts off Alexandria from both Hilltop and the Kingdom as a means of staying safe. She also initially eschews socialization after she leaves Alexandria and begins her search for Rick, once again, alone. But every single time, Michonne comes around at the behest of her children. After the prison, Michonne finds Rick by tracking Carl in the final scene of 4.9 "After." She then finds Rick again in The Ones Who Live, but only after she decides it's finally time to return home. Michonne, from the first time she shows up at the prison with the basket of formula, is the eternal mother character.
Carol: Carol being outside the fray during the confrontation with the Governor, and seeming to come in from the cold at the perfect moment, is hugely formative for her characterization. Carol finds Lizzy, Mica, and Judith just in time in "Inmates." She also shows up at Terminus just in time in "No Sanctuary." After 4.4 "Indifference," Carol continuously tries to leave the family unit, but it's precisely her tendency toward the fray that often presents her with opportunities to help. In fact, it's precisely because Carol is trying to leave at the end of "Strangers" that Daryl sees the Grady car go by and is able to grab a lead on Beth. Carol also leaves at the end of season 6, which causes her to miss the second major confrontation of the series, with Negan, but it also drives Morgan and Rick to the Kingdom, where they are able to find help with their ensuing war. Carol has come a long way since these old and toxic tendencies toward self-preservation; however, we see now, once again, how she leaves home to go searching for Daryl. She still communicates as a kind of lone wolf, much more so than Daryl does, which is who I will be talking about next.
Daryl: Why have I saved Daryl for last? Well, because of all the characters who are still certainly left from the fall of the prison in season 4, Daryl's characterization has been the least intuitive in terms of how it relates to his prison escape scenario. Though Daryl fights most of the battle alone at the prison, in the end, he is found by Beth. Daryl is rarely found. In fact, he's never found. Usually, it's him doing the finding, which is why I believe that his core desire as a character is, actually, to be found again, ie: I belong with you. Find Me, calling back to the original story he tells to Andrea in "Bloodletting" about the time he got lost in the woods as the child. This has yet to take place.
"Find Me" is actually a great episode to look at in terms of how Daryl's character has unfolded over the course of many seasons. "Find Me" communicates Daryl in a similar time in his life to what happened after the fall of the prison. He's lost a major member of his family, blames himself, and has lost his home because of it. He is wandering around, searching for some sign of Rick, with zero luck at all. HOWEVER, in "Find Me," Daryl is alone. This lasts, of course, until he finds Leah, a poor replacement for Beth, even though, as we learn in season 11, she does kind of look like her. After the Commonwealth situation, Daryl leaves home, once again, alone. Many people thought that he was going to leave with Carol; however, he didn't.
Daryl has never had sustained sexual tension with another character since Beth, and if we count Leah, we should consider that main themes communicated in "Find Me" are confusion, disorientation, and memory loss. The episode also lacks the innocence and Edenic beauty of "Still" and "Alone." It is not about finding love or some light in the darkness. It's entirely about loss.
This could be traced back to season 4, in which Daryl does lose Beth. However, the exact circumstances for him running away from the burning prison with Beth and going on a sacred quest for her at a country club, then going to the backcountry moonshine shack, ending in a screaming match and a physical embrace, a warm, tipsy conversation on the porch, and literally lighting the past on fire does not track with any future situation he goes on to encounter. What I'm saying is, whatever all that was foreshadowing, it hasn't happened yet. The warmth, intimacy, and innocence has been gone from Daryl's life since he lost Beth in "Alone."
To use Norman's own words, there was a "taste" of romance "in the air" from the moment they escaped together, for as long as they were together on the road, and even when they part. The rabbit and the strawberries in the aptly titled "Us," keep the feeling of love and possession and the romantic tension alive between them.
I often think of "Alone" as a love episode. Sasha and Bob, who more obviously kindle a romance and kiss on the train tracks, while Maggie and Glenn search for each other with desperate abandon, are obvious foils for Beth and Daryl. It would not make sense to create an entire episode surrounding finding, losing, and searching for love, and to have only one of those stories be about platonic love. It makes sense because they are all different stories of romantic love.
(For the record, I don't acknowledge people who argue that Bethyl is platonic, or sibling-coded. I don't care how loud they are. There is zero evidence for that sort of dynamic in the actual show, while the evidence to the contrary, re: holding hands using the soulmate grip, Daryl's bridal carry, how he looks at her while he lies in the coffin, his confession, her confused and subtle "Oh"...regardless of how it might make some people feel, is overwhelmingly obvious. Sorry, haters.)
Anyway, on a more "meta" note: Season 4 ends with Beth off-screen, in another dimension. She is out of sight, and nobody knows whether she's dead or alive. Meanwhile, in "A," Rick reunites with his family, and they are at the precipice of a war with the Termites, a group that seems to, in many ways, foreshadow the CRM. This looks a lot like what's going on now, or what's just happened. Daryl is alone, about to reunite with Carol. Rick just reunited with his family. Major General Beale, a nice Gareth proxy, has been defeated.
Many speculated at the time of 4.16's release that Beth might have been taken by the Termites, just as we all speculate now that Beth may be, somehow, with CRM. I believe this means there's something much more complicated going on in season 5, in terms of the Termites, Grady, and their possible connection to the CRM. Since many TDers do actually believe that Grady was a covert research initiative started or at least sustained by the CRM, the foreshadowing, which holds that, while all this other stuff is going on with Rick's group, Beth is somewhere hidden over the rainbow, feels very much in waiting.
So much of season 4b-5a has been rehashed and repeated over the years and was most recently repeated via Rick and Michonne's reunion in TOWL, that it's bizarre to also look back and say, Hey, how the hell does Daryl fit into all this? Daryl, who actually isn't alone in 4b? Daryl, who actually finds and chooses potential for a relationship? Daryl has, over the course of the series, made friends with compatible women. I am talking about Denise, Connie, Leah, Isabelle. However, not a single one has ever maintained sustained romantic or sexual tension with Daryl. Not one has yet to change his mind about the goodness of people. Each of them, he either leaves or loses, and even if he decides to stay (re: in France), it's due to obligation and inertia, not choice. Daryl has not once consciously chosen to settle down or to make a. home, specifically with a woman, since Beth. He has never run away with a woman into a time of innocence and tabula rasa, starting over for the sake of moving forward, finding peace, and burning the past. He has never found peace. He has never let go of the past.
All of this is to predict that he will, of course. He will get his happy ending, which we've basically been told is the thesis for his spin-off, amidst a flurry of hints that this is related to finding a wife and having a family of his own. Not Rick's family. His own family. And when Carol arrives, fresh from her latest escape attempt, and self-destructing via whatever it is she's running from, she will help him get there, just as he will help her find her faith again. So much like what happens in "Consumed" and, to an inverse degree, "Find Me." In both episodes, it's Carol's attempt and desire to run away which drives Daryl to the mysterious location of a missing blond with whom he once shared a dalliance in the woods.
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i need to be moira’s favorite little plaything. i need to be the one person she absolutely adores above everyone else. her beloved pet. her lapdog she keeps on a leash and teases and coos at. i need her i need her i need her i need her i need her
#❀.chatter#mother is mothering#GOD SHE’S SO ALSDKLFJASDFKJASH#RAAAAHHHH#THIS SEASON’S THEME WITH HER SPECIFICALLY?#IT WAS MADE FOR ME AND NO ONE ELSE#I LOVE HER SO MUCH#I’M SUCH A LESBIAN OH MY GOOOOOOD#moira o'deorain#moira#moira overwatch#moira overwatch 2#moira ow#moira ow2#moira o’deorain overwatch#moira o’deorain overwatch 2#moira o’deorain ow#moira o’deorain ow2#wlw fanfic#wlw blog
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Man it would be so freaking cool if it turned out Caleb had some involvement with the portal door
#HEAR ME IUT HEAR ME OUT#think about it. Dana confirmed that Clawthornes specifically have a think for bird themed palismen#and flapjack is more or less confirmed to be Caleb’s palisman since belos yelled his name ANDDD the thing with the wittebros on that we#newspaper from season 2A right. so unless that was a one off the witch hunters would have had to know they had something to do with witches#since Caleb could only really make flapjack if they were in the boiling isles in ANOTHER REALM wouldn’t the witchunters only find out about#it if he came back and they saw it? and palistrom wood only exists on the isles#AND AND AND based on the nycc clip ppl pointed out that flapjack is kind of familiar with the abandoned house#cause he was pecking at the floor and shit and the other palismen were concerned. so if Caleb managed to get back to the human world maybe#he brought flapjack with him and that’s why he recognizes it#also I don’t think Philip was actually the one who built the portal door. maybe he just included it in his journal because he knew luz would#come along and find it by the time he was belos? and his portal is extremely different from the door because it’s like huge with angel wings#and shit while the door is just a normal ass door#also if you think about it the titan had a way of hiding things from him so maybe that would include the ingredients for the portal too#if he could tell belos would use it for something bad like bringing all the witch hunters to the isles to kill them#so then maybe if the titan figured Caleb was a cool guy he let him find the portal ingredients#which let him go between the realms? ALSO iirc eda found the door not too far from her house and it was half buried in dirt#my theory is maybe even though Caleb had the option of going back he wanted to stay with his wife in the isles and hid the door so Philip#wouldn’t find it or something. maybe he got tired of witch hunting like how he looked tired in the nycc clip#and he wanted to leave that behind. poor dude :o(#idk if this will make sense when the episodes come out but I really want that wittebro lore man#the owl house#toh#the owl house season 3#toh season 3#toh theory#yapping#the owl house theory#toh spoilers#the owl house spoilers
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it's really hard finding a song that fits yoohan imo
#the one im thinking of rn is hug by kanzaki iori#and even that strikes me as a hankim song too#but if i think hard enough i can make it about yoohan's grief and the act of sacrificing and being sacrificed for someone else#(specifically in the epilogue fight scene between the two of them where they're trying to process the pain)#that one part in the epilogue where hsy finds out she's the author of twsa and she's trying to force the words out but she can't (which is#ironic since she's a writer) and yjh stops her. he probably figured it out already. maybe it was his own consideration for her. or himself.#i think about that often#or that one scene where hsy wonders if it's okay to suggest regressing again to yjh. her own consideration.#or the whole epilogue fight by the museum. or that whole theme where yjh approaches hsy to die.#they both hurt each other but it's the kind of hurt that's like. invited? accepted? by the other person.#it's a kind of hurt that they can 'blame on the season'. that's them for me
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Good evening girl I am thinking about how the owl house lured me in with fun, surface level elements and aesthetics before ambushing me with themes grief and familial conflict that make me want to cry so hard I throw up. Why did they do that
#ramblings of a lunatic#dana terrace saying that the theme of grief will continue in the next episodes of season 3 both excites and terrifies me#cause there are SO many characters who's grief parallels each other- namely the nocedas and wittebanes#belos lost a brother. luz lost a father. camilla and evelyn lost a husband and had to take care of a child in the midst of it.#hunter just lost his best friend. darius lost his mentor.#when i tell you all of these characters actions (minus hunter but rtbs) are driven by the grief they carry with them#like#AND I'M JUST SUPPOSED TO BE NORMAL ABOUT THAT??????????#stories that deal with grief always manage to worm their way into my heart and/or brain for a long time#it's just. it's such a personal topic i think? grief has some generally agreed upon truths- that's how we identify it#but it happens to everyone in different ways under different circumstances and it makes everyone act differently#it effects their lives differently#so when a story goes out of it's way to portray the different ways characters grieve it just. mm. hits different#and i namedropped familial conflict as well but my feelings on that can be summarized by that one pos#that points out how when you take into account the family tree Caleb left behind and the found families built over the show#belos has essentially been terrorizing his family for 400 years in various different ways#lol#also the parents in this show. camilla specifically. i am a camilla stan first human being second#SHE DIDN'T REALIZE THAT IN ORDER TO BE KIND TO HER DAUGHTER SHE HAD TO FIRST BE KIND TO HERSELF#AND EMBRACE THE THINGS SHE'S ASHAMED OF. GOD!!!!!! FUCK OFF!!!!??????#this show. this show makes me want to eat glass#anyway no one talk to me I'm in my feels about the show for children
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WELCOME TO HERMIT-A-DAY MAY 2024!
I'm thrilled to bring this challenge to you all for the second year in a row! Hermit-a-Day May is a challenge inspired by Hermitober, but with a twist: instead of theme prompts, we focus on a specific Hermit every day!
THE RULES:
1. Any type of fanwork is welcome so long as it features, or is otherwise inspired by, the Hermit of the day.
2. Tag #hermitaday to have your fanwork reblogged, or submit it directly to the blog (Please note that while I recognize the value of fanworks involving more mature themes, and they can certainly count toward challenge completion if you're keeping track for yourself, content on this blog will be kept "PG-13" so that all may enjoy.).
3. Fanworks for one Hermit posted after the day rolls over to another Hermit's day (per the US Central time zone) will be reblogged in a big queue in June.
4. I am not interested in seeing captions or tags in which you disparage your art/skills. We're all improving all the time. Be kind to yourselves.
WHY SHOULD I PARTICIPATE? To show love to every Hermit, from the most to least subscribed, from those who have been on the server from day one to those who only joined this season! And because challenges are fun! And because, this year, there's an extra dimension to the event: a fundraiser for Gamers Outreach, featuring art incentives by @rendiggitydog and @belmarzi.
GRAND TOTAL INCENTIVE: For every $150 we raise for Gamers Outreach, belmarzi will make 10 seconds' worth of animatic, featuring as many Hermits as she can fit into the time frame.
INDIVIDUAL DONATION INCENTIVE: For every $50 (formerly $65 - changed 5/3) you personally donate to the fundraiser during the month of May, Rae rendiggitydog will draw you a shaded flats commission of a Hermit of your choice.
WHO’S RUNNING THIS? Hi! My name is Luna! You can use she/her, he/him, ze/hir, or ro/ros/roseself pronouns for me. My main blog is @as-if-unreal. Yep, before you ask, it really is just me, but to be fair I've had a lot of help.
BONUS SUNDAY PROMPTS EXPLAINED UNDER THE CUT
TFC - May 5th
While he may no longer be with us physically, TFC left behind him a legacy of quiet care and good humor, and Hermitcraft would not have been the same without him.
FRIENDS OF HERMITCRAFT - May 12th
There are plenty of shows, podcasts, competitions, other servers, and more woven into the internet ecosystem around Hermitcraft, and plenty more people involved in them: just as a small number of examples, Season 9's Rift opened up to a whole server of Emperor friends, and there are always allies to be made in MCC and enemies to be made in the Life Series. Today is for celebrating all of those who, while they may not be Hermits themselves, exist and entertain in proximity to them.
FAVORITE "ALT" HERMIT - May 19th
HoTGuY and Poultry-Man. Helsknight and Evil Xisuma. Renbob and - look, you get the idea. This server is full of theater kids ready to toss on an alternate skin and play into a brand new character at the drop of a hat. Who's your favorite?
GROUPS AND COLLABS - May 26th
This month is all about one Hermit a day... but what we really love is when they interact with each other. What does your favorite duo or group of Hermits get up to together?
#hermitaday#hermitcraft#hermit-a-day may#hermitcraft smp#vintagebeef#xisumavoid#zedaph#keralis#ijevin#mumbo jumbo#xbcrafted#skizzleman#stressmonster101#pearlescentmoon#cubfan135#docm77#falsesymmetry#welsknight#ethoslab#joehills#geminitay#bdoubleo100#iskall85#tangotek#zombiecleo#impulsesv#grian#goodtimeswithscar#hypnotizd#smallishbeans
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To Write Better Antagonists, Have Them Embody the Protagonist's Struggles
(Spoilers for The Devil Wears Prada, Avatar the Last Airbender, Kung Fu Panda 2, and The Hunger Games triology).
Writing antagonists and villains can be hard, especially if you don't know how to do so.
I think a lot of writers' first impulse is to start off with a placeholder antagonist, only to find that this character ends up falling flat. They finish their story only for readers to find the antagonist is not scary or threatening at all.
Often the default reaction to this is to focus on making the antagonist meaner, badder, or scarier in whatever way they can- or alternatively they introduce a Tragic Backstory to make them seem broken and sympathetic. Often, this ends up having the exact opposite effect. Instead of a compelling and genuinely terrifying villain, the writer ends up with a Big Bad Edge Lord who the reader just straight up does not care about, or actively rolls their eyes at (I'm looking at you, Marvel).
What makes an antagonist or villain intimidating is not the sheer power they hold, but the personal or existential threat they pose to the protagonist. Meaning, their strength as a character comes from how they tie into the themes of the story.
To show what I mean, here's four examples of the thematic roles an antagonist can serve:
1. A Dark Reflection of the Protagonist
The Devil Wears Prada
Miranda Priestly is initially presented as a terrible boss- which she is- but as the movie goes on, we get to see her in a new light. We see her as an bonafide expert in her field, and a professional woman who’s incredible at what she does. We even begin to see her personal struggles behind the scenes, where it’s clear her success has come at a huge personal cost. Her marriages fall apart, she spends every waking moment working, and because she’s a woman in the corporate world, people are constantly trying to tear her down.
The climax of the movie, and the moment that leaves the viewer most disturbed, does not feature Miranda abusing Andy worse than ever before, but praising her. Specifically, she praises her by saying “I see a great deal of myself in you.” Here, we realize that, like Miranda, Andy has put her job and her career before everything else that she cares about, and has been slowly sacrificing everything about herself just to keep it. While Andy's actions are still a far cry from Miranda's sadistic and abusive managerial style, it's similar enough to recognize that if she continues down her path, she will likely end up turning into Miranda.
In the movie's resolution, Andy does not defeat Miranda by impressing her or proving her wrong (she already did that around the half way mark). Instead, she rejects the values and ideals that her toxic workplace has been forcing on her, and chooses to leave it all behind.
2. An Obstacle to the Protagonist's Ideals
Avatar: The Last Airbender
Fire Lord Ozai is a Big Bad Baddie without much depth or redemptive qualities. Normally this makes for a bad antagonist (and it's probably the reason Ozai has very little screen time compared to his children), but in Avatar: The Last Airbender, it works.
Why?
Because his very existence is a threat to Aang's values of nonviolence and forgiveness.
Fire Lord Ozai cannot be reasoned with. He plans to conquer and burn down the world, and for most of the story, it seems that the only way to stop him is to kill him, which goes against everything Aang stands for. Whether or not Aang could beat the Fire Lord was never really in question, at least for any adults watching the show. The real tension of the final season came from whether Aang could defeat the Fire Lord without sacrificing the ideals he inherited from the nomads; i.e. whether he could fulfill the role of the Avatar while remaining true to himself and his culture.
In the end, he manages to find a way: he defeats the Fire Lord not by killing him, but by stripping him of his powers.
3. A Symbol of the Protagonist's Inner Struggle
Kung Fu Panda 2
Kung Fu Panda 2 is about Po's quest for inner peace, and the villain, Lord Shen, symbolizes everything that's standing in his way.
Po and Lord Shen have very different stories that share one thing in common: they both cannot let go of the past. Lord Shen is obsessed with proving his parents wrong and getting vengeance by conquering all of China. Po is struggling to come to terms with the fact that he is adopted and is desperate to figure out who he is and why he ended up left in a box of radishes as a baby.
Lord Shen symbolizes Po's inner struggle in two main ways: one, he was the source of the tragedy that separated him from his parents, and two, he reinforces Po's negative assumptions about himself. When Po realizes that Lord Shen knows about his past and confronts him, Lord Shen immediately tells Po exactly what he's afraid of hearing: that his parents abandoned him because they didn't love him. Po and the Furious Five struggle to beat Shen not because he's powerful, but because Po can't let go of the past, and this causes him to repeatedly freeze up in battle, which Shen uses to his advantage.
Po overcomes Shen when he does the one thing Shen is incapable of: he lets go of the past and finds inner peace. Po comes to terms with his tragic past and recognizes that it does not define him, while Shen holds on to his obsession of defying his fate, which ultimately leads to his downfall.
4. A Representative of a Harsh Reality or a Bigger System
The Hunger Games
We don't really see President Snow do all that much on his own. Most of the direct conflict that Katniss faces is not against him, but against his underlings and the larger Capitol government. The few interactions we see between her and President Snow are mainly the two of them talking, and this is where we see the kind of threat he poses.
President Snow never lies to Katniss, not even once, and this is the true genius behind his character. He doesn't have to lie to or deceive Katniss, because the truth is enough to keep her complicit.
Katniss knows that fighting Snow and the Capital will lead to total war and destruction- the kind where there are survivors, but no winners. Snow tells her to imagine thousands upon thousands of her people dead, and that's exactly what happens. The entirety of District 12 gets bombed to ashes, Peeta gets brainwashed and turned into a human weapon, and her sister Prim, the very person she set out to protect at the beginning of the story, dies just before the Capitol's surrender. The districts won, but at a devastating cost.
Even after President Snow is captured and put up for execution, he continues to hurt Katniss by telling her the truth. He tells her that the bombs that killed her sister Prim were not sent by him, but by the people on her side. He brings to her attention that the rebellion she's been fighting for might just implement a regime just as oppressive and brutal as the one they overthrew and he's right.
In the end, Katniss is not the one to kill President Snow. She passes up her one chance to kill him to take down President Coin instead.
#writing#creative writing#novel writing#writer problems#writers of tumblr#writers on tumblr#writing advice#writing community#writing problems#fantasy writing#on writing#writer#writerscommunity#fantasy writer#writing a book#writing about writing#writing characters#writing villains#writing antagonists#long post
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I’ve been thinking a lot about fandom recently, both as someone who has engaged with it regularly for over a decade on various platforms and also as someone who has increasingly become disenchanted with those spaces. Not only because of pervasive issues of (especially anti-Black) racism, misogyny, transphobia/homophobia, and the like, but the particular way those things take shape within fandom.
At the most basic level I think fandom has a fundamental methodological problem with the way it approaches texts, be they shows, books, movies, etc. What I mean is that people almost invariably approach fandom at the level of character, often at the level of ship - your primary way of viewing a text is filtered through favourite characters and favourite relationships, as opposed to, say, favourite scenes, favourite themes, favourite conflicts.
This is reinforced through the architecture of dominant platforms that host fan content, particularly AO3 - there are separate categories for fandom, character and ship, and everything else is lumped together in “Additional Tags.” You cannot, for example, filter for fics on AO3 by the category of “critical perspective” or “thematic exploration”. There is no dedicated space for fan authors to declare their analytical perspective on the text they are writing about. If an author declares these things, they do so individually, they must go out of their way to do so, because there are no dedicated or universally agreed-upon tags to indicate those things, and if your fanfiction has a lot of tags, that announcement of criticality gets mushed together in a sea of other tags, sharing the same space with tags like “fluff and angst” or “porn without plot.” Perhaps one of the few tags closest to approaching this is the tag “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat,” which doesn’t indicate perspective or theme but rather that there is, broadly, some kind of “problematic content” contained therein - often of a sexual nature, frequently as a warning about “bad” ships.
Now this is not an inherent problem, as in, it is not inherently incorrect to approach a text and primarily derive pleasure from it by focusing on a given character or relationship. And I think a lot of mainstream media encourages (even requires) audiences to engage with their stories at these character- and ship-levels. The political economy of the production of art (one which is capitalistic, one that seeks to generate comfort, titillation, controversy, nostalgia, or shock for the purposes of drawing in viewership, one that increasingly pursues social media metrics of “engagement” and “impressions”, one that allows for the Netflix model of making two-season shows before cancelling them, as well as a whole host of other things) enforces a particular narrative orthodoxy, one that heavily focuses on the individual interiority of specific characters, one that is deeply concerned with the maintenance of white bourgeois middle class values of property ownership, the nuclear family, normative heterosexual sexuality and gender, settler-colonial ideas about community and environment, etc. If you do not care about the familial drama surrounding Shauna cheating on her husband in Yellowjackets, for example, because you think the institution of monogamous marriage and the nuclear family is stupid and violent and heternormative, then you will have a difficult time engaging with the show in general. We exist within a deeply normative (and frequently reactionary) media environment that encourages us to approach art in a particular way, one that privileges the individual over other narrative components (settings, themes, conflicts, ideas, political and moral perspectives, structure, tone, etc).
All of which culminates in priming fans to engage with art at these levels and these levels alone, even when that scope is deeply inappropriate. A standout example I recently encountered was browsing the fandom tags on tumblr for the movie Prey - a movie that recontextualises the original Predator film by setting it in colonial America to make the argument that the horrific violence of white colonists and imperial soldiers is identical to the violence we see the Predator do to human beings. It is a movie that makes the argument that, despite this alien monster running around killing people, the villains of the franchise are these occupying soldiers and settlers, an alien force who themselves have just as little regard for (indigenous) human life.
