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miller-n-morgan-2 · 14 days

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Take Me Home

3. Worthiness

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: Apologies for taking so long in between to repost these chapters, it's almost fashion week and I am CRAMMING everything my ass can handle into the next few weeks lmaooo. pls enjoy and let me know what you think!

Summary: Abigail gains a new friend and gossip partner to chat with over meals, and Pearson has had enough of it. Luckily, Dutch has something lined up and ready to take the kid out of camp.

Warnings: Mild Language, gun violence. Game typical violence. Robbery/heist shenanigans. Fluff and Angst, because who doesn't love that combo? Arthur and reader get into a fight and want to kill each other for like a split second but it ends fine I swear.

WC: 6.1k

“I think I could drop you where you stand.” You were all talk, now, and he knew that… but it still boiled under his skin the way you challenged him. “You make quite a big to do of yourself… M’guessin’ that’s where most of your reputation came from,” he smirked, but he should know better than to taunt you about those men you shot dead. “Before I got here I barely spoke a word to no one… I got my reputation from shootin’ folks so fast they didn’t have time to repent to God.”

You’ve taken to a new hobby. You’re not quite sure the word that describes it right, but to explain what it entails, a bit of background needs to be added for understanding.

Abigail is borderline nine months pregnant.

John Marston, the everloving man that he is, has taken it upon himself to steer clear of her in the last stages of her pregnancy.

Given this unfortunate situation, Abigail finds herself eating more and more food to try and relieve the stress. She also finds herself ranting to you about the dimwitted man that impregnated her, because you seem the most open to listening without offering advice. Truth be told, you just enjoy the company of a woman that doesn’t shy away from you, or try to woo you over. It brings about a sense of normalcy.

Now, in the past weeks that this has been happening, you’ve taken to eating at the same times as Abigail, shoveling more and more into your plate like she does. It’s now become a ritual, or as you would like to call it, a hobby, to sit and devour food while shit-talking John Marston as he’s away. ‘Keeping his distance,’ whatever the hell that means, when the woman you’re with is nine months pregnant.

In the midst of this new hobby, Dutch and Pearson have had many arguments. Dutch was always less than concerned about it, whilst Pearson nearly threw a fit every time either of you came to get portions for a meal.

“I’ve had enough of it. They come, they eat, they leave! That new boy of yours hasn’t done anything since he got here but eat us out of our stock,” Pearson complained for the hundredth time. Though you’d kept up with chores around the camp, (trying to help Abigail pick up some of her slack) you hadn’t really brought any money into the camp, which was what Dutch brought you here to do.

“Arthur’s been trainin’ him well, I’m sure it’ll be no time at all before he starts runnin’ jobs with us.” Dutch knew what this was really about…

Pearson was madder than a hornet when John first got Abigail pregnant. Even worse when he found out she would be traveling with the gang from then on. Feeding a pregnant woman was sometimes like feeding two extra men… not to mention the fact that you joined her at every meal. He doesn’t want to say anything about Abigail, especially in the state she’s in… but maybe if you didn’t sit and eat with her all the damn time, it wouldn’t be as bad, and the rations would last longer.

“He better start earnin’ his keep. If he doesn’t I’ll skin him, make a stew.”

Dutch let out a boisterous laugh, clapping Pearson on the back and shaking his head.

“I have a feeling he’ll probably bring in as much as Arthur… There’s some sort of competition between them. I think as long as they don’t rip each other to shreds, they’ll be real beneficial,” He started towards Hosea, passing by you and Abigail on the way and tipping his hat. “Top of the mornin’ to ya.”

“Mornin’,” you nodded with a smile, taking a sip of your coffee before digging back into the bread and jam you both raided from Pearson’s ‘kitchen.’

He ducked into his tent, and you turned back to Abigail, listening intently to all she had to say. Today, she had news of an argument between her and John the night before.

“It’s been all, ‘how do I even know that kid is mine?’ and ‘what if I don’t want to be a part of it anymore?’ since about the five month mark. M’startin’ to think that maybe I should’ve just left the gang, convinced some poor drunk dope from the town it’s his.” She gave her best John impression when quoting him, and as funny as it was, all you could feel was grief for the young woman. She was too young to even be thinking this way.