And when browsing the tags on tumblr, what I found was dozens upon dozens of horny posts about how hot the predator monster was. Certainly there were discussion of the film’s narrative, and these posts got a good amount of notes, but the tags were heavily dominated with a focus on the Predator itself. People were engaging with this film not as a solid action movie with interesting and compelling anti-colonial themes, but as a way to be horny about a creature that is, ironically, a stand-in for white settler indifference to (and perpetuation of) indigenous suffering. And if this is your takeaway from an extremely straightforward film with a very clear message, this is not merely a failure to comprehend the content of a text, this is something beyond it - a problem that I think is due in part to the methodological problem of approaching all texts as vessels for bourgeois interiority, individual but ultimately interchangeable expressions of sexuality, perhaps best-expressed by the term “roving slash fandom,” a phenomenon wherein fans will move from one fandom to the next in search of two (usually white, usually skinny) guys to draw and write porn of, uncaring of any of the surrounding context of the stories they are embedded in, and consequently dominating a large sector of fandom discussion.
This even gets expressed in the primary ideological battleground of fandom itself, the ridiculous partitioning of all fan conflict into “pro-“ and “anti-“ shipping compartments. Your stance on engagement with fandom itself historically was (and still is) always first filtered through one of these two labels, describing your fundamental perspective on all texts you engage with. And both of these two labels are only concerned with shipping, as if all disagreements about art can only be interpreted through the lens of what characters you think are acceptable to draw or write having sex. Nowhere in this binary is space to describe any other perspective you might take, what approaches you think are valuable when interacting with art, what themes or stories you think are worth exploring. It’s not just that the pro/anti divide is juvenile and overly-simplistic, it is a declaration that all fan conflict must be read through the lens of shipping and shipping only - the implication being that any objections raised, and criticisms offered, is ultimately just bitching about ships you don’t like.
Which, again, I think is a fundamental error of methodology. It leaves no space for people to discuss the political and moral content of a work, the themes of a piece of art, the thorny issues of representation not just as expressed through individual characters but entire worlds, narratives, settings, and themes. You are always hopelessly stuck in the quagmire of “shipping discourse,” and even rejecting that framework will inevitably get you labelled as either pro- or anti-ship anyway - and you will almost invariably be labelled an “anti” if you express any kind of distaste for the bigoted behaviour of fans or the content of the text itself, again reinforcing the idea that this is all just pointless whining online about icky ships you personally hate.
And this issue is best perhaps epitomised by reader insert fanfiction, circumventing any need for you to project onto a character by literally inserting yourself into fiction, primarily in order to write/read about a character you want to fuck. This then intersects in particularly disgusting ways with real world politics, such as reader insert fics about Pedro Pascal going with you to BLM protests. Even if this is (incredibly over-generously) interpreted as a very poor attempt at being “progressive,” it still demonstrates that many (white) fans are often incapable of thinking about anything outside of a character-centric perspective, quite literally centring themselves in the process, and consequently they think it’s totally appropriate to do things like that. The fact that this is also frequently a racist lens is not coincidental, because again, a chronic focus on (fictional) individuality prohibits any structural perspective from entering the discussion, which necessarily excludes a coherent or useful perspective on systemic issues, where people come to the conclusion that the topic of police brutality is little more than a fun stage to enact whatever romantic shenanigans you want to get up to with a hot guy.
I will stress, again, that it is not a moral sin to have a favourite character, nor is it bad to enjoy reading about two guys having sex in fanfiction. I enjoy and do those things, I engage with fandom often through a character-centric lens (see my url) - because it’s fun! But I think that this being the dominant mode of engagement inherently excludes and marginalises all other approaches, and creates a fandom space where the most valuable way to talk about media is to discuss which two characters you most enjoy imagining fucking each other
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Plotting and Scheming
Paige Bueckers x reader
When UConn’s wbb team gets tired of Paige’s pining, they concoct a plan to get you into her arms.
Themes: Mutual pining, slight angst, fluff
Word count: 3.3k
I've gotten a lot of love on my other three little fics, so I hope this one is okay, as well. Let me know if you guys have anything specific you'd like me to write!
Here we go!
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You sat on the sidelines of UConn’s basketball court, admiring the girls fiercely practicing. It was still early in the season, but the dream of winning the NCAA championship kept their grit going.
Having met several of the girls on the team early in your college career, the women’s basketball team had adopted you as one of their own. As a nursing student, you were deemed ‘the fixer of boo-boos’ and you were often around to tend to their cuts and scrapes or to answer their ridiculous medical questions.
That’s where it had all started, and you couldn’t believe where you had ended up because of it.
Your eyes bounced back and forth, following the balls and the whipping ponytails. You always felt so much pride watching them; they were your girls.
Your gaze finds Paige, as it always tends to, and you are mesmerized. She runs, throwing the ball from half count and making it into the basket effortlessly. Without thinking, you stand up, whooping and clapping rambunctiously. She makes eye contact with you, sending you a wink and blowing you a kiss dramatically. Your stomach lurches at the display of affection towards you, and you blush, causing you to glance around making sure no one saw.
Your feelings for the tall blonde had only grown as you got to know her throughout the last several years. She made you feel giddy, like a child with a school crush. As much as you enjoyed being her friend, you had wanted something more for a long time now.
You’d never admit that though. To anyone.
The other girls had spent countless hours trying to get you to admit your feelings for Paige. You held firm, though, vehemently denying any pull or attraction. They would over analyze every interaction between the two of you, and they loved the way your cheeks would bloom with pink from Paige’s compliments and affections.
In fact, they were absolutely sure that the reason you broke up with your douchebag ex-boyfriend, Zach, was because of your feelings for Paige.
They did not need to know that was actually the case, thank you very much.
It had been on the forefront of your thoughts for weeks before the night where everything had finally exploded.
You had dragged Zach along to the bar where the basketball team was partying it up, hoping your man would distract you from the longingness you felt for your friend. You felt such a pull towards Paige, and it fucking terrified you.
You had walked into the bar with Zach, his hand around your waist possessively. The touch reminded you of the last time you and Paige had gone out drinking together. Trying to ignore how you wished it was slimmer and more feminine, you had allowed Zach to lead you towards where the team had gathered in a circle.
The girls cheered as they saw you approach, thrusting a drink into your hand, encouraging you to catch up to their drunkenness. You glanced around, trying to find Paige in the crowd.
“Well look who it is,” you heard from behind you. Whipping your head around, you were met with the familiar smirk of your favorite blonde.
“Paige!” you exclaimed, running up to give her a hug, eliciting an eye roll from your boyfriend. You pretended you didn’t see it to keep the peace. You melted into Paige’s embrace, feeling more comfortable in the moment than you had in days.
“K, Bueckers, you can get your grimy hands off my fuckin’ girlfriend,” Zach had sniped, walking away. Pretending as if the man did not even exist, Paige had looked down at you with a wide grin. It was getting harder to overlook her effect on both you and your relationship.
The rudeness and nastiness directed at Paige had immediately sent you over the edge.
‘How fucking dare he talk to my girl like that,’ you had thought.
In a sudden fury, you stomped over to him, already busy staring lewdly at some girl who was dancing provocatively in front of him.
“You can fuck off. Paige can put her hands on me any time she’d like. We’re through. Kiss my ass!” you spat. You spun on your heel and marched back towards the team feeling lighter than you had in months.
“Let's do shots!” you screamed, missing the fond look Paige was giving you.
You snap out of your daydream as you see Paige sauntering over to you where you sat in the bleachers.
“Enjoying the show, huh?” she questions smugly.
Feeling generous, you nod with a genuine smile. “You guys are doing so great already. You’re gonna go far this season; I can feel it.” The candor of your words causes Paige to beam.
“Listen, we’re all getting drinks tonight at Ted’s. You gonna come with us?”
“Oh I don't know, I've got homework and stuff…” you trail off, trying to find a suitable excuse.
Paige all but pouts. “The girls really want you there. They all told me,” she says knowingly. As if she had planned it, Azzi, KK, and Nika walk over to join you two, all sweaty from practice.
KK all but jumps on you, causing you to groan under the sudden weight of her body being thrown against you.
“Y’all, please convince this one over here to join us tonight,” Paige pleads, turning back toward you with wide eyes.
You giggle as the girls all jump in, interrupting each other in an attempt to persuade you to come out with them.
You cut them off, trying to stop the cacophony that was echoing off the walls of the gym.
“I would love to come, but I really have a lot of work to catch up on,” you reason. “If I finish up early, I’ll text you, Paige.”
Paige nods at this, but you don’t miss the glum look that flits across her face. You sigh half-heartedly, suddenly feeling guilty. You hated making excuses. It was just so hard sometimes, liking her.
“Have fun, guys,” you wave before making your exit from the arena.
As you walk back to your dorm, you feel the pit in your stomach grow larger, enveloping you. Of course you wanted to spend time with Paige, but pining mixed with alcohol and the sensual music of a bar would cause cracks in the hard foundation of your skillful indifference.
You had been perfecting it since freshman year, but with the way Paige had you feeling lately, you knew it wouldn’t take much for everything to come crashing down.
Walking through your door and sitting at your computer, you get to work, trying to distract yourself. After reviewing your notes for the tenth time and finishing your nursing care plan, you glance at the clock.
Fuck.
It was only 10:30. The girls would probably just be arriving at the bar now, and you really wanted to go meet up with them.
‘Screw it,” you think. You are going to get drunk tonight, and you’re gonna look hot. You whip out your phone and send a quick text to Paige. Your heart races as she instantly responds. You needed to get your shit in order. Your emotions could not get the best of you tonight.
Over at Ted’s, Paige’s bored expression had quickly turned into an excited grin, causing her teammates to exchange looks of interest.
“What’s got you smiling like that, P?” asks Nika.
“More like who,” smirks KK, glancing at Paige’s phone at your text.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Paige grumbles, trying to hide her blush with her drink.
“Oh c’mon, Paige, this crush is getting ridiculous. Just tell the damn girl you like her,” Azzi demands. “We’re all getting tired of watching you pine over her.”
“Pine?” sputters Paige. “I’m hardly pining. If anything, I’m just admiring…” she trails off.
“Sure, P,” KK drawls sarcastically. “Nothing like admiring your friend’s ass.”
The other girls snort derisively. KK was not at all off base with that observation.
“Whatever, I need another drink,” grumbles Paige. “Gotta be drunk when my friend shows up.”
Paige walks off, and the second her teammates lose sight of her, they circle up to discuss.
“Jesus, we really need to do something to fix this shit,” Ice says firmly.
“For real, this is straight embarrassing now!” KK agrees loudly.
Azzi contemplates for a second, before a smirk slides onto her face. “I know what we can do. The only way to get Paige to make a move is to make her super jealous. We can all take turns flirting, and boom! We’ll have two happy lovebirds before we even know it!”
The ploy causes the other girls to laugh hysterically, reveling in the idea of a jealous Paige.
“Sounds perfect!” Nika laughs. “Paige is gonna hate us, but she will be fine once she finally admits her feelings.”
The rest of the girls agree, sipping their drinks and taking great pleasure in what would be coming.
About an hour later, you walk into the bar feeling incredibly anxious. You were confident in the way you looked; tight jeans with rips that allowed the smooth flesh of your upper thigh to peak out, and a top that showed off your curves deliciously. Lips glossy and hair blown out, you were alluring, wanting all eyes on you tonight. You figured if you got hit on enough, you could distract yourself from Paige’s enticement. Little did you know it’d be at the hands of her own teammates.
You stretched your neck, scouring the bar for the basketball team. Considering their height, they were easy to spot. Flouncing over, you are greeted with the loud, drunken cheers of your favorite girls.
You giggle at their enthusiasm, suddenly feeling more at ease. You look around, trying to spot the long blonde hair and the wide smile that constantly occupies your consciousness.
“Where’s P?” you ask casually, trying to avoid any suspicion. This causes the faces of the aforementioned teammates to exchange sly glances that immediately have you worried.
“Oh, she's just over by the bar talking to some brunette,” Nika responds, attempting to gauge your reaction. Luckily, you had been training for this over the last several years.
Did it fucking hurt? Sure, it was like you were being stabbed repeatedly with a fucking knife, but no biggie. You could handle it.
“Cool,” you mumble, staying aloof. “I’m gonna grab a drink...”
Your reaction causes the girls to hoot with laughter once you’re out of reach.
“This is so mean. I feel bad,” mutters Caroline. “I thought we were only going to make Paige jealous…”
“It’s more fun this way. It’s like a secret mission!” KK exclaims. “Getting both of them jealous is fuckin’ perfect.”
As you walk over to the bar, you see Paige talking to a girl. She is smiling in a way that had your stomach doing somersaults, and your face screws up into a look of annoyance. Attempting to ignore the obnoxious giggles of the girl Paige was wooing, you flag down the bartender and order a double of your favorite drink. Lord knows you would need the extra alcohol tonight.
You look around apprehensively, trying to move time forward with your brain. Your sobriety, in addition to the crammed bar, had you feeling panicked. You needed to get away from Paige before you combusted from jealousy.
Thanking the bartender, who finally slides your drink towards you, you head back to the basketball team, eventually catching Paige's attention.
Pretending you didn’t see your blonde best friend, you bring your straw to your lips in a seductive manner, catching it with your tongue and relishing in the way the alcohol begins to cloud your inhibitions.
Paige trails behind you, desperately trying to avoid staring at your jean-clad ass.
KK doesn’t miss this. Neither does Ice. They share shit-eating grins, making mocking faces towards Paige, who flips them off in return, a look of embarrassment covering her face.
You finally turn around, giving up your bit of pretend indifference.
“Oh hey, P,” you say breezily. “Didn’t see you behind me.”
Before Paige could respond, Azzi is already wrapping her free hand around your waist, bringing her closer to you. She says, “I missed you. C’mon, let’s go dance.”
The blonde’s eyes narrow, but Azzi is already leading you towards the brightly colored dance floor before she could respond to you.
“The fuck?” Paige mumbles under her breath as the rest of the team exchanges deranged giggles at her shock.
The truth was that Paige was terrible at sharing. Especially you. Even before she wanted anything more than a friendship with you, Paige slightly resented anyone who took away your time and attention from her.
The signs were so clear. So fucking clear.
Half of the girls follow you to the dance floor, leaving the others to stay with a pouting Paige. Her reaction to Azzi’s contact gives you the tiniest amount of hope, and it gives you a second wind of confidence.
You dance with the girls, slightly confused at their antics. You were close with all of them, but the touching and incessant compliments had your head spinning.
What the hell was going on?
Paige was usually the one clinging to you, wanting to make you blush and giggle. Tonight she was acting like a wounded puppy. Her face continuously flashing between a clenched jaw of annoyance and straight bitterness.
Your attempts to avoid looking at her were futile. This did not go unnoticed by the team, who looked like they were enjoying your longingness way too much.
You look up at Azzi, begging her with your eyes to tell you what was going on with Paige tonight.
“Why is she acting like this?” you ask no one in particular, just trying to deduce the weird energy that had accompanied the entire night. The girls shrug and avoid the question altogether, carrying on with their laughing and gyrating.
You sigh, exhausted from the game they were clearly playing. You needed more alcohol or it was going to be a rough night; you were too sober to deal with this.
“C’mon, shake those hips,” an evidently very drunk Nika, whispers in your ear with a smirk. She brings a hand down to rest on your waist, the other trailing down your back…lower and lower. You look at her, slightly shocked at the affection. Before Nika’s hand could even reach your ass, you feel yourself being ripped away from her by a swearing Paige.
“What the actual fuck, dude?” Paige all but yells at her Croatian teammate, her eyes wild with anger and her jaw clenched with an impressive amount of control.
Nika just laughs at Paige’s overreaction, along with every other girl on the team.
“What’s wrong, P?” Azzi asks with a mocking tone. “Pissed that someone other than you touched your girl?”
Paige’s voice falters as she responds, “she’s not my girl…just don’t want her to be uncomfortable or whatever…”
Hearing Azzi refer to you as Paige’s girl made your head spin. What the fuck does that mean?
Your head quickly bounces between a smirking Nika, an uncomfortable-looking Paige, and the rest of the team, who were trying and failing, to hold in their laughter.
“I’m confused…” you trail off in a quiet attempt to get some answers.
A few seconds of silence pass before KK breaks it. “Girl boo, just talk to Paige. And use protection.”
Excuse me, what?
The girls vacate the area, leaving you and the blonde staring at each other, both afraid to make the first move.
“Let’s walk back to my apartment. We can talk there,” Paige finally mutters.
You let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. Things felt vulnerable. Like one wrong move and everything would come crashing down into oblivion. You didn't want your relationship with Paige to be ruined; your one-sided crush already disrupting the delicate balance of it all.
The ten minute walk back to Paige’s felt like years. The air was heavy, constricting your entire being. You held back a sob as the dread seeped into your soul. You couldn’t let Paige see you cry; it was embarrassing enough knowing that she probably already knew of your feelings.
You would get through this. Just let her let you down easy and then you could escape.
As you mentally plan the funeral for your friendship, Paige reaches for your hand, cold from the bitter chill of the night. Your reflexes are quick, wanting to rip it away from her in an attempt to guard the tiniest bit of pride left in you, but you still.
Nevertheless, you wanted her. And even worse, you needed her. So you allow her to gently take your hand, interlacing your fingers and rubbing a thumb over the smooth skin soothingly.
It felt so intimate, and the tears in your eyes threatened to spill over your cheeks once more. You glance up, feeling relief as you spot the parking lot of the apartment building.
As you enter Paige’s room, you look around, trying to memorize everything that made up your friend. ‘This’ll probably be the last time I’ll be here,’ you think solemnly, gazing at the purple comforter thrown haphazardly over the unmade bed. No more giddy nights spent pressed against the blonde, praying she can’t feel the thumping of your heart as she cuddles you.
You sit on the bed warily, readying yourself for the rejection from your most favorite person in the entire world.
Paige can tell you’re anxious. You unconsciously pick at your fingernails, and your bottom lip is already swollen from being habitually bitten.
She sits beside you, placing a hand over yours again, as if she thinks it belongs there for some reason. In your version of the story, it did. Everything that was yours belonged to Paige.
“I have to tell you something. And I'm really not sure how you’ll react…” Paige trails off, hesitant of how to approach the situation. She clears her throat and continues, “I have feelings for you. I know you probably don’t feel the same, but it’s fine. And the girls knew tonight and were messin’ with me. They thought if they made me jealous enough, I’d do somethin’ about my feelings. And I guess they were kinda right.”
Upon hearing the long winded confession, your ears start ringing and your heart feels as if it might actually combust.
She has feelings for you?
You pinch your thigh, slightly wincing at the pain before your face slides into an elated grin. This was actually real.
She has feelings for you.
Paige searches your face for some sort of guess on how you were reacting to her maundering. With the alcohol still in your system and the shock of her words still reverberating through you, you could do nothing except launch yourself at her gorgeous mouth.
She squeals, momentarily caught off guard by your sudden movement before realizing that the pining she had been doing the last several years was in fact mutual.
Your lips collide, fuckin’ finally, in a kiss that could only be described as heavenly. It was passionate and slow, deliberately savoring the feel and taste of what had been only daydreams for a very long time.
Ultimately needing to break away for some air, you gaze at each other, reveling in the idea that the pain and heartbreak of years of pining and jealousy was no longer. It was peaceful. It made sense to you, though. Paige was your peace, and you were hers.
Laying down together, you whisper fondly, “I love your teammates so much. Even if their methods are a bit crazy, they really do mean well.”
Paige chuckles in reply. “We are so getting them back for that little stunt, though, right?”
“Of course,” you hum. “Two can play at that game.”
#paige bueckers#paige bueckers x reader#uconn huskies#uconn wbb#uconn women’s basketball#mutual pining#angst with a happy ending#friends to lovers#paige x reader#paige
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Meddle About
Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader
‘Cause it's not just a figure of speech - you got me down on my knees.
It's gettin' harder to b r e a t h e .
Summary:
You hate it when Morgan teases Reid. So when Morgan says that you are Reid's 'Mommy' - you verbally fire back without even thinking about it.
Reid vastly overthinks it.
So much so that he ends up calling you Mommy by mistake. And you definitely don't hate the sound of that word coming off his lips.
Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Smut. Set during Season One.
Word Count: 6,300
Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link
Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.
Warnings: general smut fic - porn with some plot; dom/sub dynamics (but this isn't a pre-discussed dom/sub relationship, the characters just fall into these roles naturally), Spencer is submissive and the reader is dominant; the main theme is Mommy kink - Spencer discovers that he has a Mommy kink after a joke that Morgan makes, referring to the reader character as Spencer's Mommy; Spencer calls the reader 'Mommy' and the reader also refers to herself with that title; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina (and breasts); it could be interpreted that the reader has larger breasts/is plus sized (but I think anyone of any size could enjoy this fic); the reader is part of the BAU; this is meant to take place during season one (baby Spence my beloved) but there are no other major canon events mentioned and the case being discussed is one that I have made up; some very background typical elements of Criminal Minds - murder, killing, systemic vicimization of women/violence from men towards women (passing mention of bodies being consumed by wild animals); the reader and Spencer fuck while on a case (but they aren't endangering anyone's lives from lack of their attention, so it's fine); mentions of potential injuries from a car accident (theoretical - doesn't actually happen during the fic); very slight threads of Morgan x Reader (mentions of Morgan being attracted to the reader - it could be one-sided); very passing mention of Reid having breeding kink (doesn't take place during the fic, just one of his thoughts); for the actual smut section: this could be interpreted as virgin!Spencer but that's not explicitly stated here (at most, this is just inexperienced!Spencer) (the reader is definitely way more sexually experienced than him); praise kink (we all known Spencer is so eager to be praised); mentions of breastfeeding - Morgan makes a joke about the reader breastfeeding Reid, which later turns into faux breastfeeding kink (the reader doesn't actually lactate, but she lets Spencer suck on her tits and calls it breastfeeding); the reader calls Spencer: 'baby', 'good boy',; descriptions of subspace - but it's not specifically called 'subspace' in the text; thigh humping - Spencer humps the reader's thigh; cumming in pants (Spencer); multiple orgasms/overstimulation (Spencer receiving); handjob - the reader jacks Spencer off while he is sensitive after his first orgasm; using lube as cum; dumbification kink - the reader calls Spencer 'dumb baby' and generally enjoys seeing his intellect drop the more turned on he becomes (Spencer also likes being called this); technically the reader doesn't get to cum, but she gets turned on from treating Spencer like the good boy that he is (and this is more about him). I think that's everything.
A/N: This was directly inspired by the scene from Reid's birthday party, where Morgan says 'Mommy to the rescue!' (talking about JJ) and then Spencer says '...Mommy?' and it seems like he is discovering his Mommy kink in real time. Especially because he is then trapped between Elle and JJ and he makes direct eye contact with their boobs, and he just has such a look of scared kink realization in his eyes. I considered copying that moment exactly and just replacing JJ with the reader character, but this seemed like more fun lmao. I had so much fun writing this and I think this is one of my best fics in a while. I hope you guys enjoy it!!
...
Generally, you hated being stuck with grunt work.
You knew that it was all part of the job - an important part of it. Paperwork, side interviews, background checks. Sifting through someone’s apartment looking for aspects of what kind of person they were based on their everyday life.
But you thrived more on being right in the middle of things. You preferred interacting with suspects, chasing people down, harsh confrontation.
Gideon said that you were overly controlling, impatient, brutally honest - that you had an ‘abrasive personality’ that put most men off. But that was why he often brought you into interrogations with male suspects. Many of the people you caught - men with superiority complexes who targeted the weak to make themselves feel powerful - they hated that you weren’t intimidated by them. That aspect of abrasion between you and the suspects often brought out a lot of information - things they spewed out trying to intimidate you.
But you weren’t needed on that front today.
No - instead, you were doing grunt work. The kind of work that made you impatient and generally aggravated.
The only upside was that you got to do it with Spencer.
He was one of the only men that voluntarily worked so closely with you so often, because he wasn’t intimidated by you. He took orders from you very well and naturally fell under your authority, bringing a natural chemistry to your partnership when you worked with him. Plus - his seemingly endless stream of ‘fun facts’ was like listening to the radio, which did help to soothe your boredom during these kinds of mindless tasks.
You were on a case in Texas. Five women raped and tortured before having their bodies hung from a tree and consumed by cotoyes that the UnSub knew lived in the area. Since police had closed in on him, he had gone on the run. He had killed three more women since fleeing, while leaving no clues as to what his ultimate endgame would be or where he would be going next.
Hotch sent you and Reid to find that out while the rest of the team worked victimology and profiled the scenes of the most recent murders, following the trail he was leaving.
After spending hours sifting through the suspect’s house, looking for any small clue about where he might be going - you came up empty. When you touched base with Hotch, he told you that you and Reid would be going to visit the suspect’s ex-wife - who lived four hours away. You needed to interview her to see if she could give you any further insight to the man, and perhaps - beat him to the house if she was the ultimate target.
(A lot of the victims looked like her, and it couldn’t really be a coincidence.)
You knew that lives were at risk, and it was juvenile of you, but all you heard was: long, boring drive. Boring day. You hoped that Reid would be good company through it.
Now, you were waiting outside of the police station in the bureau-issued SUV, waiting for Morgan to come and give you the file with the ex-wife’s address and contact information.
“Did you know that over forty-six percent of Texans own a gun? Texas is second only to Montana in registered gun ownership, where over sixty-six percent of citizens proudly tote their right to bear arms.” Reid told you, continuing to look over the case files that were sitting in his lap.
When you looked over toward him to reply to this odd factoid, your mind got caught up on something else.
“Reid, come on, take your feet off the dashboard!” You told him, reaching over to gently smack his knee, trying to encourage his legs down from the awkward position.
It bothered you for several reasons - the idea that he would leave shoe prints on the dashboard, which was minor and cosmetic, but still annoying. And the fact that if the car did happen to get hit head-on, the air-bag would explode out and push his knees into his chest, causing his shattered leg bones to pierce his organs and possibly kill him. (At the very least, he would never walk again.)
Speaking of which:
“And put your seatbelt on!” You barked, now noticing that he wasn’t wearing it past all of the files he had piled into his lap. “You of all people should know how many deaths are caused by not wearing a seatbelt.”
Spencer opened his mouth to spout out this exact statistic, but before he could get the words out, another voice entered the conversation.
“Aw, Reid, listen to your Mommy.”
You were almost startled by Morgan’s voice coming from the open driver’s side window so suddenly. His appearance there as if out of nowhere was so jarring that you couldn’t get caught up on the way he had called you Reid’s Mommy. Your head whipped toward Morgan so quickly that you didn’t notice the flash across Spencer’s features - worry, dawning. You didn’t take note of the way he rushed to comply with putting on his seatbelt. As if he was rushing to please you, even unconsciously.
“I bet if you’re a good boy, she might even breastfeed you when you get there.”
Morgan then pursed his lips and made loudly suckling noises, clearly imitating breastfeeding in what he thought was a comedic way.
Again - glaring at the muscled man through the open window, you didn’t see Spencer’s reaction. You didn’t see the way his large, glassy eyes flickered to your breasts (only emphasized by your own seatbelt crossed over the center of your chest) before he forced himself to focus on the files in front of him so that he wouldn’t feel so caught.
“Shut up.” You told Morgan, your voice so commanding and firm that his simple order was enough to get him to stop his antics.
“And give me the address already.” You held out your hand expectantly, and Morgan handed you the file, which you placed onto the center console.
Then, you turned back to him for one last point, determined to have the final word in the conversation.
“Besides, we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts, anyway. Just because you stare while wearing sunglasses, doesn’t mean I don’t notice. My eyes are up here, pal.” You told him sharply.
He let out a scoff at this, and rolled his eyes behind his dark frames - but he made no clever comeback.
You had successfully bested him. And with that knowledge, you rolled up the window and left him standing dumbly in the parking lot as you sped off.
…
You pulled over later to put the address into the GPS system, and you let out a long-winded groan when you found that it was more than four hours away. Four hours and twenty five minutes.
So you pulled over again to get gas and stocked up on snacks, and you were surprised that Reid wasn’t giving you some lesson about the colloquial use of ‘soda’ and ‘pop’ (thinking that you hadn’t listened the other ten times when he had gone on the same rambling point about linguistics and how language evolves).
He was being far too quiet for your liking.
But he was keeping his eyes glued to the files, and you guessed that he was churning over something in that big brain of his, like he usually was.
You were entirely surprised when the next time he spoke - it wasn’t about the case at all.
“How - how do you know that Morgan likes your breasts?” He asked, his voice low and mousy, looking straight ahead as he fidgeted with his hands in his lap.
“What?” You gaped, the word flying out of your mouth as your brain was utterly slow to process what he had just said.
Hearing Spencer use the word ‘breasts’ was jarring, but somehow utterly adorable. You found it stirring a slight heat within you. Especially because he was still so shy. The whole thing made you want to pin him down and force the shyness out of him.
Spencer felt the need to further explain himself.
“When - when you were talking to him, you said: ‘we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts.’” He said, repeating back what you had said, word for word, using that perfect memory of his.
You wondered if that’s what he had been doing, sitting there in his seat so silently for the past hour of the car ride - going over the conversation again and again in his head, trying to make sense of it. And because he couldn’t make any sense of it by himself, now he was consulting you.
Again, you found it so utterly adorable.
“Morgan didn’t deny it. So - was it a hypothesis based on something, or did you just call him out hoping that you weren’t wrong?” Reid continued, sparing only a singular glance in your direction, a look that you caught out of the corner of your eye with your gaze still mostly focused ahead on the road.
You found it intensely cute that he was using the word ‘hypothesis’ in this situation. You wondered if he ever turned it off - the textbook big words and the intellect that he always carried himself with. You wondered if you could make him turn it off. You wondered if there was any situation where Spencer Reid could be as stupid as any other man - chasing a bone, desperate to get his nut off.
For the first time ever - you imagined Spencer Reid underneath you, blabbering nonsense, begging for release with your hand around his cock as you pumped him, red and aching, so slick in your palm. Desperate, empty-headed, beautifully stupid.
(See, this was what happened when you were forced to do grunt work. You got bored. And when you got bored - you had to entertain yourself somehow.)
“It was a pretty well-informed hypothesis.” You replied. Now that Spencer had brought the topic up, you certainly weren’t going to shy away from the discussion. “Morgan often brings up my sex life, and wants to engage in detailed discussions about my sexual encounters with me. So I assume that he spends a fair amount of time thinking about me in a sexual way.”
Reid let out a choked-off noise at this.
You continued.
“Plus, he’s always staring down my top. He’s not exactly subtle.”
“You - you actually notice that kind of thing?” He chirped, his voice becoming a few octaves higher as worry flooded him.
You bit your lip, suppressing a grin.
Of course, you had noticed the times that Spencer stared at your breasts as well. He was even less subtle about it than Morgan was. You didn’t mind it when he did it, because you knew that Spencer wasn’t exactly casanova. He didn’t have a different girl every other week like Morgan did, so taking a glance down your shirt when he passed you a morning coffee was probably about as much action as he got.
Secretly, letting him get away with it was your gift to him.
“Don’t worry about it, baby.” You told him, the pet name slipping out mindlessly as you reached over and gently patted his knee as a form of reassurance.
This movement unintentionally drew his eyes toward your chest, especially in his desperation to look anywhere but your face, not wanting to make eye contact with you. But he found his eyes glued to the swell of your breasts once again - hating how perfect they looked, even through the simple cotton shirt and plain bra that you wore.
“Sorry, Mommy.” The word slipped out before he could even consciously process it. “Sorry!”
Spencer raised a hand to smack his own face at lightning speed, and slumped down into his seat in embarrassment.
You bit your lip to suppress a grin. It stirred a filthy heat in your belly. But you knew that Spencer likely needed a while to sit with this and wouldn’t want to talk about it - not yet. So you reached over and turned on the radio, letting the music fill the space so that the silence wasn’t so awkward and gutting.
…
Spencer didn’t talk for the entirety of the rest of the car ride, which didn’t surprise you.
When you finally arrived at the ex-wife’s house, his hands were shaking with nerves as he tried to unlatch his seatbelt. You probably should have just left him alone to struggle, but an evil spark, likely fueled by the boredom of the day, flared up inside of you. You couldn’t resist the urge to lean over the console, very purposefully showing off your breasts as you gently pushed his hands away and undid the belt for him.
“Here, let Mommy get that for you.” You said, distinct teasing on your breath as you mumbled the words into his ear.
Spencer huffed out a deep sigh and collapsed back into his seat, and pushed his hair out of his face in frustration. But he didn’t say anything more as you gathered the files in preparation for the interview.
He only spoke when you moved to get out of the car.
“Look, I-” He began a half assed explanation, and you easily cut him off.
“You let Morgan get in your head too much.” You told him with a chuckle, opening your door and getting out.
But as he forced himself to follow you with numb limbs - he knew that this definitely wasn’t all Morgan’s fault.
…
The ex-wife didn’t know much.
She described the marriage as hell - the suspect exhibited all the typical behaviors as a husband that they would have expected. He hated women, and he wanted full control over his wife at the time, which eventually led down the path of divorce. They had to sell the house they had bought together, but neither of them had moved out of Texas since. But he hadn’t contacted her in years.
She had two young kids from a new relationship, and when the woman stepped out to take a call, you picked one of them up to soothe his cries, hushing him gently while you rubbed his back.
Because of this, Spencer found himself even more dizzy and confused.
He knew that it was Frueadian - some deep, misguided part of his psychology - something broken and missing inside of him because of his own fractured childhood.
But seeing you being so sweet with a kid, especially after the day he’d had - he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be your baby, or if he wanted to shoot his cum so deep inside you that it would ensure he could give you one.
(Ultimately, he knew that it was likely both - and that didn’t answer any questions for him. It just gave him far more questions.)
…
Even though the ex-wife couldn’t give you guys much more than you already knew, Hotch wanted you and Spencer to stay close by in case the suspect decided to make his ex-wife the end game. The two of you would be able to make it to her first if she called for help.
So you and Spencer had dinner at a random local barbeque place off the highway and Spencer still didn’t talk much through it, other than posing some theories about the case. Even though he was a bit more talkative, he still refused to look at you - he stared down at his plate the whole time. Though whenever he did look up, you noticed that his eyes lingered on your chest - and he still wouldn’t look you in the eye.
By the time the bill came around and the two of you were ready to leave, you knew exactly what you had to do.
…
Spencer waited by the car with his bag while you checked in and got a motel room (needing to stay in town, you got a room for the night). When you came back, you handed him the room key and then moved to get your bag out of the car.
“Do… you already have yours?” He asked quietly.
“Hmm?” You hummed in reply, slinging the strap of your go-bag over your shoulder before you closed the back door and used the remote to lock up the car.
“Your room key?”
You suppressed another grin.
“I only got one room.” You told him. “You don’t mind sharing with me, right?”
You gave him a purposeful look - looked at him through your lashes, bit your lip slightly, and subtly squeezed your breasts together with your upper arms, emphasizing them. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, but hopefully it seemed subtle.
“I - uh - no.” Spencer stuttered. “It’s fine. We can share.” He gave a grin, not wanting to appear upset, even though his entire body was racked with nerves.
Spencer followed you to the room and he fumbled with the key with shaking hands for a moment before he sighed and then handed it to you.
His insides quaked when he saw that there was only one bed.
He wasn’t sure if he should say anything about it. The two of you had slept in the same room before, but you had never shared a bed before. Sure, you had slept near each other before. He had accidentally fallen asleep on your shoulder on the plane or vice versa. But you had never crawled into bed together with the intention of sleeping together.
And yes, just the entendre behind it made Reid’s head spin.
He had a heavy knot in his gut, and hatefully - a distinct stirring in his crotch. He could only imagine how embarrassing it would be for you to wake up and see him compromised in some way. Or god forbid, if you caught him moaning in his sleep because of unconscious dreams that he couldn’t stop - for you to think that he was some kind of dirty sex pervert because of it.
He felt an overwhelming need to clear the air overtake him. He had no clue how to broach the subject, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to spend the night like this. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with this anxiety hanging over his head.
He studied you carefully as you sat down on the edge of the bed, ditching your bag off to the side and heaving out a tired sigh as you began taking off your shoes.
Spencer put down his own bag and then stood there, fidgeting nervously as he searched for words.
“I - uh - I am sorry about earlier.” He mumbled out the beginnings of an apology. “What Morgan said was stupid, and I-”
“I don’t think it was stupid.”
You let out a chuckle, and reached up the back of your shirt. Spencer found himself frozen, his eyes tracing your every moment as you unhooked your bra underneath your shirt and then moved to maneuver the straps out from your short sleeves while you kept talking.
“I think he had a point.” You added on. “Good boys should get a reward. And I think you were fairly good today. You didn’t eat all your veggies at dinner, but you kept your feet off the dashboard and you were quiet during the car ride. You definitely get points for being patient during such a long trip, baby.”
Your voice smoothed into a soothing tone, that word - baby - melting like butter over your tongue in a way that made Spencer’s knees wobble. He hadn’t known it until right now, but you calling him a ‘good boy’ and listing off such mundane things he had done that made him worthy of a reward fired off sparks inside of his brain.
A breath choked off inside of his throat as you stood up off the bed and peeled your bra completely out from under your shirt. Somehow it was one of the sexiest things he had ever seen, revealing the hard peaks of your nipples and the beautiful natural teardrop shape of your breasts to him through the cotton fabric.
Spencer wanted to speak, but his tongue felt so heavy and dry inside of his mouth. He knew that he was staring at your chest so blatantly now, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away. He couldn’t even feel ashamed anymore.
That dull tingle in his crotch had turned into a full on stinging interest, and he unconsciously pulled at the fabric of his pants, trying to loosen some of the tension that was growing, not even considering how it might look to you - him dumbly reaching for his crotch to make it look looser when his hardening bulge was becoming more obvious by the second.
It was one of the most ‘caveman’ things he had ever done in front of you - standing there with his mouth hanging slightly agape, pulling at his crotch without caring how it looked. You definitely wanted more, wanted to see how dumb he could get. How far you could make him devolve.
“So what do you say, baby boy?” You hummed, stepping close into his personal space now, causing him to get a whiff of your perfume - something that was only a dull trace after such a long day, but still smelled so good. “Do you want Mommy to breastfeed you? Do you wanna suck on my tits as your reward?”
You gently ran a thumb across his cheek, and paired with the words, Spencer’s brain short-circuited.
He knew realistically that you weren’t actually offering to breastfeed him. There was no evidence in your life to say that your body could actually support the production of milk currently - but you were offering to let him play pretend. To suck on your tits with a very sexual air, to call you Mommy without the teasing humiliation behind it that Morgan had hinted at (or maybe Spencer liked that humiliation, he wasn’t even sure). (He hadn’t even known before this morning that he liked the idea of calling you Mommy, but here he was).
All he could conjure in response was the dumbest, non-human sound.
“Nngh.”
It was a grunt from the back of his throat - too much blood swelling to his cock all at once and too much direct attention from you making him dizzy.
You giggled quietly.
“Come on, baby. Just say the word. And Mommy will give you everything you need.”
Spencer inhaled sharply. At this point, he was desperate to get some oxygen to his brain.
His mind was racing, chanting out:
‘Yes! God, yes! I want it so badly, Mommy! I want anything you’ll give me. I need you. I need you so badly.’
But all his lips could form in the wake of such dizzying lust was:
“Please.”
“Good boy.” You sighed.
You used a hand on his chin to tilt his face up to meet yours, and you consumed him in a kiss - he was hungry and eager to meet your touch, moaning loudly into your mouth, his hands racing to touch you now, rushing up to grip on your hips in the most utterly needy way. He balled the fabric of your shirt in his fists, like he couldn’t get enough of you - like he was afraid you would dissolve away if he let go of you for even a second.
It was cute, to say the least.
You only let the kiss last for a moment, though. You pulled away to a disappointed whine from Spencer, which you quietly hushed.
“Hey, it’s okay baby.” You soothed him. “Come here. Mommy’s gonna take good care of you.”
You lead him toward the bed, getting rid of his tie in the process, and Spencer stepped out of his shoes along the way. You slid onto the bed and laid up on the pillows on your back, Spencer clumsily following you, crawling on all fours. The two of you had barely started, but he was full-on panting now, racing to catch his breath while his blood hammered through his veins.
He watched on with eager curiosity while you got comfortable, fluffing the pillow under your head before you then reached down and pulled up your shirt. You pulled the fabric to sit up under your chin, finally revealing your gorgeous breasts to him.
If he was lost for words before, then he had receded back to a total neanderthal now.
His mouth fell open and his salivary glands started working overtime as his eyes raked hungrily over your chest - enjoying the pure beauty of the fatty mounds, striped with zig-zagging stretch marks and completed by your hard peaked nipples.
“Here, come on, baby.”
You had to remind Spencer what the goal was, guiding him into place with a hand on the back of his head. You helped ease his body to lay on top of yours as he relaxed into you - and his mouth finally found its rightful place on your breast. He became greedy, suctioning hard on your nipple as though he might actually get something out of it.
Truthfully, he did get something out of this.
It definitely wasn’t any form of nutrition, but it was something that drove him lustfully insane and made his head fuzzy and warm in the best way. This was the only time in his entire life that he didn’t have ten thousand thoughts running through his mind like the news blasting on television in the background. This was the only time since his first conscious memory that he had actually known his mind to be quiet.
He felt intensely thankful for it. Intensely thankful toward you for giving him this feeling.
In that moment, without all the noise, all he knew was the comforting feeling of your fat tit under his mouth, the heat of your body under his own as you cradled him. The soothing firmness of your hands through his hair and down his back - and the distant, sweet purring of your voice in his ears.
“Good boy.” You hummed, loving the feeling of him moaning around your nipple - so constant and so greedy now that you were sure he didn’t even know that he was doing it. “Such a good boy for me. Such a good boy for Mommy.”
Your cunt was humming between your thighs, aching so hard at seeing Spencer like this. The usually composed, intelligent, practically robotic Doctor Reid reduced down to a blubbering, moaning, needy mess just because he wanted to suck on your tits.
Just because you had called yourself Mommy a few times in his presence.
It was so utterly beautiful, and you wanted more.
(You didn’t think that you could ever let him go after this. You probably wouldn’t be able to stand the idea of another woman touching him after this. But you would have to think on that more later.)
You noticed Spencer canting his hips, unconsciously seeking friction against his hard cock while he continued to suck on your breast. With his eyes closed blissfully, drool gathering around his lips where they met your skin in the most utterly adorable way. You couldn’t help yourself - you scooted your knee between his thighs. You then used a hand to help his hips into place, adjusting him so that he was getting good friction against your denim-clad thigh.
“There you go. There you go, sweet boy.” You hummed, feeling another jolt through your body when he let out a sharper moan against your tit, and began humping your leg in earnest.
You were quick to encourage him, putting both hands on his hips and helping him along while he greedily hung onto you. He had on your hip, the other hand slipping up to cup fingers around the bottom of your breast, making sure you didn’t escape him while he moved his body against you so frantically.
“That’s just what you needed, isn’t it, baby?” You moaned out, your voice wavering slightly as the pleasure of it all thrummed through you. “Just a dumb little baby who needed Mommy’s tit.”
The term ‘dumb little baby’ came flying out of your mouth before you could stop it. Though you knew exactly why it happened. Seeing such a brilliant genius reduced down to this truly did something to your ego. And apparently hearing those words from you did something to him, too.
He whined sharply against your skin and his hips stuttered abruptly. You knew it wouldn’t be long before he came in his pants, his cock throbbing against the friction of your thigh. And this thought alone caused your mouth to run off without restraint.
“Such a needy little thing.” You sighed. “You love being Mommy’s dumb baby, don’t you? Not a single fucking thought between your ears, just sucking on Mommy’s tit without a care in the world.”
Spencer moaned and it sent another jolt through your body - another harsh pang through your cunt. You loved how much he needed you. You loved how much he was clearly eating this up.
You didn’t even care if you got to cum tonight; you just wanted to exhaust him for all he was worth. Because he was so fucking pretty like this.
“You gonna cum for me, baby boy? You gonna cum for Mommy? Come on, baby. Cum for me.”
These words were what ultimately sent him over the edge. Well that along with your strong hands on his hips, encouraging him along while he was mindless and busy mouthing on your breast.
His jaw dropped open, finally loosening that desperate suction on your now slightly sore nipple as he began to pant frantically over your now spit-soaked skin. He moaned hotly while he humped you in an entirely adorable, almost distraught manner - absolutely desperate to have the most friction on his cock while his orgasm overtook him.
You could feel his needy cock throbbing against you, trapped inside of his pants, shooting off hot ropes of cum that quickly soaked into his underwear and even then, seeped into the fabric of his slacks. You grinned and bit your lip as you felt that wetness even beginning to soak into your jeans, knowing he must have set off quite a big load.
Spencer soon collapsed on top of you, gulping in air as he tried to catch his breath.
Any normal person would have taken pity on him (seeing as he was clearly nervous and inexperienced) and wound things down to end the night here. Anyone else would have likely let him rest.
But again, you felt devilish temptation overtake you. (It was a feeling that seemed to be much more ripe around Spencer Reid.)
You just felt thankful that your temptation and inclination toward chaos came in the form of lust, rather than something more violent, like the people you studied every single day. Everyone around you should be thankful for that.
You used your leverage (and the fact that you weren’t nearly as exhausted from the experience) to flip him over onto his back. He let out a surprised sound as his back made contact with the mattress - blinking up at you with shocked, glassy eyes as you moved down his body slightly.
“Wha-?” He mumbled out the question, only getting out part of the word before you reached for the zipper on the front of his now wet pants.
“Hey, shh, baby. I just wanna see you.” You told him quietly, causing him to stare down the length of his own body at your hands as you worked.
You got the button and zipper undone quickly and you let out a quiet ‘fuck’ as you peeled back the wet fabric of his grey slacks to reveal the sight of his simplistic (very Reid) white cotton underwear slightly transparent and stuck tight to his cock, coated in wet, sticky cum.
“So pretty baby.”
He only whined in response.
You couldn’t help yourself - you reached up and pulled down the waistband of his underwear, feeling more lust pricking through you as he was truly revealed to your eyes. He was perfect. Glossy and wet with his own release, his cock pinky red from the exertion and friction, still half hard. You pulled the clothes down over his hips and he lifted his body to help you, clearly glad to be rid of the mess, and the second you untangled the fabric from his ankles and ditched everything aside, you were back on him.
You skimmed the tips of your fingers oh-so-lightly up his shaft where it was sprawled across his pelvis, and his hips jolted. He let out a bitter gasp - as though cold water had been splashed across him.
“You said-” He choked on the words as you ran your thumb right underneath the crown, gently pressing into the head, causing him to choke on a moan while his knees quaked.
You sat on his knees to keep him still and his head became so fuzzy once again.
‘You said that you only wanted to look.’
The sentence died off in his lungs somewhere, and truthfully - he didn’t want to protest. He didn’t want you to stop.
“Sens-sensitive.” He whined. “Too much.”
“But you’re so pretty, baby.” You replied, your voice turning smooth and warm like butter again, melting over his whole body, causing all of his muscles to go soft and pliant for you. “Your cock is so pretty. I need to touch you.”
He let out another strangled noise when you cupped your hand and took him fully in your grip this time, giving one good tug across his cock from root to tip. When you did this again, faster this time, his lungs seized inside his chest - trying to take in oxygen so quickly, as though he were drowning on dry land.
“You gonna be good for me, baby?”
“Yes.” He gargled back in response. “Yes, Mommy.”
He was already so wet from cumming in his pants, and he let out a pathetic dribble of precum as you continued to move your hand - so it was an easy, slick slide. One that sent harsh shockwaves through him from overstimulation. Against his own will, he soon ballooned back to full hardness - becoming painfully swollen in your hand while you sped up your touch and closed your fist tighter around him. It caused the most wonderful hurt between his legs, and made a downright filthy wet sound as you pumped your grip faster along his needy cock.
Spencer heard wailing and felt the soreness against his throat before he realized that he was the one making those desperate sounds. He distantly wondered what it might sound like to someone else, if the rooms on either side were occupied, if the motel would receive a noise complaint about some frail woman getting fucked to death by her husband next door - because that’s what he sounded like in his own ears.
But any of those half-thoughts were chased out of his brain the second you flicked your thumb up over the head of his cock and your dirty mouth filled his ears once again.
“Gonna milk this pretty cock, baby.” You told him, your voice firm. “You gonna show Mommy how much you can cum for me? Gonna show me what a good boy you are?”
Spencer let out another pathetic sound, his body singing with pleasure at his pure need to prove to you that - yes, he was a good boy.
He felt tears wet on the side of his face before he realized that he was crying, but it was all too good to ask you to stop.
You used your other hand to cradle his balls and you swooped down to capture his gasping mouth in another kiss (a very messy, open mouthed kiss that Spencer could barely pay attention to). Spencer screamed into your mouth while he painted his stomach with cum once again.
You only stopped jerking his cock once you had truly milked every last drop from him, his hips seizing up off the bed and your hand almost slipping off him completely from how sloppily wet it was with more of his cum added to the mix.
He was purely exhausted then. His eyes blinked heavily, struggling to stay open. He vaguely remembered you cleaning him off and tucking him into bed - but he definitely enjoyed falling asleep curled up next to your warmth.
…
The next morning, Spencer felt hungover.
He wondered if that’s what good sex always felt like - the combination of endorphins rushing through your body and physical exertion tackling you over. His legs were sore, as though he had run several miles. (Which wasn’t even something he could make a bold comparison to anyway, because he didn’t exercise nearly as much as he should for someone with this job). He woke up starving, grateful when you drove to a diner down the road after checking out of the motel and planted him in one of the booths before going outside to call Hotch in order to touch base with the rest of the team.