You’ve not spent any one on one time with John, but he sounds like a real ass.

“As sad as I am to say it, Miss Abigail… I believe most of us men are stupid as they come. We can’t tell what’s right in front of us, even if y’all are screamin’ and shoutin’.”

“If that ain’t the truth…” she trailed, sighing with her head down. Even though she portrayed her sorrows in a comedic light, you could tell it weighed on her.

You weren’t sure if you should even offer this, because you had no idea if you would even be hiding your secret this long, but the longer you go without revealing anything… you’re starting to think of your little secret more permanently.

“If push comes to shove… You can tell the kid it’s mine. Not too sure it’ll believe you, what with the carrot head I got, but if you want to…”

She laughed lighthearted, and sighed again, but this time out of contentment.

“I guess not all men are stupid. You’re not even the first one who’s offered that to me,” she explained, nodding towards the outskirts of camp where an open tent fixed upon a wagon sat neatly kept. “Arthur said the same thing when all these problems with John started.”

You smiled, looking at his empty living space, barely anything to show that he occupied the place. He had a simple cot and bedroll, a small table, and just a few sentimental pieces here and there. He didn’t need anything fancy or grandiose to his name, just a gun and his hat, and he was satisfied. He’s even kinder than you thought, too, hearing it firsthand from Abigail. A good man, and a great outlaw. You found yourself longing for him nearly every day now, and it would only get worse from here.

“He’s sure something, ain’t he?” You tried to be nonchalant about him, and it seemed to work in the eyes of Abigail, but if she’d known just one little thing about you, her entire mind would be changed.

“Oh, yes. I’ll be damn straight with ya, I almost wish it were Arthur I met last year. Wish it was him that found me at the brothel. I do love John, but… he breaks my heart sometimes,” she let out, trying to hold herself together. She’d long since begun crying herself to sleep at night, pretty much since John decided she could sleep on her own. Now, though, was not the place to break down. You’ve been kind enough to listen to her, and she feels as though using your shoulder to cry on would be taking advantage. So she changes the subject. “While I’m on the topic of love… I’ve heard you got an admirer.”

Your cheeks grew red from embarrassment, and she thought that maybe you were blushing, but she didn’t know how far off she was. “I guess I’ve heard a thing or two ‘bout that…”

“Tilly is a sweet girl, I’m sure you both would get along fine,” she added, going back to her food.

“She’s one of the kindest souls I’ve met,” you told her, trying to be as honest as you could without divulging anything she didn’t need to know. “I’ve just never…”

“You’ve never… what?”

You shrugged, huffing a sigh and eating the last piece of jam covered bread on your plate. Already you could tell you’d be hungry again soon. “Never been in a relationship like that before.”

“I see. Is that something you think you’d want?” Her patience is why you liked speaking with her. Sometimes she had a short temper, but it was almost always warranted and towards those who deserved it.

You took her question to heart. You’d not even considered a relationship since the day you ran away. Your self-found freedom had been from an arranged marriage. It had been your choice to leave that way of life. You never thought you’d ever find love in the aftermath of your liberation, but thinking about it now… You looked to Arthur’s tent, just a single glance to see if he’s returned yet.

“I hope so, maybe someday when the time is right. I just think that right now, I’m not so sure about anything at all, and it wouldn’t be fair to Miss Tilly to start up something I ain’t ready for.”

She sat and stared into your downward expression for a minute, meeting your eyes when you looked up.

You smirked a little at her gaping expression, trying to make light of it.

“I got somethin’ on my face?”

“No,” she shook her head, knocking herself out of whatever trance she just fell into. “S’just that… I think you’re mighty wise for someone your age. And for a man, too.”

“I reckon that’s a real fine compliment, and I’ll take it well.”

You both shared a laugh before going back to the stashed food for seconds.

Dutch had an idea… a dangerous thing, but sometimes a very lucrative one.

The worst part about this dangerous and lucrative idea? Arthur, Javier, John, and Bill were on board. It meant there was gonna be one hell of a party this afternoon, and no one in their right mind would have the courage to stop it.