You came back with a small grin on your face.
“Turns out that tip the ex-wife gave us about their first house in Arlington was pretty solid.” You told Reid. “They caught the guy on his way there. He had another girl in the trunk. They got her back mostly unarmed, and took him into custody.”
Spencer nodded. “That’s good.”
When he moved to grab another sugar packet out of the caddy on the side of the table, three of them already open and empty beside his cup of coffee, you grabbed him by the wrist.
“That’s enough, baby.” You told him.
His stomach curled, that distinct feeling running through him again. And against his will, that word slipped out - again.
“Yes, Mommy.”
...
A/N: This is a standalone oneshot. There won't be a sequel or a continuation, so please do not ask for one. If you liked the fic, please comment about the body of work that has been written, or consider reblogging to show your appreciation. If you want to see more Spencer Reid fics that I have written, you can check out my Criminal Minds Masterlist, or you can check out my Masterlists for other fandoms to see if anything catches your eye. Thank you for reading!
#sundrop writes#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#sub!spencer#sub!spencer reid#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#criminal minds#criminal minds x you#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fic
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Never have I seen a piece of media use the "highly skilled character cannot use a computer" trope so effectively to recontextualise it's character's relationships than with Juno Steel. It's something people look over alot but it completely changes the context of him and Rita's relationship and it's GREAT. In season 1, we can make the assumption that he specifically chose a secretary as skilled as Rita as a strategic move. But as soon as we move into season 2 - and into the start of his development - we see that she's just the equivalent to his I.T. guy. He has no way to know the scale of her skill, hell, he cant turn on a computer - so it shows that he MUST value her as a person. It leads into the theme of their friendship in season 2 so well and I'm going insane.
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What makes you pretty? Pick a pile/card (PAC)
Teehee happy libra ♎️ season, the prettiest season
Top left: mulatto // bottom left: justa (@justuh-IG)
Top right: crystal westbrooks // bottom right: chan (@trapezoidmouth-IG)
“On October 3rd, he asked me what day it is…”🤭
🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍
Latto🖤🤍 (top left)
🖤keywords: glam, mixed , clean cut, dark feminine, vixen, sports illustrated
🤍I checked on Latto’s chart and her sun is 0° Capricorn and she has a lot of Sagittarius, Capricorn, and Aquarius influence. what makes you pretty off first glance is the size or shape of your bum bum lol it’s very plump and your skin and lips are soft looking. This makes people want to touch you and if you happen to attract people who are coarser with you or [TW] stalker-y then that’s why. The shade of your complexion also makes you pretty also.
🖤 You are probably considered getting work done to some part of your body or you could have already gotten work done; if not, then this is your sign. Whether the work you seek to get done to your body is cosmetic or not, you want to improve your body for your mental or physical health. You like to stay healthy and focus on beauty a lot.
🤍 you have very stern, strong, and structured features like a very nice smile, nice teeth, white teeth, or dimples. You may have a square shaped face or a heart shaped face with a small forehead or widows peak.
🖤 dark hair probably looks best on your but diff hair shades suit you and you can really pull off any color. If you like to wear your hair down it’s very feminine and gives me typical cheerleader trope with flowy or bouncy hair. If you wear your hair up it accentuates your ears, neck, and shoulders
🤍 what makes you even prettier than most not to compare but you’re a chamelon. With the theme of Lotto this is fitting because her stage name USED to be Mulatto but the term is technically derogatory, but the meaning is a mixed race person. Even tho I’ve mentioned multiple or specific races in other piles, n this group the mixing of energies makes you able to pull off multiple aesthetics. You’re definitely ambiguous and most of you are mixed, but not all of you. For those of you who are full breed you probably have a feature that isn’t likened to your race for example if you’re black you may have really fine or straight hair maybe even a very loose curl pattern. I’m even getting some of you are bald maybe you are diagnosed from alopecia (at first I said suffer from alopecia, but I changed it bc although this is a disease that is hard to deal with , I don’t want to use the word suffer bc you are so inspiring and influential to others despite the hardship you endure with this health challenge. Stay strong loves you’re very beautiful.)
🖤 what makes you pretty is your ability to control your emotions and think rationally. Being focused and goal oriented are traits that can make you prettier bc people can see that you take yourself seriously. You are able to make something out of nothing and even n the toughest situations you know what to do. Your resourcefulness makes you pretty bc it shows your wit and survival skills. You’re an innovative person in the way you maneuver thru life and you don’t rely on others to make things happen for you
🤍 what makes you pretty is how sought after you are. A lot of people demand your presence and want to be around you; most finding you to be attractive, but even if they aren’t looking to seek you romantically, a lot of them want to work with you just to have a reason to be around you. In matters of a classroom environment, others may want you to be their partner or study with them. Being around you gives others confidence and makes them feel important bc of how pretty you are. It sounds shallow only to a small minded person bc your beauty is of God’s craft. Your features are sharp yet symmetrical, making you a model of many facets.
🖤 your jaw line makes you pretty which makes me think of mercurial energy like people watch your mouth when you talk or people love your teeth and if you see people looking at your mouth during a conversation that’s why lol don’t feel awkward about it. People hang onto your every word lol you may have an accent and even tho you’re pretty you speak sternly and alot of times you tend to be sarcastic and people may find this intimidating bc they can’t tell if you’re serious or playing. they don’t know when to laugh lmao you make people feel awkward bc you have queen energy that’s like when she says jump I’m supposed to jump but idk how high to jump and I don’t want to look stupid lol. People are not afriad of you bc they feel comfortable in your energy but their afraid of how you may perceive them. People can’t help but compare themselves to you but in a good way, like if you wear a bow in your hair then when someone goes to the mall and sees sowmthing similar to what you wore like that bow they’ll get it just bc it reminds them of you and how pretty it looked when you wore it. You have that “effect”.. idk if I’m supposed to use affect or effect lol
🤍 but that’s another reason why people find you pretty bc even tho you take life seriously you don’t take YOURSELF too seriously. You’re effortlessly pretty like yea you like to dress cute and look put together, but honestly you don’t try too too hard. You’re a very simple girl but you’re about your business. It may make you sad sometimes that you may make jokes but you have dad humor so it goes over a lot of peoples heads lol. You’re especially pretty to people a lot older than you bc of your maturity and wisdom and those a lot younger than you bc you give them cougar energy even tho you’re not that old ( you could be), but to them if they were to have a crush on an “older” (than them) women you would be that gworl.
Xoxo
💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕
Justa 💕 (bottom left)
💕keywords: shapes, coquette, dainty, fairy, girly, (divine) feminine, pink, fresh, spring, winter
💕 pretty Justa is a libra sun and she is Indonesian and black. But what makes you pretty is your charm, wit, and feminine energy. When you’re pretty but not intimidating yet alluring n a way that draws people in bc you’re down to earth it hypnotizes people. You probably are clumsy or may move kind of fast, you’re the type to stubble or drop something when you’re walking out the door but don’t get it twisted you’re ALWAYS prepared. You are a triple threat (song, dance, AND act model as well) and that makes you pretty bc your talents are your hobbies and your favorite things so you shine.
💕 you’re just a girl (no pun intended) and this makes you even prettier bc to men you’re like a damsel in distress and you may or may not realize this but you attract the same gender as well even if those people aren’t normally attracted to their own gender, but it’s something about you like siren energy that gets people lost in your eyes. You have a seductive quality without trying but it’s the way the tone of your voice rises and falls. Your voice probably doesn’t match your face and that makes you pretty too bc it’s a shock factor and makes people hooked to your every word.
💕 you have no problem tapping into your dark feminine energy it’s giving me Xtina and old school 90s video vixens who are just hot for existing. Everyone wants to look like you but they can’t seem to do it quite like you bc of the features you possess esp if you’re mixed with multiple things and if you aren’t I’m hearing it’s your eyes, you probably have cute little eye bags not the scary dark ones lol but the plump ones like a baby that give you an innocent quality. How can you be so innocent, fresh, and young looking, yet sexy and seductive at the same time.
💕 you combat your sexiness by wearing girly girly stuff like coquette theme and you don’t show too much skin for the most part you’re actually modest but you give a little tease like an off the shoulder shirt revealing your collar bone or a deep plunge revealing your cleavage and bust line, or a skirt with a slit or cam micro mini revealing thigh (tbh you prob love short skirts but wear tights or leggings under) . What makes you pretty is that people would take your Instagram pictures to their cosmetologist, esthetician, or surgeon as reference. I’m getting even trans or boys who want to identify as women want to look like you bc you’re the epitome of pretty but not mainstream pretty. You have an exotic look that was probably too sexy for mainstream media, pop culture, and magazines. Some of you either have dark features OR the opposite like striking blonde hair and blue eyes and if not you could potentially look great with the opposite like if you have dark hair you’d look just as pretty with highlights or colored contacts.
💕 it’s almost scary the type of pretty you are bc people can’t help but stare at you to the point it’s rude but the way you look people have never witnessed before. Have you ever seen a gorgeous person n public randomly and it gave you a boost of energy or confidence like wow I’m n the same room as that person we must have sowmthing n common. What also makes you pretty are your mannerisms, if you’re a clutz while you’re rushing out the door, once you get yourself together I’m seeing you being very calm and controlled almost too controlled which is another reason they stare bc they can’t tell if you’re real even tho it’s quite obvious you aren’t a mannequin lol but you aren’t seen on your phone too much n public, when you’re alone you take lots of selfies and that makes you pretty bc of the self archives you have. You may do your own photo shoots n private for your socials and it’s like you have an arsenal. You probably wear a lot of black and or white with accents of pink or blue. You dramatize doll makeup with lash extensions or loads or mascara, lip plumper, and blush to make you seem flushed or embarrassed.
💕the mannerisms you posses that make you pretty are your ability to stand up straight and very still for long periods of time bc most likely you’re very focused on your surroundings taking n the ambience while others are taking you in as well. This gives me high priestess vibes bc you’re able to bask n the moment and be very present and understand the spiritual significance of the moment in time you’re in. People can see this wisdom and innate understanding when they look at you bc they see your gears moving.
💕 you look like a little doll but people don’t feel the urge to possess you or dominate you, men ofc would love to have you like a little girl would love to have a pretty doll on her shelf, but you have strong Yang energy or feminine energy that makes a man want to be balanced with you. You make men straighten up or fix their hair or clothes, you can make the manliest man blush or have sweaty palms and even stumble over his words bc there’s a depth to your eyes yet looking into them is almost like looking into the eyes of a porcelain doll. You’re often very hard to read and this makes you pretty bc nowadays a lot of girls can give off pick me energy and have no mystery to them. You aren’t overly mysterious but there’s more to you that meets the eye and it’s apparent that you’re talented in the arts whether it be that you’re a great vocalist, maybe even a poet or public speaker.
💕 it makes you pretty that you’re very involved whether that be n the community or taking your hobbies serious as in professionally. If you’ve considered going to art or fashion school or moving to a major city that’s known for music or fashion then do that bc it’s a part of your destiny. I’m seeing that wearing half up half down is very pretty on you. Your hair may be very straight and hard to curl I seen you have tried to curl it but it takes lots of products and afterwards your hair just feels heavy and greasy and all you wanna do is wash it and start over with a fresh flowy blowout. If you’re considering dying your natural hair maybe try weave alternatives first like a wig or tape ins. Esp if you’re into theatre and acting skits, don’t change your look too drastically bc with todays resources you can get a nice makeover without it being permanent.
💕 I’m skipping around about here n this group but back to community involvement, this makes you pretty bc it shows you’re not selfish like most pretty people are assumed to be. You don’t just have a maternal nature but you also have a leadership quality that allows people to trust you, you’re almost like an angel to people bc not only are you pretty but you’re sweet as molasses. You have a strong personality and this makes you pretty bc it shows that you know what you want and where you’re headed, you’re a one (wo)man band who doesn’t mind involving others along for the ride. You may have not been Regina George popular but you’re popular n the way that everyone knows you and they don’t mind indulging n a quick chat with you every few passings. You’re really pretty in jeans and boots. Esp winter and fall apparel like a winter American girl dollie lol
Xoxo
💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙
Crystal 💙 (top right)
💙 keywords: passionate, resourceful, loved, loving, gentle, flower child, bohemian
💙 she is mixed with black, Native American, Mexican, creole, and some Asian descent. She is a Pisces sun but I mistook her for a cancer. When I looked at her chart she had a LOT of fire energy which I was slightly surprised by because on her social media she doesn’t usually talk or SAY much she’s more of a re-poster.
💙 it’s pretty when you try to tan or go outside in the sun bc for some reason your face may not tan much or stay tan for long but the rest of your body including your neck stays darker than your face
💙 if your hair is big that is bold and makes you stand out even if you’re introverted or shy and you may always wonder why people talk to you when you may not feel mentally prepared to engage in conversation but your hair draws people in if you were ever wondering. The thickness or length of your hair makes people want to get a closer look bc of the contrast from your hair color and pale face. Browns and blondes can look the best on you whereas darker colors like black hair and dark browns can make you looked washed out.
💙 you may not wear a lot of makeup which makes you extremely pretty bc you probably indulge in a lot of skincare or maybe you wear makeup that looks so natural as if you’re not wearing any like a boy beat makeup look that isn’t full coverage but accentuates your natural beauty features, try to only wear mascara, lip gloss and stain, and blush. There’s almost no color match for your skin youd have to mix at least 2 or more shades to get your right skin match bc you have different undertones esp once you go out in the sun. This could be due to you being multiple ethnicities.
💙 your mouth is pretty expect people probably never see your teeth bc don’t smile with them and you could be shy about showing your teeth or being overly expressive. Having too many emotions in public can make you feel embarrassed which is cute to others bc it makes you come off as mysterious. You remind me of tangled how her hair is always in your face, your hair is like a curtain shielding and protecting you from the outside world but ofc that only makes people more curious
💙 I feel like tones of chestnut brown like Ariana grande brown hair tone or auburn and reds suit you, also maybe thinner or natural brows. Try mascara instead of lashes and if you don’t wear either mascara could elevate your natural beauty and maybe even brown eyeliner instead of black. Your hair could be prettier up and off of your shoulders and out of your face either like a messy bun/updo or a pineapple style.
💙 you look pretty when you show your legs or arms and people pay attention to your hands as well they’re very dainty and maternal as if you give good massages or people daydream of you playing n their hair 😆.. try a French manicure or a clear polish and if you don’t do polish do not bite your nails start carrying around a nail file instead and give your nails a square or almond shape. You look pretty n neutrals like browns and beiges. Gold jewelry also accentuates your beauty but necklaces instead of earrings. The type of pretty you are is you’re extremely naturally beautiful but accessories take away from that and it clashes. For the most part if you already don’t do too much n that aspect then this is confirmation.
💙 side note this isn’t about physical feature but it’s makes you more attractive that you aren’t seen around large groups unless it’s for family. I see you probably are a loner who likes to eat at restaurants alone and read or scroll on your phone and you enjoy your own company. This makes you pretty bc it gives off self assurance and that you aren’t caught up in the joneses of clout chasing and trying to be seen amongst the cool crowds, instead you walk alone and people-watch. Although you’re reserved, around the right folks you’re deff goofy and that makes you pretty bc since you’re so quiet for the most part you’re seen having fun giggling at those around you which makes you down to earth and trustworthy. Girl you’re fine asf and you prob like vintage or thrift shopping. I see a very old Hollywood when you dress up but mix and match in your daily dress like a soccer jersey that’s from the little boys section or that you tied n the back with a rubber band and some sports shorts and maybe doc margins, vans, or ballet flats. You’re so girly and cutesy, but dress like a tomboy sometimes even tho you aren’t and people know this bc you’ll carry around a dainty purse and probably rock shades when you’re out bc you have something with your eyes like astigmatism lol it reminds me of how Ariana Grande is always squinting bc she can’t see LOL that makes you pretty tho xoxo
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Chantel💟@trapezoidmouth (bottom right)
💟 keywords: soft, dainty, warm tones, pastels, versatile, round and petite features but feminine and curvy physique, sparkly, sensual
💟 Chan is a Sagittarius sun, I’m not sure her chart details but she has a very curvy yet petite frame and a small shaped face which is typically attributed with the planet mercury.
💟 you could have a way with words and thing things that you say and or the way you say them makes people laugh. You’re witty, yet down to earth so you know how to crack a GOOD joke, even if you’re not trying to. Due to your dry humor, sacrastic tone, social ques, and emotional intelligence you have a personality and intellect that people don’t come across everyday. You’re like a fictional sitcom character with a really good script. From a pretty lady like yourself …
💟 you’re a doll to where people want to dress you. You may not know this but in the traditional old fashioned way that women would be spotted by industry talent agencies bc they wanted to see that particular person in their clothing brand or representing their label is because of look that person had. You are very editorial and a fantasy/traditional Victoria’s Secret vibes to those wanting to dress you but not in a trendy way rather a trendsetting way. For example when new Bratz would have edgy and over the top outfits that you didn’t see everyday and you’re prob the person that experiments with clothing and have always done so by putting together pieces in a cool way which breaks the mold and makes others more comfortable with being quirky in their dressing instead of waiting for mainstream media to give the “ok” with particles looks first. Just as much as people love to see you wear the most high fashion they imagine what you’d look like nude as well.
💟 I see you having a defined back or an arched back or even back dimples. If you have wide hips or love handles this makes you pretty bc it gives the child bearing appearance that makes you seem more maternal. Being more maternal means you’re caring and people can see this in your eyes as well. Your eyes could be intimidating and I feel like you don’t mske a lot of eye contact with people in person. People are not offended by this bc you give off the energy that you’re always busy doing something or too busy for the convo. Most people would find this rude, but with you people are happy to just be in your presence or even be seen within feet or you bc you’re so gorgeous.
💟 if you have an uneven skin tone or discoloration (vitiligo, tan, sun spots, freckles, hyperpigmentation) it’s very pretty and some people may try to hyper focus in on how many hues you have or compare and contrast the different shades of your skin tone. The people who get close enough to you to analyze you (as they always do you may just not notice it) try to inspect small things about you that they could remember later to help them visualize you after you leave bc people crush on you hard . People could notice when you get goosebumps and that turns them on bc that very human nature makes you feel more personified even tho to people you are a fantasy or a fictional character in the flesh
💟 Jessica rabbit, Lola bunny, and Betty boop are all vibes you remind people of due to the pure innocent nature of the feminine needing masculine energy to counterbalance.. men view them as fragile and weak to where they could overtake them or almost pick them up and take them away and even tho you may be dainty or petite, people wouldn’t dare harm you bc they assume that there are lots of strong masculine figures in your life bc your demeanor exudes that. And even if that isn’t the case, there is a masculine ancestor or spirit guide who is fighting for you on the spiritual plane to protect you. Even tho you a divine feminine, your masculine and feminine qualities are balanced.
💟 aside from your face and body frame, your limbs particularly make you pretty, it’s the way they move when you talk or walk, like water. (Tyla) you’re prettiest in clothing that accentuate your body no matter your frame as long as the skin is covered for example a body con, or long sleeve, or a skims type dress, or all black leggings and title neck with long riding boots and cute accessories. Obvi you’re hot no pun intended (from being clothed head to toe LOL jk) in anything you wear but you’re most attractive n that style bc it accentuates your limbs. Particularly your hands are slender and men could imagine what your hand would look like with a wedding ring. If men grab your feet when you’re chatting with your crush on the couch it’s bc you have cute toes. Your teeth are pretty and white, but continue to take care of your gum health and whiten your teeth more to charm men.
💟 long wavy hair is pretty on you if you haven’t tried it I would suggest that in maybe extensions or a wig BUT if you want to do something different try curly and super short and if you’re thinking abo it chopping your hair off then this is a sign, the pixie length with your dainty facial features would eat downnnn. As far as makeup peach tones, browns, and golds will bring out your complexions and undertones in your skin. Also I see wavy hairstyles are pretty on you as well
Xoxo
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Ps this is a LATE libra ♎️ season post 🤭 oopsie happy Scorpio ♏️ season xoxo 💋
———————————————————Tip Jar 🍪
#channeled message#oracle message#tarot#pisces#aquarius#aries#cancer#capricorn#gemini#libra#pac reading#pac#pick a pile#pick a card#tarot tumblr#free tarot#tarotblr#tarot reading#daily tarot#leo#virgo#scorpio#sagittarius#taurus
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New Year's Surprise
Jack Daniels x plus size female reader
Co-written with @absurdthirst
Rating: E for Explicit! 18+
Word Count: 18.7k
Warnings: Cursing, alcohol, internalized fatphobia, self esteem issues, pining, meddlesome friends, unwanted attention from a male coworker, light spanking, praise, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, Jack likes being scratched up, reader is described as having fingernails long enough to scratch (no specific length given), the love is requited they're just idiots.
Summary: Ginger has a plan to get you and Jack to admit you have feelings for each other. She did not anticipate just how well it would work...
Notes: Happy almost New Year everyone! Enjoy a little more winter seasonal smut and fluff from us to you 🥂🍾✨
"You're sure it's not too much, Ging?" Turning in front of the full-length mirror in Ginger's apartment, you inspect the glittering black cocktail dress that your friend helped you pick out at the mall during all those after-Christmas sales she promised you that you would find something at. She was right, like she always is, but now that the dress is on you, you're wondering if you haven't made a mistake. If it's not too revealing, or too short, or too tight.
Whoever in HR came up with this insane Cowboys and Flappers theme for the company New Year's Eve party deserved to have their head examined. You're not the femme fatale agent that gets sent out to seduce men and collect their secrets. Few men out there in the world are ever really seduced by the chubby girl in any given scenario, but it did tend to make you invisible. Invisible women can slip in and out of buildings in literally any kind of uniform and get through security without ever being harassed, and that works to your advantage on almost every case. Unfortunately, it also means that for the five years you've been a Statesman agent, you've also been fairly invisible to the man you've developed feelings for.
It’s perfect.” No matter how many times Ginger Ale tells you that you are sexy just the way you are, that insecurity gets the best of you. “I’m telling you, you will have every eye in the place.”
“I doubt it.” You sigh in the mirror and smooth your hands over the sequined dress one more time. “But that’s okay. I don’t want every set of eyes…”
“I know what set of eyes you want on you.” Your taste in men is your own, and Ginger won’t fault you for it, but she wonders why Jack. “It might do the man good to know that he’s got competition.” You don’t believe her when she says that it’s more telling that Jack doesn’t hit on you, but it’s the truth.
“He doesn’t, though.” Shrugging, you turn away from the mirror and decide to just go on with the night. Wishing won’t make it real and Jack Daniels barely looks at you. Even though you’ve partnered on cases, spend time together in and out of the office, and are arguably friends in every true sense? You’ve always wanted more with him. The only person who knows is Ginger, though, and you prefer to keep it that way since Jack will never return your affection. “And that’s…it is what it is. Even if you’re the only person I dance with tonight, it’ll still be fun.”
“Wearing that dress?” Ginger snorts as she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I’ll have the faith for both of us, how about that?” She knows that Jack won’t be able to resist you tonight, not when she’s lined up a few of the junior agents to dance with you already. It’s time that Jack settles down and finds some happiness, and what better time than the New Year?
******
While you easily could have had the party at Statesman considering the size of the grounds, Champ wouldn’t hear of it. He’s hosting the damn thing himself come hell or high water, in his favourite suit with his wife dressed to the 9’s in her flapper dress, and more caterers than you’ve ever seen in your life all making his early twentieth century coal baron’s mansion look as resplendent as the day it was built. The place is palatial, with a ballroom so big that the band he’s hired looks tiny in one corner despite being six-men strong. It’s music and liquor and appetizers passing by on trays when you and Ginger walk through the door, and you gasp at how nice it all looks.
“I know he does it every year,” you sigh to your best friend. “But the theme is always different and I swear somehow the house always looks better on new year’s.”
“Champ does know how to throw one hell of a party.” She agrees, snagging two glasses of champagne from a waiter as she walks by. Her own sleek flapper dress is a vivid purple, making her beautiful skin glow and for tonight, she’s wearing contacts. Her short hair is perfectly styled, a cap like illusion, highlighted with the crystal headband she’s picked. “To a New Year we will never forget.” She hands you one glass and adds, “or regret.”
“You’re certainly optimistic.” You flash her and grin and tap the rim of your glass against hers. “Finally going to talk to Alicia or is this just positive vibes?” It’s been two years since Ginger started crushing on the woman who supervises Statesman campus tours and visitor experience, but she hasn’t made a move yet. Being frozen in place with someone you care about is something the two of you have in common.
“Positive vibes.” She huffs, rolling her eyes and trying to change the subject. “Look! There’s Tequila!” She waves the younger agent over to where you are standing. “You made it! Didn’t think you were ever gonna get back from Brazil, or if you wanted to.” She adds with a grin.
“Those are two very different questions.” Tequila agrees with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. Did he have to come back? Sure. But did he want to leave the comfort and luxury of that beautiful woman’s bed? Not at all. “But I would not have missed dancing with you ladies for the world,” he adds with a wink. He’s very much in on Ginger’s plan, after all, and is looking forward to the fireworks it will bring.
You fluster slightly at his words, but Ginger knows that you don’t have your cap set on Tequila. You just don’t handle compliments well. “You’ll have to get in line.” Ginger warns him with a smirk. “As good as Rye looks tonight, every man in here is going to want a dance. After I dance with her first.”
“Well I reckon I’ll have to be second, then.” Tequila puts in a playful pout. “But only because I would never deny Miss Ginger Ale gettin to be first.” He smiles again and tips his hat, having opted to wear his best Stetson with an elegant Kingsman suit. “You don’t have to,” you insist, knowing Tequila always has more choices of dance and bedroom partners than he could ever feasibly make his way through. “I’m sure you have other people you want to dance with tonight.”
“No one important.” Tequila smirks as he drags his eyes up and down your outfit and whistles slowly. “And no one nearly as pretty.” He promises.
“Liar.” Though you roll your eyes at him, you don’t protest anymore than that. He’s your friend, after all. And if he wants to waste his time dancing with you, you’ll just enjoy it. Tequila’s a fantastic dancer, after all.
“Never lie to you, honey.” Tequila croons, taking your hand and lifting it to his lips. “Lie about what?” The voice comes from your left and all eyes swing that way.
“Jack!” Normally you know he’s coming. The smell of earthy, expensive cologne and the tap-click-shuffle of his boots on polished floors. The soft humming he gets up to when he’s pleased with himself, not quite melodic but endearing because it means he’s happy. But you sensed none of that just now, too caught up in the band playing and the fragrant flowers and the tickle of bubbly in your nose and throat. “Nothing. We were just talking about dancing…” He looks like a dream, and it makes you sick to your stomach and elated all at once. Another night of watching him fawn over every woman but you is what you’ve resigned yourself to putting up with, but it’s just rude of him to look so damn handsome in that black velvet double breasted suit and sleek black Stetson while he does it.
“Dancing, hum?” His eyes narrow slightly at the grip Tequila has on your hand and he wants to reach out and slap it away, but he just shoots everyone an easy grin. “Ready to cut a rug tonight, eh?”
"I guess so." The shyness that threatens to shoot straight through you is knocked off kilter by Ginger, who hoots in response. "She's got her dance card all filled up already, Whiskey. Should've gotten here earlier," she tells him with a smirk.
His mustache ticks, it’s the only change to his facial expression. “I’m sure Rye can squeeze me in.” His dark amber eyes slide over to you and swipe up and down your body. “Can’t you, sugar?”
"Of course." You'd throw over the whole goddamn list for him. Besides, you have no idea what Ginger could possibly mean by saying your 'card' is full. One dance with her and one with Tequila isn't a full anything. "Of course I can."
“Good. Then how about I refresh you ladies’ drinks?” Jack asks, slapping Tequila on the back a little rougher than necessary. “Come help me with that.”
"Sure." Tequila grunts, throwing you a confused expression like he can't figure out why the hell Jack needs help getting champagne when waiters with trays are everywhere, but he shoots Ginger a secret smirk before following Jack into the next room where the open bar is set up.
“Tonight will be perfect.” Ginger predicts with a smug grin as she watches the two men walk towards the open bar. .
“What the hell are you doin’, flirtin’ with Rye?” Jack’s easy grin falls away and his brows knit together as soon as his back is turned to you. “You know that girl ain’t your type.”
"I can't be nice to my friend?" Tequila asks, pretending to be positively aghast that Jack would suggest he's up to anything else. One hand ever goes to his chest with a dramatic gasp.
Jack’s eyes cut towards the other agent, a frown on his face. “It’s one goddamn thing to be nice, it’s another to flirt.”
"When did I flirt?" The younger agent counters, knowing full well that's what he was doing but not about to admit it because he wants to make Jack stew.
“You were flirtin’ the second you can outta your momma, but you gotta learn there’s certain girls you don’t do that shit with.” Jack growls, stopping in front of the bar and holding up two fingers. “Double 62 Triple Barreled.” He orders, wanting one of the rare whiskeys that Champ had broken out tonight. “And two champagnes.”
"Now, why is that, Jack?" Tequila hums, looking down at his friend. Jack isn't too much shorter than him, but just enough to annoy the older agent on occasion. "Why is Rye one of those girls?"
“Because…” that’s where his argument ends, because there’s not really a reason beyond his own feelings. “It’s…unprofessional.” He decides. “She’s an agent for Christ’s sake.”
Tequila snorts at this string of logic, accepting his drink from the pretty bartender with a wink and sliding a large bill into the tip glass on the bar top before looking back at Jack. "That's a load of horse shit and you know it, Daniels. You fucking know it."
He does know it, but he snatches his own drink up and rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He hates that his stomach twists and he wonders if you had been flirting back. Looking over his shoulder at where you are standing, he clenches his jaw at the tassels that are swaying every time you move. “Don’t get her damn hopes up.” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “We both know you ain’t gonna fuck her.”
"Nor does she want me to." This is gonna be a hell of a lot easier than he and Ginger thought, if Jack is always so fuckin wound up over you and he only just arrived for the night. "I ain't the one she has her eye on and everybody with eyes knows it."
Jack ignores that, huffing to himself as he tries to hid the fucking jealousy that curls in his gut at whoever you do have your eye on. Lucky son of a bitch. “No fuckin’ talkin’ to you, hardheaded S.O.B.” The champagne glasses are in front of him and he downs the rest of the drink to slap the crystal glass down and snatch up the flutes. Turning around without another word and stalking across the room towards you and Ginger.
It's only one room he has to cross, but by the time he gets there, Agent Brandy has sidled up beside you and Ginger and has his fingers ever so subtly on your elbow while bends his head and puts all his focus directly on you.
Halfway across the room, Jack jerks to a halt and growls, shaking his head as he resumes the walk and forces a moderately friendly smile on his face. “Didn’t think you’d be back from Korea, Don.” He interrupts as he arrives back at your group.
"Two days ago." Brandy flashes a smile in Jack's general direction but keeps his focus on you. "Glad I made it back in time, too. Champ throws a hell of a party."
His eye twitches but Jack nods. “Yeah he does. Shoulda brought that little gal you were seein’. Brandy. Brenda right? Or was it Bambi?” He shrugs. “Maybe all of them at once, knowin’ you.”
"Now don't be unkind, Jack." Brandy's eyes cut over to the older agent and Brandy offers what could be considered a modestly dramatic pout. "Or Rye might think the worst of me and throw me over for that dance I just got promised."
Jack seethes beneath the smile on his face. “Would hate for that to happen.” He lies, handing Ginger one of the glasses and then offers the other to you.
The glass is offered with a smile and you thank Jack, savoring even the tiniest moment of contact between brushing fingers as he hands it over. It's probably bordering on pathetic, how long you've carried this torch for Jack, and it seems like Ginger is really trying to encourage you tonight to come out of your shell tonight but you just don't know. As nice as everyone is being, it doesn't feel right. The only thing that feels right is when you're around Jack. It's just a damn shame that he doesn't feel the same.
It’s almost painful how the simple, innocent touch affects him. Now visceral his reaction is. Only the training that Statesman has given him keeps him from showing anything. “Well,” he hates to tear himself away, but he can’t be around you for too long. “I better go talk to Champ about some cases he wants worked tomorrow.” He offers.
"It's a party," you remind him, smile flickering as he steps back. Obviously the small touch that you'll be savoring for the rest of the night has had the opposite effect on him. But there's no need to show that. Not when it's fully expected that he doesn't want to be around you when there are plenty of other people to talk to and women to dance with. "Don't work too hard, okay?"
“Never do,” he nods at everyone and turns around and skedaddles over to Champ like his pants are on fire.
"Come on," Ginger loops her arm through yours and lends Brandy a smirk that you don't notice — you're too busy trying not to look after Jack. "Let's go dance, honey. The night is young and we are looking far too good not to show off."
Champ eyes Jack as he stops by his side. “Figured you’d have a gal in your arms by now.” He huffs as he reaches out to shake Jack’s hand. “Losing your touch?” Jack snorts. “When have I ever lost my touch?” He asks, pointedly refusing to look back over towards you. “Just surveying my prospects.”
"And how is Agent Rye this evening?" Champ doesn't even have to look to know that that's where Jack has just come from. He blew into the room so quickly that it's the only explanation for the fire in his heels.
“Don’t you start with me.” Jack groans, shaking Champ’s hand and huffing. “Far as I know, she’s dandy.”
"Why should I not start?" Champ knows damn well why not, but he enjoys riling up his friend. "Somebody beat me to the punch?"
“Every-goddamn-body here tonight is actin’ like they’ve never seen the woman in a dress.” He snorts, complaining about it even though he has already memorized the way the damned sequined dress clings to your curves and enhances them in ways that should be criminal. “It’s damned ridiculous and borderline workplace harassment.”
Smirking, Champ pours two glasses of his preferred Statesman 1972 Select, savoring the smoked cherry notes from that particular year. He hands one cut crystal glass over to Jack with his tongue set firmly in his cheek. "You know you'd be a hell of a lot less mad if you just asked the lady to dance your damn self."
The glare Jack cuts Champ is withering and he turns his head as he takes a sip, refusing to rebuff the remark. It seems like everyone is taking the piss with him tonight as Eggsy would say. (edited)
"She's allowed to have fun, ya know." Champ goes on, humming the thought as though the glare Jack just shot him wouldn't have struck a lesser man dead in his tracks. "Damn shame she hasn't set her cap on anyone. Big family dreams, that gal has. Always has. It'll be a damn shame when she finally decides to hang up her pistols and have a family, but I won't let her get farther than the training ring. Too good of an agent to just let her retire."
“Is there a point to your ramblings?” Jack grumbles. “Or are you just spouting shit tonight?”
"Do what I want in my own house." The older man chuckles heartily and claps Jack on one shoulder. "Got a couple of jobs to start the new year with. Come see me tomorrow and we'll figure out which one's yours."
He’s being dismissed and since Champ is also giving him hell, Jack quickly nods and walks off. Trying to walk around the ostentatious ballroom without looking at you. “Hello handsome.” A perfectly manicured hand drapes itself over his shoulder and the scent of gardenias and sandalwood fills his nostrils. “Tiffany.”
Like a bloodhound on a trail, you spot it from across the ballroom without even trying to. Twirling around with Ginger, your eyes catch sight of the gorgeous, skinny, leggy blonde who has let herself drape over Jack's side and you sigh. Deflate is probably the right word, but you remind yourself it was never going to happen anyway and just hold on to Ginger as the song comes to an end.
“What’s a tall, dark, handsome drink of water like you doin’ all by your lonesome?” She purrs, making him hide the wince he had at the put on accent of hers. She’s as southern as tofu and yet she tries to make it sound like she’s grown up around here. Still, she’s a distraction and the best part about it is that there’s no emotional strings. “Looks like I should be buyin’ you a drink, darlin’.”
"I wish you would," she puts on a too-high giggle and bats eyelashes heavy with mascara and augmented with false hairs. Laying it on thick, she pushes in even closer and lets her body fit against his with nothing left to the imagination.
Jack doesn’t feel anything but he paints a cocky smirk on his face as he turns to her. “Then let me go get something for you, what do you want, darlin’?”
“Champagne, of course,” she simpers, never once considering the fact that she’s at a party for a whiskey distillery. Hell, she hadn’t even dressed for the theme.
Tiffany hangs out at the bar Statesman regularly hangs out at. A groupie because she knows everyone there makes good money. He’d bet his bottom dollar she conned Scotch into bringing her.
“Some party.” Is her attempt at conversation, putting more effort into showing off her cleavage than completing sentences. “You distillery boys sure know how to treat your gals.”
“Of course we do.” Jack’s smile is wicked, but it’s a part of the persona he adopts when he is working a target, it’s not real. “Any gal of mine deserves to be treated right.”
“Is that an invitation?” She knows who Jack is. Knows the civilian job title he’s been at Statesman Distillery. Even if she knew what it was all a front for, she likely wouldn’t care. She might just try harder if she knew the real wealth being flung around between a lot of these people.
“Now sweetheart, I’m good for a night or two.” Jack drawls. “But I’ve got a lot of leavin’ left to do.” He hums, quoting the country song.
The pout on Tiffany’s face is both dramatic and pronounced, but seeing that he’s immovable in that point — and knowing his reputation — she makes a small sound of frustrated disgust before flouncing away. Apparently annoyed at having wasted her time on a line cowboy.
The huff that Jack lets out is one of pure relief. Happy that he won’t have to deal with her again for at least half the night. She might make her way back around depending on successful she is. It’s shameful to say, but most of the agents here have dallied with her, including Jack. However, he had only taken her home to satisfy a physical need. He slowly makes his way back to the bar to order another drink, not champagne.
His line of sight is unfortunate as he saunters back toward the open bar. Looking back out to the dance floor, he can see Tequila twirling you around and the two of you laughing as the younger man holds you close and mock-sings along with the band.
Jack’s frown is deep, furrowing his brow as he cuts his eyes away in a jealous huff.
It goes round and round like that for most of the night. One dance partner after the next sweeps you across the dance floor but never the partner you want. One beautiful woman after another sidles up to Jack and bats their eyelashes but none are the woman he actually wants at his side. It’s a three-ring-circus. A whirlwind. But you never seem to get close enough to each other to see that neither of you is actually having any fun.
It’s easy to have an arm around a woman, easy to smile and flirt. His eyes continuously find you on the dance floor. Ginger had been right apparently, you had a damn dance card that was slap full. He hisses under his breath, wondering how many of those men knew you bit your thumb when you were working out a problem or that your eyes changed to a lighter shade when you were feeling slightly bashful.
There isn’t a single night of your life where you’ve gotten this much attention from this many different men — or this many different people period — and while it’s fun in a whirlwind sort of way, you do find yourself clock-watching. Wondering why your fellow agents all seem to be paying you so many compliments tonight and why you sort of feel like Cinderella at the ball without a hint of the real Prince Charming, the closer it gets to midnight the more you’re thinking of just going home. The last thing you want is to glance across the ballroom at midnight and see Jack tangled up in a midnight kiss with some petite redhead or statuesque model with perfect curls. You’ll be happier skipping out early and being in your pjs with a book at midnight than you will be witnessing that.
It’s fucking infuriating to have so many people come between him and you. Every dang time he untangles himself to break in on your dance with some partner, Ginger, Tequila or Champ waylay him. He’s never had such a hard time getting to chat with you and it’s making him slowly unravel his temper. “Ah Jack, there you are.” He sighs and paints on a smile when Champ claps his back and shoves a drink in his hand. “Forgot to mention somethin’….” His eyes slide away from you laughing as you are spun around, bitter to be stonewalled again.
“Well if it ain’t the gol’dern Belle of the Ball.” The voice you hear behind you is the one person you were hoping to avoid tonight, and as you’ve just finished dancing with one of the guys from the technology department who you didn’t even think knew your name, there’s no escaping. Agent Vodka is one of those older men who doesn’t realize that James Bond is just a character and that no one drags that persona into their everyday life. He routinely ‘flirts’ with you like he’s bestowing you a huge goddamn favor for even looking in your direction, and you were genuinely hoping to avoid him tonight.
Vodka is handsome in a classical sense, some would say a silver fox, if he had a better attitude. As it stands, there’s a confused tilt to his Stetson adorned head and he rakes his eyes up and down your body in a very calculated gaze. “You musta cleaned up for hours. Getting ready for a good night.”
“Sure. I guess so.” You nod, tone polite but dismissive. Vodka has a tendency to interpret friendly as begging for hands to be put on you, and the last thing you want to do is encourage him. “Happy new year, Vodka.”
“Seems like Whiskey and I have been the only ones not with you tonight.” He intones, smirking slightly. “Guess you was savin’ the best for last, huh? Since Jack’s hangin’ all over the ladies, I’ll step in and claim this dance.” He doesn’t ask for permission, just stepping up to you and grabbing your waist.
“That’s really okay.” Reeling backward, Vodka is strong but your self-defense training is a hell of a lot better, and you twist in his grip to make sure he can’t get a solid hold on you no matter how hard he tries. “Appreciate the offer,” you huff, trying to push him away. “But I was just heading home.”
“Oh don’t be that way.” Vodka huffs and manages to pull you close. “Believe me, dancin’ ‘s just a prelude to what we can do later.”
“Which is exactly why I don’t want to dance with you.” You push back against him again, leveraging your elbow against his side to loosen his grip with a sharp shot to his liver. This has gone too far and is hovering on ruining the night — which has been fairly fun despite its lack of your favorite cowboy and coworker.
“Jack-“ Ginger doesn’t bother apologizing as she taps his shoulder and points out to the dance floor. “Why don’t you go save Rye?” She huffs.
At this point it’s obvious that it’s a struggle. People are giving you extra space on the dance floor as they realize what’s happening but for whatever godforsaken reason, no one has stepped in yet. Probably because they’re too shocked that Vodka has finally crossed the line into being physically inappropriate instead of just saying uncomfortable things.
“Sugar, I’m sorry I’m late for our dance.” Jack slaps his hand down on Vodka’s shoulder and digs his fingers into the fleshy muscle. Getting satisfaction from the immediate change in the man’s stance. “Don’t mind if I interrupt, do ya?” His tone is friendly, but there’s a warning woven in the words. Dark eyes turn towards you as you quickly step back from the other man’s grasp.
“Wouldn’t have thought you’d keep a dame waitin’.” Vodka mumbles, all sheepishness and apology now that he realizes he’s infringed on another man’s territory.
Jack doesn’t rip into the man like he wants to, everyone else is starting to relax and resume the party. “You probably need to lay off the liquor.” He tells the other agent, not really caring for the man either.
“You forget who we work for, Daniels?” Vodka huffs, giving Jack the stink eye. “Not like you go easy, either.”
“Last time I checked, I took no for an answer, Robbins.” Jack turns his back after letting Vodka go and sweeps you into his arms, effectively dismissing him.
The room damn near erupts into applause, chattering all around you erupting out of uncomfortable silence, but you don’t hear it. You don’t even see Tonic and Champ escorting Vodka out of the ballroom with the utmost immediacy so the dressing-down can be vocal and private. All you see is Jack, and all you hear is Jack. Even as quiet as he is, the huff he gives as he scoops you up and twirls you away speaks volumes. “Jack, you—you didn’t have to—” Of course, if he hadn’t, you’re not sure you could’ve gotten away so cleanly. “Thank you.”
“Don’t think a thing of it, sugar.” Although he has a few harsh words rolling around for everyone who didn’t step in. It’s like they were waiting for something. Alcohol’s done made their brains addled. “Although my own apologies for manhandling you to get you outta that sticky situation.” Even though he’s apologizing, he starts to lead you in a dance.
“I really don’t mind.” And that is the understatement of the goddamn year, as you instinctively melt against Jack the second he starts to move.
“Still…..” There’s finally a bit of happiness to the evening and he smirks down at you. “Now you can say your dance card has been filled.”
“Could’ve left Vodka off it completely,” you grumble lightly, but you still end up smiling. When Jack looks at you in almost any way you just light up from the inside. It’s instinctual.
“Don’t know what got into him.” Jack huffs, even though he’s saved you from encounters like that before.
“His namesake, most likely.” He had smelled like it, at least. A fact which added no charm whatsoever to your encounter. “Really, Jack. Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Jack nods. “Sugar, you know that I know you are a capable agent. You coulda mopped the floor with him, but I’ll always give you whatever help you need.”
“I prefer not to bring hand-to-hand combat to Champ’s front door if I can help it.” If you let yourself really chew on the fancy, you could imagine Jack as rescuing you like a knight in armor. Like you were his to protect. “Not sure how much he’d appreciate that, regardless of how capable I am.”
“I think you’d find Champ more forgivin’ than you think.” He snorts, reminding himself of his own major fuck up just a few years prior. Champ had forgiven him and allowed him to regain the trust and confidence that he had destroyed through his own bling grief and rage.
“Maybe.” Jack certainly knows your boss better than you do even after several years with the agency, so you’ll differ from him. “But I’m glad to not have to find out. And…” The rest of the thought gets swallowed, and you cut your eyes away from him in embarrassment. There are some things better left unsaid and normally you’re so good at keeping your mouth shut.
“And?” Jack frowns slightly, not liking that you are holding back with him. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”
“It’s nothing,” you promise him, shaking your head and acting like it isn’t the biggest, most honest confession in the world from you that sets your cheeks on fire and makes you even more bashful around him. “I’m just…glad I got to dance with you. That’s all.”
“You didn’t think you were going to dance out the old year without ole Jack now, did ya?” He sounds pouty that you would even think that.
"Honestly?" Shrugging slightly even with one of his hands splayed across your back and the other holding yours tenderly against his chest, you wonder how ever you ever manage to keep a damn thing to yourself with him around when your mind just sort of seems to melt in his presence. "I was going to split and ring in the new year in my bed with the book I've been reading."
Jack frowns and shakes his head, not agreeing with your plans in the slightest. “Now that seems like a waste.” He draws. “Mighty fine night to spend readin’ a book. You should be doin’ other things.”
"Not a lot of other options to pick from," you mumble, trying to force your mind away from immediately conjuring the mental images and repeated daydreams of doing just about everything under the sun with — and to — him.
Jack wants to protest that, but the song starts to close out and you almost stop in your tracks. Obviously believing that he will end the dance now that Vodka is gone and the set is done. Instead of dropping your hands, he pulls you tighter against him. “Is that why you wore a dress like that, sugar? ‘Cause you didn’t have any options?”
"Ginger picked it out." Wrongly assuming it to be an indictment of the choice, you frown reflexively and wonder why he's still holding on to you. The trouble is over and the song is done. Shouldn't he be finding someone better to spend his time with? "I know it's...it's not right. Flapper dresses are designed for women who look the opposite of me. But she insisted on sticking to the theme."
“Opposite of you?” He makes a face of utter confusion. “What are you talkin’ ‘bout? Dress looks good, fits you.” Maybe you have a shit ton of pins in the dress? His sweet wife would always have to pin her dresses to get them to fit right. Nearly every night they went out, he was helping her pin it just so.
Skinny is what you meant, but instead of saying so you just chew your lip and shake your head. Voicing that out loud would really just cement the ruination of the night and you don't want to do that. "Never mind," you insist instead. "I'm glad you like it." Even if he's just saying it to be nice, which you're sure he is, it's still nice to hear.
There’s something bugging him about the way you continuously quit talking and get around what you mean. The next song starts to play and Jack moves to that slightly faster tempo. “No one’s breakin’ in yet, sugar. So I’m keepin’ you unless you need a break?”
"No." Not from him. You would never, ever ask for a break from him. "No, I'm good." In fact, you've been so distracted by the rescue that you haven't noticed midnight creeping ever-closer. "I don't want a break."
Jack smiles, not the cocky smirk he adopts or the charming playboy facade that he uses on women like Tiffany. This is a genuine smile, one that makes his dimple show with a flash of white teeth and the crow’s feet around his eyes appear. “Then let’s dance, sugar.”
Champ chuckles when he sidles up beside Ginger with a fresh glass of champagne for each of them and his wife on his other arm, all ready to lead the midnight countdown after this song is over. "Took all damn night," he laughs to his co-conspirator. "And ya had to pull out the big gun with Vodka. But look at 'em."
“Man huffed and puffed at being used.” Ginger rolls her eyes and curls her lip. “But I promised him the Antarctic assignment. It will seem like punishment to everyone else and apparently he’s romancing one of the scientists down there.” Personally, she doesn’t see why anyone would be romanced by Vodka, but to each their own.
"It's for a damn good cause." Champ stifles a guffaw and even his wife looks amused at the way everything went down. "Everybody deserves to be happy, don't they? Even Vodka." It earns another snort from the older man and he aims a smirk at Ginger. "So what's the plan from here, Ging?"
“If Jack will get off his ass, there should be a kiss at midnight.” Ginger grins. “And maybe, just maybe, the dumbass will realize that it’s okay to want her. She wants him too.”
"Of course she does." Everybody knows that. Everybody with eyes and sense in their head, anyway. "He's just been stuck in the whole of his own grief for far too damn long. It's about time he broke free. Which is exactly why I went along with this plan of yours."
“I’m glad you did. Jack’s felt so guilty about actually developing feelings for Rye that he’s convinced himself that it’s wrong to flirt with her.” She takes a sip of her champagne. “When he breaks, it’ll be entertaining.”
"Entertaining for all of us." Grinning, Champ holds his glass out to his partner in crime in salute. "I sure as hell hope it happens right here for all of us to see."
Unaware that he’s being plotted against, Jack continues to hold you in his arms, taking you around the dance floor and trying to keep from asking too many questions that would potentially ruin his easy relationship with you. “Have you had fun? Other than Vodka? Your feet have to be killin’ you, all the dances you’ve been movin’ to.”
“It’s alright, I’ll have a hot bath and soak them. Aside from the one little interruption, everything’s been so nice.” This is the best part, without a doubt. Attention from other people is a novelty, the compliments and laughter a kind change of pace. But any time spent with Jack will always out do any other experience.
“A nice hot soak and a drink is always good to unwind.” Jack hums. “If other activities aren’t available.” The comment is warm, almost suggestive as he twists you around and then pulls you close again, feeling your softness against him and enjoying it.
It’s the worst kind of gut punch, hearing a comment like that from Jack, and your eyes are downcast when you curl back into his arms. It’s too unkind to be deliberate, but at the same time it’s such a careless comment that you just want to scream. He would never be intentionally cruel to you but the flirtatious tone of the comment is too much. “Maybe I should’ve gone with Vodka, then.”
Jack stiffens, frowning immediately and his blood pressure rises in anger. “What the fuck?” He hisses, the moment making him grip you tighter, almost the point of hurting you. “Why- you?” He’s at a loss for words right now.
“Well it’s the only offer I’ve gotten in…a year? Maybe more?” You shrug dismissively but his grip on you doesn’t allow for it, making your tone turn even more bitter in the process. He doesn’t get to get mad about who offers when he has no interest in himself. “Definitely more than a year, now that I think about it.”
“That wasn’t a goddamn offer.” He snorts. “It was a cowboy playin’ grab ass when his partner wasn’t willing.” He reminds you, dark eyes flashing angrily. “Otherwise known as assault.”
“And yet it’s still the only time any man has looked at me twice in more than a calendar year,” you hit back, practically hissing under your breath as embarrassed tears sting at your eyes. “Nobody’s exactly lining up to spend time with the fat girl except tonight which is Ginger’s doing. I know it is.” (edited)
The two of you are hissing back and forth, so preoccupied with your emotions that neither one of you are aware of the fact that the countdown for midnight has begun. The crowd around you starts to chant down from ten but Jack's too busy growling at you in anger. "Why are you so fuckin' quick to insult every goddamn person who decided to dance with you?"
“Because I know I’m right.” The two of you have never once torn into each other like this and while it breaks you’re heart, you’re so angry that lashing out is happening by instinct. It hurts so much more to be doubted by him and you can’t even express why. It’s devastating. “Do you even know what assignments they give me, Jack?” You hiss back, not hearing the shouts around you. “The ones where they need someone to be invisible! If they need someone plain and ignorable, they come straight to me. Do you know how much that fucking hurts? Because I’m good at it and that’s even worse than them just assuming. I’m excellent at not being noticed. At not being desired. It’s my fucking superpower. So no, I don’t think for a second that any of these dances were genuine moments of interest or offers for literally anything else. Because why would they be?”
His heart breaks and he's simultaneously enraged that you view yourself that way. "Five! Four! Thr—" He reaches up and grabs the back of your neck to yank you forward so your nose is less than an inch from his own. "You want a goddamn offer?" He snarls, losing all sense of reason when it comes to you and ready to prove how wrong you are. "Here's your fuckin' offer." Without another word, he drags you forward to plaster his lips against yours in an angry kiss.
It should feel terrible. It should make you so angry you slap him. It should make you feel a hell of a lot of nasty things, but instead what you feel is the undeniable melting of your own self against him, finally getting the only thing you’ve wanted since the day this infuriating cowboy sauntered into your life. Jack is firm under your hands, burning hot and intoxicatingly inviting in the way he does not pull away. You must have gotten so mad you blacked out, because this is impossible.
When you don’t push him away, when you don’t slap him, Jack growls. Using the soft sigh that you give to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth with another groan as the cheers and sing of Auld Lang Syne happens all around the two of you.
Either you’ve burst a blood vessel from being so angry and ashamed or this is the best dream you’ve ever had. Jack wraps both of his arms tight around you and you cling to him, fists dig into the arm of his suit jacket and the hair on the nape of his neck as you silently beg this hallucination never to end. You can live and die in this moment and tell yourself that it was more than a dream. You can imagine this is exactly how fiercely Jack kisses when he really wants to. When he wants someone.
The kiss has turned from an angry mashing of his lips against yours to a passionate mingling of your breath and tongues. You whimper and his entire body tighten with need. Overriding the portion of his brain that is screaming that this is a bad idea, that he is bad for you and continuing to kiss you as everyone else has moved into dancing now.
Neither one of you has realized that his hat has been knocked off, or that he’s drawn you so close your back has bowed, or even that you’ve entirely given up on needing to breathe in order to never have to stop kissing him. Years of repressed desire and soul-crushingly unrequited love are just being poured into every second you spend drowning in this impossible fantasy.
“Well damn.” Champ chuckles from his position on the dance floor with his lovely wife. “Didn’t expect that long of a show. Boy don’t stop soon, he’s gonna devour her right there in the middle of the floor.”
“That’s what happens when you repress your feelings for six goddamn years,” Ginger snorts in amusement. “Should I go interrupt them?”
“No.” Champ decides with a shake of his silvery head. “Leave ‘em. Don’t want the boy to get spooked before he makes up his mind what’s gonna happen next.”
“And he will.” Ginger agrees with that completely. Jack spooks faster than a newborn foal.
“He would, where she’s concerned. Boy has his heart in it and he’s been fightin’ it.” Champ agrees as his wife chuckles. “He will figure it out.” She promises. “Rye won’t let him walk away from this with a smile and a handshake.”
“I think she’d rather die than let him go, at this rate.” The smile on Ginger’s face is soft. Glad that her friend is finally getting everything she — you — have ever wanted. It really is only oxygen that makes the two of you pull apart, panting for breath with fingers curled into each other’s flesh and clothes like you’re hanging on for dear life.
Jack’s eyes are dark and searching as he looks at you. Looking for the answer to a question and when he finds what he’s looking for, he grabs your hand and starts to drag you off the dance floor.
“Jack?” The realization that that really just happened ignites a small panic in your chest and a riot in your mind, and the fact that Jack hasn’t let go of you or run off in disgust is only confusing you more.
He doesn’t speak, he can’t speak right now. The people on the floor just seem to part, moving out of his way as he guides you off the floor. He does squeeze your hand though.
“Jack?” The longer he goes without saying anything the higher the panic rises, but you cling to his hand all the way to the front door of Champ’s house where the front room has been transformed into a coat closet.
Jack doesn’t answer and spins you around to press you up against the wall, kissing you again. “Get your fuckin’ coat.” He demands roughly.
It’s a much briefer kiss but it leaves you breathless all the same, and the determination in his eyes makes you shiver and rush to obey. If this is what you’re going to get with him — just a few demanding kisses before he decides it was a mistake and turns you away? Then you’ll take it.
His hat is missing, Jack realizes when he goes to readjust it and frowns. Patting his head and looking around to see if it fell off around here, but it’s nowhere in sight. It’s a small price to pay, but he runs his hand through his hair as you rush back to his side. “We’re leaving.”
He doesn’t seem angry, but for the life of you there is no version of tonight that goes any further. Not in your mind. A conversation about how you shouldn’t have kissed him — or at least kissed him back, since you have a dim memory of his hand pulling you to him right before your mind went blank — or at least about how it was a mistake is bound to follow.
The second your hand is in his again, Jack is dragging you through the doors and down the stairs of the house to his Bronco. He’s parked close, thank god and he can barely get the door open before he’s grabbing your waist and practically throwing you up into the seat.
It shouldn't be a thrill to be lifted up and tossed around as though you weigh next to nothing, but there is something in Jack's singular determination and focus that tells you not to question or fight it. If he wants to manhandle you a little before whatever uncomfortable confrontation is bound to happen? Well, it's not as though you haven't literally fantasized about that scenario. At least now you have a frame of reference.
He’s holding onto his control, barely. Racing around the front of the vehicle and jumping in beside you. He can’t even talk to you as he starts the engine. Thankful that his place isn’t too far away as he throws the Bronco into gear and slings gravel as he spins out.
The most surprising part might be that he reaches for your hand as he drives. His fingers curl through yours and hold onto you on top of the gear shift, not letting you do your usual thing of shifting away or curling in on yourself in uncertainty.
There’s only two miles left to go. He grunts as he slows down to make the turn and your hand moves the shifter with him, making sure that he doesn’t squeeze it too hard as he goes through the gears.
He's driving to his own house. You've done this route yourself more times than you can count for a thousand different reasons. The apartment that you rent with your ample Statesman salary is well on the other side of Louisville and Ginger lives closer to you than to Jack, so it's not like you have any doubt where he's headed. When he pulls the Bronco down his long and winding driveway toward the large farmhouse he's called home for a decade already, your hand tightens slightly in his, nervous and wondering what will come next.
When he cuts the engine, there’s a half a second before he opens the door. Almost speaking but he doesn’t. Instead, he’s climbing out to walk around the truck to open the door.
"I wish you would say something." Even if he's helping you out of the car and holding onto your hand, you can't figure out what's going on in his head. Not having any clue is making you a little panicky the longer it goes on.
Jack stops, two steps away from the path to the front door. “Do you want to come inside?” There’s a fear that you don’t want this. That you are not on the same page as he is.
He's not angry. Or upset anymore, that you can tell. But the determination in his gaze is still there for something that you can't quite put your finger on. "Yes," you decide, nodding as you step toward both him and the house. "I do." Whatever happens, you're hopeful it won't be bad.
You said yes. Your words spur him on again and he’s off like a shot, dragging you behind him. The biometric lock is a godsend. There’s no fumbling for a key at the door as he hustles you inside and slams it behind you both, pressing you against it as he attempts to devour your mouth once more.
This was not the reaction you expected. Not in any way. Not even when he had kissed you twice at Champ’s house before hauling you over to his place with the fires of hell scorching his toes. Anybody else might have read the signals, but not you. Not with the surprised squeal you let out or the soft moan that follows it — both completely outside of your control.
You’re alone now and this time, Jack doesn’t keep his hands on your waist. Both hands grab firm handfuls of your delightful round ass and squeezes as he presses into you. His painfully hard cock grinding into the soft pouches of your hips.
Because of the complete blanket of disbelief you're living under, it takes you longer than you're proud of or will ever admit to realize what is pressing against your hip. It's the first throbbing twitch from under his perfectly tailored suit that has your eyes flying open and both of your hands pressing firmly on his shoulders, breaking the kiss as you gasp in surprise.
“What- I thought-“ Jack’s frown is one of utter confusion as he drops his hands and steps back from you. Hating the feeling of rejection and suddenly wondering if he’s made a fucking fool of himself by getting twisted in knots by a woman who doesn’t actually want him. “‘m sorry.”
"Why?" The incredulous question is out of your mouth before you can stop it, and the confusion marring both of your faces makes you suck in a deep breath. "I—I just—I'm surprised," you admit, as damned foolish as that makes you sound. Fucking shocked is what you are, but you don't want to be labor the point and ruin whatever is happening.
He feels foolish and embarrassed, like he’s been caught with his hand in a candy jar. Reaching up and running his hand through his hair, he blows out a breath. “You said you wanted to come in.” He reasons. “I- what did you think would happen?”
"I—I don't know," you admit, feeling even more ridiculous than he does. Your back is still against his front door, crying out loud. "I ruled out you still being mad at me after you kissed me again but I didn't think..." Gesturing at him lamely, you blow out a breath and rub at the back of your neck. "I'm not saying I want to stop, I was just surprised." If this is the only chance you're going to get with him? You're going to take it and run with it as long as it lasts.
He frowns again, wondering how you could want him and yet be surprised when he wants to take you to bed. “So what do you want, sugar? Because I’m feeling like a penny at the bottom of a pan, rattled.”
The expression cracks the tension, at least for you, and an unexpectedly bright and beaming smile graces your lips as you reach for him boldly and find to your own delight and continued surprise that he doesn't draw away. "What I want is...a long shot." It's more than that, but you're downplaying your own fears to a rather extreme degree right now. Trying to be brave. "But...what are the odds you were thinkin' about taking me upstairs?"
“House odds.” Jack rasps out, knowing that the odds are always in the house’s favor when playing at a casino. “Pondered the idea of strippin’ you down right here and making you squeal against the door, but then tossin’ you over my shoulder and haulin’ you to my large, luxurious bed also has its merits.”
You genuinely have to shut your eyes to steady yourself, exhaling long and deep and praying you aren't actually moaning out loud like you are in your head. As it stands, both images he paints have your knees weak and your body shivering. "Eith—um—either one," you manage to stammer out, eyelashes parting so hesitantly that they flutter like wings. "Either one is good."
“Sexy as you look, sugar….” Now that he knows that you are on the same page as him, a little bit of the cocky swagger is back. “Thinkin’ it’d be a goddamn shame not to spread you out.” Despite your stature, Jack tucks his shoulder and scoops you up over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, bolting for the stairs.
"Holy hell, Jack!" A nervous shout and a squeak escape you when he picks you up, and you cling to his jacket as he carries you through the house you've visited innumerable times before.
Chuckling, Jack slaps your ass with his free hand as he ambles up the stairs easily. “Don’t be nervous, sugar, I won’t drop you.”
This time you definitely do moan out loud, too taken by surprise to stop the sound or swallow it before it can come out of your mouth and you know Jack heard.
He grins to himself, slapping your ass again and is rewarded with another moan. “Mmmmhm.” He chuckles. “Rye likes a little bit of light spanking. Noted.”
"Pretty sure I'll like anything you do," you admit ruefully, though you're quickly feeling the constraints of embarrassment fall away as he reaches his bedroom door. This is real. This is really happening.
"I'll keep that in mind when I hogtie you to the bed and lick whipped cream off your body." He teases, kicking open the slightly ajar door and striding into the room to toss you down on the bed like a character in a romance novel. Right now, he doesn't know if he's supposed to be the hero or the villain, feeling a bit like both as his rough handling of you as him immediately reaching for your ankles to pull off your shoes in his eagerness to see you naked in his bed.
“See?” You huff at him, heavy breathing coming from nothing but an undeniable surplus of desire. “That actually sounds sexy coming from you.” Everything does, but his quick fingers are divesting you of your shoes and that reminds you how your Spanx is part of this undressing process — which is the single least sexy thing in the world.
Jack rips off his tuxedo jacket and tosses it down on the floor. Climbing up onto the bed and over you to press against you fully, pinning you down to the bed with a groan. Quickly capturing your lips again in a frenzied kiss.
It makes no damn sense to you, but you’re not going to question it anymore. If Jack could have literally anyone in the world but for tonight he chooses you, then you’re just going to make sure he doesn’t regret it. That decision on your part sort of pulls you out of your nervous shock, and all at once your hands are pulling open his tie and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt with enthusiasm.
“There we go.” Jack groans when you stop acting shocked and start acting. Your hands on his body makes him shake and he can’t help but rock his hips forward. “Sugar.”
He could probably call you whatever he wanted and you would just go with it, but hearing him call you Sugar — that sickly sweet name he favors so much yet seems to bestow on you so rarely? It feels like you might melt so deeply into his plush mattress that you will never get up again.
Moving from your lips takes sheer willpower but he wants to explore more of you. One hand bracing on the bed and the other sliding up to squeeze your breast as he kisses down your chin and to the soft, vulnerable skin of your throat. “Driving me crazy, baby girl.” He coos, voice rough and lusty. “So goddamn pretty.”
No one who has ever met Jack would be surprised to learn how mouthy the cowboy is in bed. He’s mouthy in every other aspect of his life so frankly it would be pretty strange if this was the exception. Still, to hear those words said to you is beyond your wildest dreams. It’s surreal in the most sensational of ways. Even when you had dreamed of being with Jack, you had never dreamed of him praising you.
He groans when your fingernails bite into the skin on his chest as you hastily push the shirt opened. “Tigress, huh?” He growls, squeezing your tit again, a little harder this time and his hard cock pulses against your inner thigh. “Don’t worry, sugar. I’m just as goddamn eager as you. But ‘ole Jack likes a bit of wildness.” He bites down on your shoulder as he chuckles. “We’ll have ourselves one hell of a rodeo tonight.”
If you even knew where half this boldness came from, you might be a little embarrassed. But given the fact that you never thought this would happen, it mostly just feels like you're telling yourself not to waste the chance. Lightning never strikes the same place twice and this is your lightning strike, so you're going to lean into the whole thing if that's what he really wants. Your nails strike a path down his chest but get caught in his undershirt, a fact which makes you huff in frustration and search blindly for the hem to tear off that layer of clothing as well.
Jack groans and finally decides to give you what you want. Pulling back long enough to finish pulling his arms out of the shirt sleeves, he tears the undershirt off and throws it off the side of the bed to reveal his chest. Unable to resist pulling your dress down to pop your breast out and diving back down to wrap his mouth around a nipple.
"Oh fuck." It's a move you weren't expecting, but your back arches off the mattress instinctively to push your chest up and invite him to take and take and take — just as much as he wants to. If you were coherent enough to suggest it you would try to start wiggling out of your dress but as it is the only thing you can focus on is the heat of him surrounding you and the way every place he kisses you seems to catch on fire immediately at the press of his lips.
He suckles, bites and then licks the hard nub in his mouth like he’s gorging himself on you. Because he is. Hands searching for the zipper to your gorgeous dress. It’s beautiful, but it needs to be beautiful on his floor.
"If you want it off, you have to let me sit up," you manage to huff out, barely able to do more than pant at the way he's clearly trying to devour your tits first.
Groaning in protest, his lips are twisting in a pout as he pulls away. Panting breathlessly as he itches to launch himself at you again. “Hurry up, sugar.”
Your hands are shaking when you reach for the zipper, pulling it down and carefully undoing the clasp at the top before letting the heavily sequined cocktail dress slip off of your arms so you can maneuver it over your head. Half-naked in Jack's bed with panties so soaked you could probably wring them out is not how you expected to end this night, but here you are.
“Fuck.” Jack frowns at the tight shapewear he’s met with. “My present’s a little too wrapped for my liking, baby girl.” He hisses, curling his fingers under the layer to start stripping it off of you. “Want you naked.”
"It was the only way that dress was gonna look halfway decent," you mumble, shifting under him and definitely avoiding looking him in the face while he peels the Spanx off of you. It's a little bit too intimate even for the man you've wanted to be intimate with for years — to the point of making you feel completely naked even when you still have your bra and panties on.
He scoffs, nearly ready to whip his knife out and start slicing the material. “Bullshit.” He huffs, happy there’s just the bra and he uses two fingers to flick the four hooks open. “You don’t need nothin’.” Instead of explaining, he’s diving back into your tits while one hand dips into your panties.
“Fuck, Jack!” Instead of a tight reaction of shock, this time he’s rewarded with a moan and your legs falling open for him as the fingers of one hand dig through his thick hair to scratch along the base of his scalp. If he wants you to be bold, you’ll be bold. You’ll be whatever Jack wants as long as you just get to be in his bed for one night.
Jack moans against your tits, incredibly turned on by the pure moxy he’s always loved in you. Despite your utterly untrue view on yourself, you are sassy, sweet and sexy. That’s why he’s unable to resist now that he’s tasted you. Once he’s teased one breast enough, he switches to the other. “Gonna eat you up, sugar. Devour you whole.”
"All yours." It's sort of unintentional, the vow-like nature of the thing, but you're just being honest. You've really been Jack's since the day you met him. Even if it's taken so many damn years to get the two of you into this situation together, it's still the truth. "Whatever you want, handsome."
He groans, fingers sliding through the sweet slick that is covering your folds. “Want you.” He mumbles as he starts to slide his finger deeper, pressing against your entrance.
It's not even in your mind to ask why when he's splitting you open on two thick fingers like that, and you swear if that's how this night is starting you might actually ascend directly to some higher plain if you get to actual sex. "Ha—fuck— you have me."
“Mmmmmm.” He licks your nipple “Not yet.” He pouts, pulling his fingers back out of you to plunge them in again. “But I will, sugar. Cum for me and then I’ll have you like I’ve been dreamin’.”
The curse you groan out is nearly incoherent, more of an agreement than anything else but you'll be damned if you let this moment be anything less than memorable for both of you. Jack hovers over you and you wind your arms around him to encourage him to continue sucking on your tits while his fingers piston in and out of your pussy with determination. You know it won't take too much longer before your legs start to shake, and as if Jack knows it just as intuitively, he curls his fingers inside you and you gasp out a moan of his name.
His teeth nip at your sensitive flesh as he hisses. Feeling how tight your pussy squeezes his fingers and imagines his cock inside you. Tight and fucking scorching hot, just like he had imagined with his hand wrapped around his cock in the shower. “That’s it, pretty girl.” He coos before he sucks on your nipple again. Moaning when you arch up, writhing under him and making the prettiest, most desperate sounds he’s heard in a long time.
No one who has ever been in this bed has ever left it with any remaining doubts about Jack’s skills as a lover, and while you knew that before? Now you understand it oh-so-very deeply. His fingers pump into you mercilessly, curling at just the right angle to make you cry out in pleasure in every pass, and yet somehow he’s managed to keep the angle of that curl perfect while still holding them apart — stretching your eager pussy open and making sure you’re ready to take every inch of him. All of those intricacies combine with the dedication attention he is lavishing on your tits, and when the tense coil of restraint in your belly snaps it explodes into a thousand white-hot stars behind your eyes as you cum for him.
You’re gorgeous when you fall apart, just like he knew you would be. Keeping his fingers moving, he watches, enthralled with you as you cry out his name in a pitch that has his cock throbbing. The hot gush of your pleasure makes his fingers squelch inside you and he groans out your name while he starts to slow down the rhythm of his hand, letting you float down from your orgasm, drawing it out for you.
“Holy hell…” When your eyes open again you’re completely boneless beneath him, giggling softly at the light-as-air feeling in your body that never ever feels lighter than anything.
Dragging his wet fingers out of your cunt is his own personal kind of hell, but the urge to taste you is too great. Watching you with dark eyes as he slips his two fingers into his mouth with a lusty groan.
“Take your pants off.” The way you groan it is nearly an order but you definitely meant it to be begging, though at this point you don’t care. Especially when he arches an eyebrow at you and smirks. “Take your fucking pants off, Jack.”
Chuckling, he shuffles off the bed to oblige you. “Never let it be said I don’t follow orders, sugar.” He winks as he kicks off the tuxedo pants and hooks his fingers into his boxer briefs. “These too?”
“The fact that you even wear underwear is a shock,” you tease, motioning for him to continue stripping and trying — but probably not succeeding — to not stare.
He smirks. “Had to contain the beast for once.” He winks as he drags the tight material down. “Don’t wear ‘em normally.”
The Beast is probably as good a name as any, and you have to swallow a groan when he frees his throbbing cock — already damp with precum. It’s a wonder he can contain it, and you’re caught in between wanting to bend forward and taste him or just lying back for him to have his way with you. Curiosity and a curtain of lust win out on the short struggle, and you lean forward to take the purple head of his cock in your mouth just after he climbs back onto the bed.
“Fuck!” Jack moans out loudly and pushes your head away gently after a moment. “Baby, baby…” he pants. “You keep that up and this rodeo will be over before it starts.”
“Sorry…” Embarrassment burns your cheeks, and you shift back to get under his blankets. “I just had to know…”
“Nothing to be sorry for.” Jack huffs. Kneeling on the bed and pulling the covers away as you hide your body away from his eyes. “Just don’t want to embarrass myself by blowing my load because of your pretty mouth before I can hear you scream my name.”
“I already have,” you remind him, a softness in your tone belied by the heat in both of your eyes. “Guess I might have to be a little louder this time.”
“Only if it’s right in my ear.” Jack wraps his hand around his cock and strokes it as he reaches for your thigh. “Buried deep inside that little cunt and feeling like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
It goes without saying that you’re both clean. All Statesman agents are required to have clean bills of health in order to be on the roster for missions and you’re both active agents. “I—have an IUD.” Is what you tell him instead, shivering a little at the reality of what is about to happen.
Eyes lighting up in delight, Jack’s lips curl up. “Oh sugar, it’s not my birthday yet, why are you showerin’ me with presents?” He coos, sliding his hand up and down your ample thigh. “Pretty as a damn picture.”
The real answer is that you’re desperate to feel him, but you just smirk instead, not wanting to get your heart more involved than it already is. “Because I don’t have a condom and I’ll be damned if we stop now because of it.”
“If you want me to get one…” Jack motions back to his pants. “I have one in my wallet.”
“I don’t want the barrier,” you admit, biting your lip at the extremely vulnerable nature of that confession. “If it’s okay with you.”
His smirk turns into a wicked grin. “You read my mind, sugar. I want to feel all of you.”
You could make a joke about how much of you there is to feel, but just this once you stifle the urge. Opting instead to reach out and gently cup Jack's cheeks in both of your hands before pressing a soft, earnest kiss to his lips. "Then what are you waiting for, Cowboy?”
As you lean back, Jack follows you. Climbing up your body and groaning as he settles between your thighs. “You want to cum again, pretty girl?”
"Not without you this time." The reality of Jack is better than anything you thought so far. Since this miracle is surely once in a lifetime, you want it to be as amazing as possible.
Jack groans your name, pressing his lips to yours in another hot, wet kiss. Passionate and consuming as he pushes an arm underneath you. “I’m right here with you.”
As impossible as it seems, he really is. He is right there with you, taking you in his arms and making you feel delicate and desirable for the first real time in your entire adult life.
He doesn’t rush, although he wants to. Every kiss is slow and thorough. Reaching down between you to take hold of himself to notch at your entrance. “Hold on, sugar. See if we can ride for longer than eight seconds.”
“I’m not gonna buck you, Jack.” You can promise him that, because you know damn well you’re going to hold onto this moment for dear life and not question the gift that it is. This one little shining moment is just for the two of you and you’re never going to forget a single second of it.
His eyes are watching, burning into yours as he starts to slowly rock his hips forward. Breaking you open with the first inch of his cock and swooping in to kiss you again when you gasp.
The world slows down, motions stretching into time and blending together in ways that you can’t quite wrap your head around so all you know in this moment is Jack. Every time he thrusts forward again your moans get that much deeper, until on the final experimental rock of his hips, he is seated fully inside you and you feel so spellbound and grateful for the moment that you’re all but sure you could cry. Instead you pour yourself into kissing him, rocking your own hips slightly to take him more comfortably and adjust to the weighty feeling of having him inside you.
“Fuck, baby girl.” Jack inhales sharply, stealing your breath as he tries to rein himself in, throbbing violently inside you. If it weren’t for the fact that he had promised you a rodeo, he would be cumming, overwhelmed by how hot and tight you are. You’re perfect, just like he always imagined. “You be a good girl and take my cock, m’kay?”
Good girl is another one of those sticking points for you just like getting your ass slapped, and if Jack had no idea before, he certainly does now, from the way your cunt just spasmed around his length and you moaned like you were coming all over again.
“Ohhhhhh.” Jack’s eyes nearly cross and he gives a particularly sharp thrust when you clamp down around him. “You like that.” He pants out. “You’re my good girl?”
“S’not fair,” you huff, throwing him a playful pout that gets cut by another shaky moan. “You’re finding all the buttons I like pushed way too easily.”
“You haven’t - fuck - figured out my buttons yet, sugar?” Jack ducks his head down and slides the arm not underneath you down your hip and thigh to pull it up higher. Sinking deeper into you with a moan of your name.
“Liking to have your cock sucked doesn’t—fuck!— count,” you tell him, back arching as he hits a new angle inside you.
He chuckles and licks at your pulse before he nips at your skin with his teeth. Fingers digging into your pillowy flesh and groans when you clench around him again.
Finding a rhythm is as easy as breathing. Being with him is so much more natural and intuitive than you dreamt it would be. Your natural tendency to be a little rougher is equaled by his enthusiasm for making the bedroom a loud and raucous experience. There’s no hiding from each other or demurring, not once you get going. It’s like something inside you has finally been unlocked after a lifetime of waiting — waiting for Jack to come along with the key that would open you up.
If it surprises Jack that you are wild in bed, it’s probably the best goddamn surprise he’s ever gotten. His back burns from the raking of your nails when he hits deep. He fucking loves it. Your wildness makes him go absolutely feral over you.
It’s the opposite of who you are in everyday life. A version of you just for him. A version of you that leaves your worries outside the circle of your bodies and embraces sex as something carefree. Which, if you’re honest, isn’t really how you’ve felt about sex with anyone besides Jack. (edited)
His lips and teeth map every inch that he can reach as he pumps in and out of you frantically. Trying to keep the pace hard and fast because every time your cunt clenches, his hips stutter from how fucking tight you are. “Fuck, my good girl.” He growls. “So fucking tight.”
“So fucking big,” you give back, starting to pant heavier and more unevenly. There’s a whine forming in the back of your throat that you can’t hold back and you bite down on the juncture of Jack’s shoulder as your legs threaten to shake all over again. You’re so close to cumming but you don’t want this to end.
Jack changes the tempo, slowing down and grinding his pelvis against your clit. “You gonna cum for me, baby girl?” He rasps out. “Cum on Jack’s big ‘ole cock and soak me?”
"So—oh, fuck—close, baby." The way you feel right now, you might actually fall apart at the seams when you cum again, but it will be worth it. It will be worth just knowing first hand how gorgeous Jack looks when he follows you over the edge. "Don't stop. Don't fucking stop, Jack."
“Never.” Jack growls, smashing his teeth together and hissing at the way you claw and writhe under him. It’s like taming a feral cat in a pillowcase and he loves it. Your thighs are crushing his hips and all he can do is imagine them around his head. “Cum for me.”
A half dozen thrusts later, your cunt is clenching down on his cock and pulsing with a fierce orgasm that has your thighs tensing at his waist and your back bowing off the bed. Everything seems to be happening at the top of however it possibly could, and that includes the way you cry his name into the night before collapsing back into his sheets with your arms and legs still around him, willing him to follow you to bliss.
Jack moans your name, pants it again against your lips. His brow knitted in concentration as he tries to last. His body tightening and tensing as his pleasure builds to that almost painful precipice. His heart pounding, but not because of the physical exertion, but because of the almost loving look on your eyes. “Love you.” He moans, right as his lips crash against yours and he breathes it into your mouth again. “Love you.”
You freeze under him, but Jack is too caught in his bliss to tell. Like a bucket of water has been splashed over the bubble of this night and popped that shell keeping you separate from the world. Did he just...? There's no way. There's just absolutely no way at all. You must have imagined it. Wished for it so desperately that you hallucinated the words. Because otherwise you're not quite sure what you'll do — because Jack has never lied to you. But he's also never given you any reason to think your feelings might be requited.
Caught up in his orgasm, Jack rides wave after wave of complete bliss as he empties himself into you, metaphorically and physically. Giving you every bit of himself as he finally acknowledges the truth of why he has always kept you at arms length. His love for you terrifying him, but right now, he’s flying. Collapsing into your arms and panting out your name as he catches his breath.
There's nothing you can do with this shock except bury it, holding him and gently stroking his hair while he catches his breath with his head on your chest. You imagined it, you remind yourself silently, blinking back tears at how much you wish it was true.
The whiskey, the emotions and the exertion have Jack cuddly and sleepy as he comes down from his orgasm. “Fuck, baby girl.” He hums, kissing your neck as he slowly pulls out of you and shifts to your side to roll you over with him. “Wore me out.” He chuckles. “But gave a hell of a ride.”
He tucks you into his arms to be his little spoon, not letting you get away for even a second. Any other time? This would have been thrilling. "Get some sleep, baby." Returning the pet name seems innocent enough, and you reach back to run your fingers through his hair gently. "You earned it."
His eyes are closed when he shoots you a sleepy grin. “Talk when we wake up, sugar.” He promises, fingers stroking your skin softly.
That promise might be why you sleep so fitfully in the night to follow. Why you're so wound up that when your Statesman issued phone chirps from your purse on his floor around 6:30 in the morning, your eyes open immediately. Jack has turned over in the night, sleeping on his back now with one arm still around you but not so tightly that you can't extract yourself to answer the message. That phone is used only for missions and confidential communication, meaning you absolutely cannot ignore it. Incoming Message: Agent Rye report immediately for mission briefing. CODE BLACK. Code Black. You curse under your breath, careful not to wake Jack, and rub one hand down your face in dismay. That level of secrecy in a mission assignment means you can't even wake him up to say goodbye. You're supposed to speak to no one, just proceed immediately to the nearest Statesman branch for your mission briefing. With a sigh and another, more colorful curse, you shake your head and glance back at the bed where Jack is sleeping soundly. There's nothing to do but get dressed and Walk of Shame your ass into the office. You just wish you could wake him up to say goodbye.
It’s been years since Jack has slept so well. Deep and dreamless, none of the nightmares that often plague his rest. The soft scent of you surrounding him and soothing him like nothing he’s had in a long time. When his eyes open, he’s feeling like he’s had the best sleep of his life. Frowning when he doesn’t feel you next to him. Calling out your name softly in case you were in the bathroom. “Rye? Sugar?”
There's no trace of you anywhere. He may as well have come home alone last night, except for the scent of you in the air and the scratches on his back. It's almost an insult when he sees a fallen sequin on the rug where your dress had been tossed.
“Fuck.” Jack’s slipped out of plenty of beds, ducked out and kept walking. The walk of shame was never shameful when there was a little bit of pep to his step, but right now, he’s pissed. Pissed you didn’t have the fucking balls to wake him before you slipped off like a thief in the night. Snatching up his pants, he digs into the pocket for his phone, dialing your number and ready to have it out with you.
"Hi! Sorry I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I'm able!" Your voicemail message is insultingly chipper when it picks up right away, almost taunting him. Like you aren't willing to talk, when nothing could be farther from the truth.
“Fuck!” Jack shouts, throwing the phone and scowling angrily. Pissed that you aren’t here, that you apparently don’t want to talk to him. “Fine, you regret it? Fuck you too.” He growls and stomps into the bathroom to shower. If you wanted nothing to do with him after he had let down his walls last night, he wants nothing to do with you either.
******
"What's got you all chewed up and spat out today?" Tequila raises an eyebrow at Jack when he comes huffing into the office, a little late and a lot pissed off. He had expected Jack to be in a stellar mood.
“Not a goddamn thing.” Even though his feathers are ruffled, Jack practically refuses to even think about you. To the point where he had thrown the sheets and the costly Tom Ford tuxedo away. “Whadda we got?” Desperate to concentrate on a mission, he jumps straight into business.
"Wingman prep." Tequila tells him, tapping the folder on his own desktop. "Somebody got tapped this morning and Champ wants us to comb some old mission files to prep for an extraction. Plan B sorta shit." And since all of the mission-ready agents on the Statesman payroll are top notch with years of experience under their belts, anyone potentially needing an extraction from a mission is a big fucking deal.
“Who got tapped?” Jack asks, grabbing a file and flipping it open with a frown on his face. “Scotch?”
"I thought you'd know already." Tequila's eyes snap back up to Jack in concern. "It was Rye."
Jack freezes and slowly lifts his eyes from the file to find Tequila frowning at him, confused by how he doesn’t know. “Why would I know that?” Jack asks after a moment. It explains why your phone was off, but you had still slipped out without saying a fucking word.
"Because...you went home with her last night?" Everybody knows that you and Jack left the party. Absolutely everyone. There was a whole extra celebration after you left. "Figured you woulda known by her getting up this morning and all."
There’s a split second where Jack wants to snap that you had left him to wake up alone, but he doesn’t. What comes out of his mouth instead, is to deny the whole thing. “Took her home.” Jack shrugs, lying easily as if he couldn’t care less. “She wanted to soak in a bath and read some book.”
The frown on Tequila's face deepens measurably, pure confusion marring his usually chipper face. "Bullshit," he huffs, leaning back in his desk chair. "I saw you kiss her. No way."
“Believe what you want.” Jack snaps flatly. “Where are we in planning the back up plans?” The hurt is soothed slightly by you being called away, but it doesn’t make it nonexistent. You hadn’t even left a goddamn message for him. He could have seen not waking him if you had left some sign that you didn’t regret the night even happened.
"Early stages." Knowing better than to poke the dragon when he's mad about something, Tequila defers to work like Jack clearly wants. "Tell me what you think, but I think me on the ground and you in the Silver Pony is the best bet." Whatever happened between you and Jack, the man is clearly hurt, and Tequila makes a note to go and talk to Ginger when he gets his next chance. If you had said anything to anyone, it would be to her.
“Whatever.” Jack practically rolls his eyes and shrugs. Usually he loves the opportunity to fly and show off in the Silver Pony, but he’s so worked up over you that he doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “Guess that’s the plan. If needed.”
“If needed.” All Tequila does is nod, but damn he really needs to talk to Ginger.
******
Jack holes up in his office, barely answering the phone and not leaving it all day, not even for lunch. Catching up on paperwork that is normally never done as he works through not being at home. Not remembering how you tasted and sounded last night. He’s even refused to pull up your camera footage, not wanting to see what you are doing. He’s miserable and is determined to stay that way.
“Thought I’d find you in here.” Champ’s gruff voice cuts through the silence long after everyone else has gone home for the night. He knew exactly where Jack would be. Especially after Tequila said the senior agent was out of sorts. “Come up to my office, Jack. We’re gonna have a drink.” It’s not a suggestion or a request. This is a direct order from this commander, and Champ turns around and heads back down the hall knowing Jack will follow.
Jack sighs and sets his pen down, ripping the reading glasses off his face and tossing them down on the folder. He had stayed cooped up in his office so he didn’t take his bad mood out on anyone so he doesn’t see why he needs to be called out onto the carpet. Still, he pushes back from his desk and follows the older man to the conference room Champ preferred over his official office. The bar cart in here was better stocked.
“Pick your poison.” Champ tells him, motioning for Jack to sit down at the conference table as he strolls over to the cart to grab a bottle and two glasses.
“Whatever your havin’.” Jack wonders what this is about, but he doesn’t ask. Just waits patiently for his boss to get to the reason in his own sweet time.
Champ grunts slightly, grabbing a bottle of ‘74 Reserve, and brings it to the table. He pours two fingers in each glass and slides one over to set in front of Jack before sitting down beside him and taking a sip from his own glass. “You’ve been hidin’ today,” he assesses after a moment of silence. “But I hear you damn near took Tequila’s head off this morning when you got in.”
“Can’t have a bad day?” Jack asks, picking up the whiskey and staring at it before taking a sip. “Woke up wrong, that’s all. I’ll apologize to the crybaby later.”
“He’s not a damn crybaby,” Champ huffs, covering his own amusement with a scowl. “I walked by your damn office, fool. And when he did come talk to me about it, it was because he was worried about you.”
“Jesus Christ.” Jack scowls and shakes his head. “I had a bad morning. I’m fine. Not gonna go off and try to kill all the drug users again.”
“Not saying you would.” Holding up his hands in a show of innocence, Champ leans back all the way and stares down his nose at Jack for a second longer before he shakes his head and shrugs. “But between you and me just these walls? Just thought you might wanna know that Rye got sent off Code Black, is all.” He isn’t supposed to say. Black is black. It’s too priority and top security. But you’d been so torn up this morning and Jack’s been so out of sorts in his own way that Champ has rightfully assumed that something fairly big must’ve happened after you left the party.
His jaw nearly drops. Champ never gives information away like that. He frowns, looking back down at his glass again and feeling relieved. If you had gotten a Code Black, you couldn’t wake him up. It would have been against protocol. He swallows and finally nods. “Good to know.”
“Just don’t want you stewing over it.” The older man says, watching carefully as he sips from his glass again. “You wanna be upset with anyone, it’s me. Not her.”
“Right.” Jack drains the rest of the whiskey and the crystal hits the table slightly harder than normal. “Anything else?”
“Nah. That’s it.” There’s nothing more that Champ can really say, and now Jack needs to process. That’s just how these things work. “See ya in the morning, Daniels.”
Jack stands. “‘Night, Champ.” He walks out of the room and back down the hall towards his office, looking down at his feet as he goes.
******
It’s two weeks before Tequila and Jack are given a stand-down order and told their rescue mission won’t be necessary. Mission success, they’re told with authority, even though it took longer than expected. They don’t get more than that, though, and Jack is walking past Ginger’s lab on his way out of the office late that night when he hears your voice again for the first time in weeks. It’s tired, and quiet, but unmistakable. “Can we just get this over with, Ging?” You ask your friend quietly, knowing that decontamination and a full physical are extremely necessary considering where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. But you want to get the hell out of here and finally go talk to Jack.
He would never admit it, but he’s been living at Statesman. Barely going home to change and often refreshing the outfits that he keeps in his office for unexpected late nights. On call the entire time in case you needed him. Now you are here and Jack feels like running away. So much self doubt had built up over two weeks, he’s driven himself crazy over every little thing. Obsessing over the details of New Years.
“Once you have a clean bill of health, you go storm the ranch or whatever it is you’re going to do.” Ginger teases, full of warmth. “But I would try his office first.”
Jack frowns slightly and wonders what the hell Ginger is talking about, storming the ranch. He almost pushes the door open, but he doesn’t. Just wants to see what you will say if you know that he’s not listening.
“It’s been two weeks, Ging.” The pops and hums and beeps of her equipment punctuate your voice from inside the lab. “Every single second I haven’t been thinking about this mission I’ve been reliving that night. And I could kill Champ for sending me away Code fucking Black before I could even tell Jack how I feel about him.”
“I know it was bad timing.” He hears Ginger sigh. “But hopefully it gave you some time to think about what you’re going to say?”
Jack’s stomach twists and he feels nauseous. Wondering if you’ve decided that it was a mistake. He swallows harshly and whirls around, not wanting to hear how you plan on letting him down or friend zoning him.
“I’m going to tell him the truth,” he misses hearing you say. “That I’ve been in love with him for six years, and that I’m done being a coward about it.” This mission so easily could have killed you every single day that it became something of an eye opener. Getting back to Jack had become the most dominant and driving force in your mind at times.
Walking down to his office has Jack twisted in knots. He’s never been a coward before but he damn sure feels like running. Playing back that night in his head over and over had made him realize what he had said. More importantly, what you hadn’t said back. Walking over to his bar cart, he pours himself a heavy double and bolts it down. He’ll get wasted after you crush his hopes but that was needed so he doesn’t beg like a pathetic wretch. He needs to keep his pride somehow.
It’s twenty more minutes before he hears footsteps in the hall and hears your tentative voice calling his name. “Jack?” There’s nerves in it, anxiety hovering around you despite your triumphant mission. But you appear in his doorway looking worried and chewing your lip. “Hey…you’re still here.”
“Work’s never done.” Jack huffs, plastering on a friendly but not too friendly expression. “Haven’t seen you around in a few weeks. Mission go alright?” It’s painful to see you in that doorway, looking tired and beautiful. Reminding him of how you looked before he had fallen asleep and lost you.
“I’m home and in one piece.” It’s what you always say, but at least it’s true. He doesn’t exactly look happy to see you, though, and that makes you falter a little. Not enough to shake your resolve, but your optimism that he’ll respond with joy cracks right away. “Do you…can we talk a little?”
“Sure.” He takes off his reading glasses and stands. Moving over to the alcohol again. “Want a drink?” He asks, not looking over his shoulder at you. He sees the worry on your face and knows you are concerned about your working relationship. What he will do will be accept your wants, wish you well and promise that he will not let what happened affect your professional relationship. Then he will demand a transfer to the New York office, permanently. You nod and he pours out two drinks. “What’s on your mind, Rye?”
“Well…you are.” It seems like such an obvious answer that it almost feels silly saying it, but he won’t even look you in the eye so staring at the beginning seems like a good idea.
“Oh?” Turning around is hard, but he manages to look curious instead of sick to his stomach. “Now why would I be on your mind, sugar?” The endearment slips out and he nearly bites his tongue as he carries them over to the small sofa area.
The message is loud and clear: it really didn’t mean anything to him. Regardless, though, you have to power through. If he really didn’t mean what he said and has no interest in being with you, you’ll request a permanent transfer. Chicago, Dallas, Los Angeles — anywhere but here or New York. Swallowing a sigh, you accept the glass from him but just hold it in your hands while you gather your thoughts. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk before I had to leave,” you start, trying not to let the warmth and proximity of him get under your skin so easily. But you can’t really help it. “I did the best I could for a message to let you know what had happened, but it wasn’t much. And I’m sorry for that, too.”
His facade cracks, the scowl as quick to vanish as it appears and he scoffs. “Message received, Rye. A lone sequin on the floor. Practically like it was a dream, except for that.” He tosses back the whiskey. “Can you just get to the part where you tell me it was a mistake, you don’t want to ruin our friendship or work relationship? Or whatever bullshit excuse you’ve settled on to tell me you regret it?” His eyes are dark and pained when they finally land on you, barely resisting the urge to flee.
“On the floor?” Your brow furrowed instantly, a frown painting itself on your lips, and you set the glass in your hands aside to shift closer to him on the little couch. “Jack, I left a sequin on your nightstand.” The choice was even more horrible than you had worried it would be, apparently, because he looks so hurt he could actually cry. A fact which makes you instantly want to cry as well. “A black sequin was the best I could do for a signal. It—it must have…blown off. Stupid fucking flapper dress with all that fringe. It must have gone flying when I left the room.” There was no other breeze, no window open or fan blowing. Only you could have sabotaged yourself like that.
He doesn’t believe you and shakes his head. “Why would you leave a black-“ he trails off when it hits him. Black sequin - Code Black. Trying to tell him that you had wanted to leave a message but couldn’t. Champ had broken protocol by telling him about the Code Black and apparently you had tried to signal the same thing. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” You shake your head in resignation, blowing out a shuddering breath. “I didn’t want to leave. Especially not after…” Another shaky breath leaves the rest of you shaking in turn, and you shove your hands under your legs on the couch. This is the most terrifying thing you’ve ever asked a person in your entire life. “Did you…mean it? What you said?”
Jack bites his lip, wanting to ask you what you’re talking about but he can’t do that. You look distraught that he had thought you had just disappeared. “Yeah.” Jack admits quietly. “Look, I know that it’s not something you were expectin’ ta hear, and you don’t feel the same.” He rolls on with the emotions that he needs to get out. “I won’t be mad, or take it out on you. But that night….fuck.” He blows out a breath. “I got to touch you. Just like I fuckin’ dreamed of. And I couldn’t just let you think it was a heat of the moment thing for me.”
“Why do you think I don’t feel the same?” With your heart beating wildly and your shakiness only increasing, there’s a sort of explosive quality in your mind and body that you can’t quite figure out how to control. Like all you want to do is launch yourself at him for a kiss but you know you need to talk first. To get it all out in the open. To be honest with each other. “I—I honestly had no idea you thought of me as anything but a friend. I was…well…shocked is a bit of an understatement.”
Jack snorts. “I know my reputation. Hell, I crafted it. But I couldn’t flirt with you. It’s too- shit- you had me from the first time we met. I was fucking hooked and it wouldn’t have been right. You were a junior agent and -“ he shakes his head. “I was running from the kind of commitment you were made for.”
“Your reputation was built by a man who had loved his wife so deeply that he couldn’t bear the thought of loving and losing again,” you remind him quietly. You sure you hadn’t known that right away, but when you had learned about his wife and son, you understood implicitly. “But it…it never stopped me from falling in love with you. Even when I thought I’d never be more to you than an acquaintance. I considered myself damn lucky to eventually become your friend. I just thought…I thought the fact that you never, ever flirted with me…meant that it was unrequited. So I made myself okay with it. Until two weeks ago.”
“I respect you, Rye.” Jack murmurs quietly. “I didn’t want to make it seem like you were everyone else, because you weren’t.” It’s backwards and twisted, but no one ever said that he had defeated all his demons. “When I broke- I gave you everything.”
“More than you know.” A soft huff of a laugh escapes you and you shake your head again, willing your nerves to calm down even a little. “Just…please understand, Jack. That I’ve been in love with you since the second I met you. And the only reason I didn’t say it back the night we slept together is because I was so shocked to hear it from you in the first place. I thought I’d hallucinated what I wanted to hear, and then before I knew it we were asleep…and then I woke up to a Code Black.”
“I was upset.” Jack admits quietly. “Really upset.” He flushes slightly. “May have been thinkin’ some not-so-polite things until Tequila told me it was you who was slated for the mission.” He won’t tell you that Champ had broken the rules. “Convinced myself that you had run off to go save the world so you wouldn’t have to tell me that you’d had too much alcohol and that’s why you let me take you home.”
“Not at all.” Taking a chance, you reach for his hand and practically sigh in relief when he slots his fingers through yours. “I pretty much thought I’d died and gone to heaven, if I’m honest. I just kept thinking…if this only happens once, I never want to forget a single thing.” You squeeze his hand gently, wishing you could have said all this two weeks ago. “I’m sorry my message didn’t work. That’s…you have every right to think nasty things about me. I’m so sorry.”
“No I don’t.” Jack protests. “Not if you meant to be here. Not if you wanted to be here the next morning. Then it’s just a bad misunderstanding and I’m sorry.”
“Then I guess we’re both sorry.” He’ll never know that you cried all the way to the office that morning at having to leave him, you decide right now. It would only make him feel even more guilty and he doesn’t deserve that. “But I’m not sorry about what happened between us.”
“You aren’t?” He tightens his grip on your hand, relaxing slowly as you talk and he understands that this was one giant cluster fuck. He’s used to those, he can handle those. “That’s good, sugar. Because New Years was probably the best night of my life.”
“God, I hope you mean that.” Your shakiness is for more than one reason, although you needed to have this conversation first. Whatever the two of you decide will happen next is a decision made by both of you, not just you alone. “Because…Ginger couldn’t clear me…after my physical. I can’t go back on the list.”
Jack frowns, brows pulling together. “Why can’t Ginger clear you? What’s wrong?” There’s a number of things that can be fixed by Statesman tech and he’s worried that it’s something bad.
Your stomach churns with worry, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. The unmistakable advances of Statesman tech can do things that most doctors absolutely cannot, thanks to Ginger Ale, and you’re not sure whether to thank her or curse her. “It’s not that something’s wrong, technically,” you admit, giving another worried squeeze to his hand. “But we probably ought to have used that condom…”
Jack’s eyes widen and they drop to your stomach, discerning the meaning of your comment. You aren’t a liar and Jack would believe you if you said you didn’t sleep with someone else, but he’s confused. “Sugar- how?” He chokes out. “I got snipped when I joined Statesman.”
“When was the last time you had your sperm count checked?” You had made Ginger do the test three times, but the result was always the same. Your birth control failed and Jack’s second kid is already growing, if very slowly. “The chances of a vasectomy failing are less than one percent, but it can still happen.”
Jack frowns and then rolls his eyes and groans. “The chamber.” He remembers. “When I got shot and then- uh, put back together.” He shakes his head. “Ging said I might need to get it checked but I dadgum forgot.” He bites his lip and tries not to freak out over the fact that you are pregnant after your one and only time together. “What do you want, sugar?” He asks.
“Not more than you’re willing to give freely.” The answer is that you want all of him. Every single bit. Love and a life and a family. But you know that even if Jack does love you, he’s never loved anyone the way he loved his wife. And losing Maria nearly destroyed him, so he may not be willing to take that chance again. “But I…unless you really object…I’m keeping the baby. Even if you don’t want a commitment or anything. I just…you’re right about me. I want a family and if this is my only chance I don’t want to give that up. Especially not if I get even the littlest piece of you with it.”
“You think I would-“ he shakes his head. “No, I would never force you, one way or the other.” He frowns. “I was asking if you wanted to have a baby. And if you think I’m gonna sit back and let you raise it by yourself, you must have hit your dadgum head.”
“I want this baby.” It had only taken about ten seconds after learning it existed to determine that, even if you’re still grappling with the reality of it. “And I want you.” You inch closer to him on the couch. “However you want to be together. That part is up to you.”
“It’s been a long damn time since I’ve thought about being a daddy, sugar.” There’s a slight smirk on his face but he doesn’t make the obvious crude joke. “But I’m pretty traditional when you break it down. I’m not gonna want to be apart from you and our baby.”
He might not have made the joke but you still laugh, having made the sugar daddy connection in your mind easily enough. “I know it’s a lot, Jack. And we didn’t plan it. But…” All you can do is shrug your shoulders slightly, looking up at him with such obvious hope and even more obvious water behind your eyes. “But, I love you.”
“I meant it, baby girl.” He promises you, reaching out to caress your cheek and then cup it. “I love you. I love you so much, sugar.” Licking his lips, his eyes drop down to yours. “Can I kiss you?”
"I wish you would." practically beaming at him, you lean in and let the moment wash over you. Jack's lips against yours. His hands on your skin. His baby - your baby - is already starting to grow.
Jack pulls you close, pressing his lips against yours and groaning softly. “Sugar, you’re gonna have my baby.” He whispers against your lips in awe. “Just the one time, one time between your thighs and you are carrying my baby.”
“One time is all it takes.” You can’t help the broad way you smile, giggling softly against his lips as you steal another kiss.
“I don’t regret it.” He promises. “I don’t regret you.” He smiles as he kisses you again. “We really did shake things up for New Years, didn’t we?”
“Just a little bit.” Another laugh escapes you, and you lean into his side only to be rewarded with Jack’s arms encircling you and holding you close. “I don’t regret any of it. Except maybe not making my message a whole lot clearer.”
“We’ll get better at communicatin’.” Jack promises with a smile. “We’re partners now.”
“Do you want to go get dinner, maybe?” The end of a mission can be crazy even when it’s successful, and you just want to try to relax tonight. Especially with everything changing in your personal life too, apparently. “My treat?”
Jack scoffs and shakes his head. “You ain’t paying, sugar.” He huffs. “Not while you’re with me. If you want dinner, we can go out, or I can take you home and throw some steaks on the grill.”
“I kind of want to celebrate,” you admit, feeling silly about it even though it’s the truth. “If that’s okay?”
“Then we’ll go out and celebrate.” Jack promises before he frowns at something you had said. “Why would you have thought I would never be interested in you?”
“Because…” It feels sillier than the celebration thing now that you know the truth. Silly and even a little pointless, but he asked so you’ll tell him. “Because you flirted with every woman in the world besides me. Which Ginger said is how she knew you were interested in me. But I didn’t believe her.”
“You know you’re wrong, don’t cha?” Jack asks you. “When you said that you get sent on assignments to be invisible? You’re sent on the assignments you are given because you get the job done. Champ knows that if he gives you a task, it will be done.”
“Whatever the reason is, he’ll have to do without me for about a year.” It isn’t worth having a debate over your lack of self esteem with him right now, and you especially don’t want to ruin the mood by crying anything other than happy tears, so you just redirect the conversation altogether. “This baby is my top priority.”
“Our top priority.” He corrects you. He’s nervous, terrified really, but there’s no one he’d rather have a happy accident with than you. “Our New Year’s baby.”
______
Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04
#Pedro Pascal#Pedro Pascal character fanfiction#Pedro Pascal fanfic#Jack Daniels#Agent Whiskey#Jack Daniels x reader#Jack Daniels x you#Jack Daniels x female reader#Jack Daniels x f!reader#Jack Daniels x plus size reader#Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels#Kingsman Golden Circle#new years eve#new years fic#idiots in love#pining#the love is requited they're just dumb
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i get that spike/spuffy antis have to hate season seven on principle (and the fact that they act like spike’s arc is entirely frivolous and unimportant is so wildly dismissive of buffy’s i don’t think they actually even like her!), but so many are straight up factually incorrect about what actually happens. i don’t know if it’s a media literacy issue or a choice to be obstinate. probably a mixture. when you want something to be a certain way, misunderstanding something gives you room to declare yourself right.
their main talking point is that ensouled spike forces his presence on buffy. this… just doesn’t happen even once in the season. at all.
spike doesn’t return to sunnydale to see buffy. he goes back to the hellmouth. probably because it’s all he knows, as a demon he considers it home, and not for nothing he’s already being controlled by the first who wants him in place for a specific purpose.
in the first episode, lessons, buffy comes across spike on her own. he’s at some of his most insane for this interaction, and he walks away from her. in the next episode, beneath you, buffy seeks spike out. she goes to the basement and can’t find him. he’s actively hiding from her.
later in the same episode he gets himself cleaned up and goes to her, for the first and only time. he says it’s because something terrible is coming and he wants to offer his help. he tells her if she doesn’t want him around, tell him and he’ll leave and she can revoke his invite (which notably is still active). she doesn’t. she accepts his help.
they talk while looking for the demon and buffy says she can tell something is different about him but she doesn’t know what. spike makes a point to say he isn’t going to tell her what it is. that’s MAJOR. spike does not want buffy to know about his soul. he doesn’t put it on her, and he doesn’t make it her problem. he ends up telling her only after it’s nearly forced out of him and he’s triggered back into insanity after a lucid period. after he reveals his soul, he leaves.
in the next episode, same time same place, buffy seeks spike out. he’s once again hiding in the basement, so she knows where to find him, but he does not go to her. she enlists his help that episode, twice.
the next episode is help. buffy goes to the basement to see spike. she asks if he knows anything about cassie. he later helps buffy save cassie from the boys trying to sacrifice her.
in the next one, selfless, buffy once again goes to spike. it’s a definite a pattern. buffy seeks out spike. it’s actually a lot like much of their relationship in season six, only much more one sided. she tells him to leave the basement because it’s bad for him.
the next episode, him, sees a big shift. it’s still buffy going to spike, but this time she doesn’t just leave him in the basement. she actively chooses to help him out of it, getting xander to let him move into his apartment. there’s a huge and important change in their dynamic now. they are solidly in each other’s lives, and that was and continues to be buffy’s choice.
i won’t do little synopses for each episode from the rest of the season, but from here spike offers to leave at minimum four additional times, half a dozen or more total all season.
he earnestly wants buffy to kill him in sleeper and never leave me, because he’s devastated and terrified that he’s killing. buffy says no, she’s going to help him and she believes in him. she rescues him, because she wants to, and moves him back into her house.
later on spike seems to be gaining back control of his mind, but when the first threatens him he once again says he’s a danger and needs to leave and buffy says no because shes not ready for him not to be here.
buffy wants spike in her life. she makes that fact extremely clear. maybe at first it wasn’t for the healthiest reasons, but a major theme of season seven is spike and buffy healing both as individuals and growing closer together because of it. their relationship empowers and strengthens buffy, and the final episode is called chosen for a reason. this season is about buffy’s agency. that starts when she decides who’s in her life and who isn’t.
there’s never a single moment where spike makes that decision for her. he doesn’t once tell buffy she has to accept him, or that he should have access to her. he doesn’t come around when she says to leave, because she doesn’t say to leave. he stays away from her until she beckons him back. over and over.
spike doesn’t think he deserves anything from buffy. he believes the opposite, even encouraging her to date and hiding his heartache about it. he doesn’t make his insanity and suffering her problem. she volunteers to help him.
i understand having issues with the writing choice of spike back in buffy’s life at all after what happened in season six, but only if you’re engaging with it honestly. you can dislike that buffy makes the choice to have spike around, but it’s obvious when you disregard her agency and pretend he’s the one calling the shots. you hate a story that didn’t happen, and it’s impossible take seriously.
#spuffy#btvs#buffy the vampire slayer#you’re the one buffy#i believe in you spike#btvs meta#rant full steam ahead#basically a subtweet to a particularly pathetic anti on insta#spuffy is endgame#buffy loves spike#and spuffies stay winning
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𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓾𝓼𝓲𝓪𝓷𝓼 - 𝓐𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸 𝓕𝓮𝓮𝓵 𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓾𝓻𝓮
Hi, and happy Bharani season to all :) I've been working on this analysis for days not necessarily because it took long to write, but moreso because I could write endlessly on Venus Nakshatras & it took me a lot of time to organize the stream of info I'd written in a more adequate manner. I hope this piece is enjoyed & informative to someone 🩷
In this piece I'm going to be diving into Venus's themes of dancing along the line between pain & pleasure, and the artistry and beauty that is born from the merging of these two extremes.
𝓖𝓵𝓸𝓻𝔂 𝓑𝓸𝔁 𝓫𝔂 𝓟𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓪𝓷𝓪𝓵𝔂𝓼𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓻𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓸 𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓾𝓼 𝓝𝓪𝓴𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓼
The song 'Glory Box' by Portishead is the song that inspired me to write my first song and take it truly seriously.
It's just such a sensual, classy, sexy, beautiful masterpiece. Though beyond that, the meaning portrayed in the song & music video speaks to my soul so vividly. I always was enchanted by this track, but seeing the music video brought it all together for me and the meaning just 'clicked'.
'I'm so tired, of playing
playing with this bow and arrow
I'm gonna give my heart away
leave it to the other girls to play
for I've been a temptress too long
just give me a reason to love you
give me a reason to be a woman...
I just wanna be a woman'
youtube
Everything about this song, this video just screams Purvashadha & Venus. Even the line 'playing with this bow & arrow' lol- sidereal Sagittarius much? I wouldn't be surprised if Purvashadha is directly connected to Cupid.
I'm going to go a bit freeform in my interpretation of the song & video, but I think I've got the 'right' grasp of the idea portrayed:
The music video depicts people in a vintage style office setting & old fashioned, very professional 'uptight' attire. It is boring and in a sense drab, but we see life in the subtle expressions & communication. There is flirtation, but it is secretive. There is an an expectation to be professional, to be 'proper'.
There are clips of Old Hollywood-esque people having drinks, enjoying themselves. We get sporadic visuals of the singer (Beth Gibbons, Purvashadha Sun, likely Uttarashadha Moon; Uttarashadha being prominent in music), dressed beautifully & glamorously performing on the tv, looking almost pained in her beauty & artistic display of emotion.
This song speaks to the desperation to be free and sensual as a woman, or just as a soulful human being in a world where there are responsibilities and expectations to keep up an image, 'play the game' in society. The desire to 'be a woman' and express your feminine energy authentically, dress up, be emotional & sensuous, indulge in pleasure and break free from social/circumstantial limitations. However, the pain and friction between two worlds almost makes the longing and lust for the person/life you desire even more intoxicating.
Venusian desire & artistry is so intense, in the corporate world Venus ruled individuals often find themselves needing to reign in their passion, and even punishing themselves for it.
I think I first started listening to this song when I heard it in a reel that was again, extremely Venusian! I would credit it, but I think this just was a circulating video & I have no clue who the originator was. The dude (Gene Kelly) has Purvashadha Moon & Purvaphalguni ascendant. Just look at the suave-ness of Venus men lol :
There's so much more I could write about this specific song and the nature of Venus, but ima try to stick with the 'k.i.s.s' (keep it simple, stupid!) principle.
I always thought that this song & message is such a perfect piece of art to demonstrate Venusian nature, but I will note that Beth's Uttarashadha Moon definitely intertwines in terms of the message this song communicates. Uttarashadha being the height of the Sun (a 'masculine' energy) is very on par with the experience of wanting to be feminine in masculine dominated fields/with traditionally masculine expectations upon you. We could see this as almost like a conflict of interest between Beth Gibbon's Purvashadha (Venusian, feminine, romantic, beautiful) Sun and her Uttarashadha (ambitious, masculine, stoic) Moon.
𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓾𝓼𝓲𝓪𝓷 '𝓑𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓸𝓶' & 𝓛𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓰
You can often tell when a Venusian is behind a song or art piece because the vocal tone, writing style and or colour choice emanates this distinct attitude: sexy, raunchy, articulate... & often kinda bored or reflecting an unhappiness with the way the modern/current state of the world is. Especially in Purvashadha Nakshatra, there is often an intense idealisation of the past and 'old times', reflecting Venus Nakshatra patterns of longing for things they can't yet have and shaping their world view around that desire. This definitely speaks to the way Tropical Earth signs (especially Capricorn) are seen being drawn to old, vintage & prestigious relics of the past. This is in part due to Ketuvian Nakshatras residing within Tropical Earth signs, but it is also Venus Nakshatras' placement. Venusian elitism is possibly best observed in idealisation of the past- something so exclusive that nobody can actually go back to it & mainstream society often disregards it.
Venusians can exist in this state of boredom and embody this energy, this aura that almost reads 'impress me, peasant' lol. Feed me grapes & fine wine while I lay adorned in jewellery on a velvet chair- then we'll talk.
This is where Venusian Nakshatras classic pickiness, elitism & in some cases classism (and all the other isms lmao) comes in.
I once read that men can be attracted to women who look bored, disinterested or detached, because they take it as a challenge to be the one to impress her and light her up- very Venusian. It kinda explains (some) men's misguided efforts to impress women who are very clearly not interested. We see this in nature too- peacocks (and other birds), for example lol; the male peacock flamboyantly attempting to impress the female, and more often than not she is disinterested- female peacocks are a tough crowd man.
You can always spot Venusians by their expression & overall demeanour- they leave you feeling like 'I admire you, but I'm kinda scared of you and feel like you're judging me at the same time' lol. The irony lies in the fact that while yes, Venusians can be extremely critical of others, their 'judgy' expression often has more to do with the fact that they're always judging themselves. Harshly critiquing themselves like a piece of art. Venusians can find it veryy hard to feel they are 'good enough', the same way an artist never feels the painting is truly done.
Sophia Loren, Purvashadha Asc | Blake Lively, Purvaphalguni Moon | Donna Summer, Purvashadha Sun & Purvaphalguni Asc
daddy Ted Danson, Purvashadha Sun | Audrey Hepburn, Bharani Sun | Johnny Depp, Purvashadha Moon
admittedly, Audrey & Johnny boi come across a little softer to me due to their other placements, but they still definitely have the look/energy. My Bharani mama was a master of this look, & I always thought she looked a little like Donna Summer.
While Venus women embody this choosiness & unapproachability, Venus men can take on that role of wanting to be the ones to impress the woman they've set their sights on, 'wow' her.
However, that being said, Venusian men are also often very picky themselves. Venusian men and women alike are seldom impressed by aesthetic beauty alone and place a lot of importance on internal value. They often crave exoticism & uniqueness in women. Venus in our charts represents what we value & find beautiful. In a way there is more value in something or someone who is rare.
When Venusian men do find a girl they really like, they can be extremely persistent and there are a lot of cases where Venusian men will successfully initiate a relationship with a woman who wasn't initially interested by genuinely winning her over with his dedication, adoration & direct pursuit of her.
In terms of aesthetic appearance, Venusians (again, men & women) tend to have a preference for natural beauty in some way too. Femininity often refers to an energy of being flowing & receptive rather than performative or immensely exuberant. It's not uncommon to see Venus women forgoing 'performative' femininity and embracing raw female beauty. No makeup, allowing body hair to grow, messy hair, not being afraid to look 'beautifully dishevelled'- yet never necessarily unkempt. Imperfectly perfect, like a piece of art.
This is why Mars Nakshatras tend to be the women most prominent in the world of makeup and glamour. The curation and forceful manipulation of the body to look a certain way is 'masculine' in a sense. Like the way mankind manipulates & curates nature. Although there are two sides to this coin, as Venus Nakshatras can also grapple with the 'beauty is pain' idea and go to great, sometimes sadistic, masochistic lengths to achieve their ideal.
Venusians, but Bharani natives especially have a reputation for rarely smiling fully, always holding a mildly restrained expression (one of Bharani's translations literally being 'the Star of Restraint'. The Mona Lisa famously depicts this Bharani-esque expression; painted of course by Bharani Sun, Leonardo Da Vinci. It is often remarked that the painting itself isn't particularly outstanding in terms of beauty, but what makes it so charming is the mysterious aura emanated through means of the 'drab' yet earthy, sensual colour pallet & demure, vaguely amused expression. Others have remarked that the drab colour scheme brought special attention to the Mona Lisa's face, inviting us to engage with her.
Off the topic of Venusians; but Leonardo Da Vinci is also Shatabisha Moon conjunct Jupiter - Shatabisha natives, in true sidereal Aquarian fashion often receive praise for being 'ahead of their time' as Leo was indeed.
𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓾𝓼, 𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓷 & 𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓾𝓻𝓮, 𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓫𝓲𝓭𝓭𝓮𝓷 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮
Purvashadha is said to embody a state of wishing to return to the 'Garden of Eden', where we are one, we are divinely connected in pure bliss, beauty and pleasure. This further explains the Venusian life of oscillating between/existing with the realms of pain & pleasure.
Bharani experiences these themes through its association with 'delayed gratification' & later rewards. Bharani will work hard and go through a lot of pain to reap pleasures later on. Bharani being ruled by Lord Yama, the Vedic God of Death draws a connection between Bharani & facing your karma in your next incarnation.
Purvaphalguni experiences the conflict between pain & pleasure through the realisation that nothing can be 'perfect' and the frustration of knowing that some things are just out of their control. Purvaphalguni experiences the 'royal' quality of the Sun combined with the the sensuality of Venus- these people often take their happiness into their own hands, but run into struggles when they realise they can control themselves but they can't control other people's mistakes & external circumstances that may put a wrench in their ideals.
Purvashadha experiences the pain/pleasure theme through pining for something, shooting for the stars with some usually highly ambitious goal, and then realising all of the obstacles in the way of attaining that goal. However, Purvashadha translating to 'the invincible one' and also having the elephant tusk as a symbol (strong, unbreakable) shows how when Venusians persist in pursuit of their desires, they ultimately are successful and attain that Venusian dream life.
In my mind desire, is a result of the friction created between pain and pleasure. This is why forbidden love is so beautiful yet hurts so badly. Almost every Venusian I've ever met has some intense story of forbidden love- falling madly in love with a cartoon character that doesn't technically exist, falling in love with teachers, falling in love with someone who's dead, falling in love with someone who's an inappropriate choice due to their age, status, culture, professional role, etc.
Perhaps the most infamous story of forbidden love, is Romeo & Juliet. I had to check, & William Shakespeare is most likely (almost definitely considering the range of birth times proposed) a Bharani Sun native. (Side note that he looks kinda like Leonardo, lol)
Amidst these intense themes of romance, tragedy and longing, Venusians are very good at playing a role in their life and showing up to that role, often very ambitiously. However within them is always this gnawing desire to just- be wild and free with their passions without the pretence, without the pressure. This can sometimes express through random outbursts of frustration.
The elitism of Venus can even be somewhat of a defense mechanism. in Venus Nakshatras there is such a deep desire to experience true intimacy and bliss with another human being; that to protect this very human vulnerability they will often design some sort of system to decide who is worthy & who isn't- eg. 'I will only befriend/associate with people who enjoy this type of music'. That way there is always guaranteed common ground & allyship between them and those whom they let in, somewhat protecting their heartspace. In this way, Venusians are 'warriors of the heart' in a sense.
This longing and desperation to be united and feel that oneness, but knowing it may not be possible is often the drive for the art of Venusians in some way or another. The pure angst, the passion.
A lot of Venusians I've observed can develop an almost nihilistic worldview, or can even seem very 'boring' or overly structured on the surface- but ironically, the reason they have this view & demeanour is because they are at their core so idealistic and full of passion that it hurts. It feels easier to just close off the heart-space all together and in some cases express their passion in a strange, or abstract (or in darker cases, violent) manner because society isn't built around beauty & pleasure as much as Venusians tend wish.
This aching to feel alive & dance between pain vs pleasure can be seen in Venusian Nakshatras' tendency to self harm or self sabotage. Venusians can do wild and even dangerous things just to feel ALIVE. To Venusians, pain is worth it if it means there could be a pleasurable outcome.
More on Venusian boredom: one of Purvashadha's symbols is a hand held fan, often a symbol of gracefulness and high society, sometimes used to convey boredom (think of the classic imagery of the beautiful women with unenthused expressions on their faces watching a riveting piano recital).
𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓾𝓼 𝓶𝓮𝓷 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 ~𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓭~
(Refer to image below)
Venusians often look PAINED lol, the women too but especially the men. Venus men have this distinct look. A lot of the time they can be womanizers or at least pleasure seeking, but also kinda sad and troubled (more of Venus' pain/pleasure themes. In a lot of stories of Venus men, they may be womanisers in lifestyle yet always have 'that one woman' who they really can't get past and regard as their 'soulmate'.
Johnny Galecki , Bharani Sun & Purvashadha Moon - particularly in his famous role as Leonard Hofstadter in the Big Bang Theory. He pines after his love interest, Penny for yearsss, getting shot down but always persisting- eventually he 'won her over' and even got married. (Bharani's delayed gratification & Purvashadha's romantic ambition).
Johnny Depp (what's with these J names?? There's this meme that boys with 'J names' are trouble, I wonder if there's any cosmic connection with Venus Nakshatras lol) Purvashadha Moon - famous for his intense relationships with women (and substances), somewhat of a womaniser as well
Jim Morrison, Bharani Moon - stunning artist & musician of course, also a womanizer who often slept with women on the road, indulging in substances.
Charlie Sheen, Purvaphalguni Sun - in real life & in the show 'Two and a Half Men' where he quite literally plays himself, he is an infamous womaniser with a penchant for substances, partying and destructive forms of pleasure.
My partner was originally in this collage lmao because I kid you not his Purvashadha lookin self fits this collage perfectly (he's got the Jim Morrison beard and the whole shabang), but he wouldn't enjoy being on tumblr so eh.
It's worth noting that a lot of Sun men who are considered attractive to women often have Venus ruled Nakshatras through their chart also. Sun influence without Venus can make men seem very dry and not very understanding of female emotions or psychology, therefore somewhat unpleasant for women to be around.
Bottom line is Venusians, love women! Venus men love women, Venus women love women.
Anyway, as always this was toooo long and like I earlier mentioned, this is the tip of the iceberg on what I could yap about in regards to Venus Nakshatras and their influence on their natives and our world in a general sense.
Thankyou for reading :) 🩷
ps. I'm very wary of talking about planets and the whole feminine/masculine thing because I really don't want to give the impression that there is a certain polarity that is more or less ideal for a gender. It's not as though if you're a woman with Mars or Sun Nakshatras you simply are not feminine, neither does it mean a woman necessarily should be traditionally feminine. be yourself lovely people ✌️
#nakshatras#sidereal astrology#vedic astrology#vedic astro observations#venusians#nakshatra#astrology#astro observations#astro community#astro placements#astro notes#lunar mansion#astrology notes#venus#purva phalguni#bharani#purvashadha
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