You were unaware of said idea until around lunch time, when Pearson just ripped you a new one for taking food before it was even ready. You shared it with Abigail of course, you’re not an animal.

Dutch and Hosea were making the plans for this afternoon, and came across you both sulking in the grass, just inches away from Pearson’s space. They grabbed some small provisions for themselves, as they hadn’t quite eaten much today, and you overheard some of their chatter.

“I’m getting too old for all that excitement. One job here and there is all I can do anymore,” Hosea tried to reason with his dearest friend.

“I need another gun or it doesn’t work,” Dutch sighed out, scratching the back of his neck as he thought of another solution.

You stood up and peeked over the barrel you’d been resting against, leaning over it and making your presence known.

“I got a gun,” you smirked, halfway joking incase he shuts you down. He hasn’t told you directly that he doesn’t want you riding with them yet, but he has asked Arthur if he thinks you’re ready… to which Arthur always replied, ‘almost.’

Dutch narrowed his eyes at you, looking back to Hosea, but the man held his hands up in mock defense. He was gonna sit this one out regardless.

“How’s your horse with gunfire?” he asked, genuinely considering your offer today.

“He oughta be fine, otherwise I can take someone else’s.”

There was another moment of pause, and Hosea spoke up.

“Sean would be happy to go, he hasn’t seen action in a few weeks.”

You sighed, doing your best to act as if you weren’t upset, then started to speak loudly.

“That’s fine by me. I’ll just stay here and have lunch with Abigail…” you trailed, and immediately Pearson whipped himself around from his station.

“No!” He shouted, and though you were partially joking, he didn’t want to find that out for himself. He’d had enough of you, and likely of Abigail, too. “As God is my witness, I will pack my shit and never look back… take him, I’m beggin’ ya.”

Dutch found his little outburst quite comical, as did you. He chuckled lowly and rolled it over in his head once more before deciding. Maybe what you really needed to learn was being thrown in the deep end. Hell, he knew what you were capable of. It was the very reason you stood on this ground in the first place. Now he needed to put those fiery trigger fingers to the test.

“Son,” he turned back to face you with a look of sheer confidence, hopefully this didn’t mean the pressure would all be on you. “Saddle your horse, load up on ammo. You’ll be going with John.”

The smile you had immediately left your face.

“Yessir,” you said quickly, leaving the group to do as he said.

John Marston, the man you’d been shit talking for over a week now. Not to his face, of course, but to his lady it was enough, even if she was doing just as much if not more in sullying his name.

You had a bad taste for him, that much you could say. It wasn’t going to be fun, but you’d prevail. You had to. It was time to start earning your keep.

You found the rest of the men by the hitching posts, strolling up as confidently as can be. You enjoyed the baffled looks of confusion they wore, unsure of what you were doing here. Surely you wouldn’t be joining them…

“Howdy,” you teased, tipping your hat to them with a sideways smirk. Your young looking ‘boyish’ features gave them an inkling of annoyance with the look you wore, all cocky and arrogant for show. “Give me just a second, I’ll be ready to head out.”

“You’re coming with us?” Bill questioned, though it wasn’t out of sheer curiosity, but agitation.

“Damn straight,” you muttered quieter, done joking for now since they all seemed to be absolutely against you riding along. You got along with them in camp, why did they seem to exclude you now that a job was concerned? Why did they look like they were about to fight tooth and nail to keep you here?

You ignored their sarcastic chatter over your ‘scrawny’ appearance, and made ready your horse. You’d taken him riding several times since getting here, but he hasn’t gotten to see much action other than running down the side of the river bank.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Arthur came up beside you, trying to gain your primary focus and lead it away from the horse… not exactly a hard task when you look like Arthur Morgan does.

“Dutch said I’m ridin’ on the job,” you explained, making it very clear, first and foremost, that you had permission to go out with them from the boss.

“When? Just now? Because as it was told to us, you weren’t goin’...”

“I get y’all don’t exactly want me here, but he needed another gun. I happen to have one, matter of fact, and I’m pretty damn good at shootin’ it. I don’t understand your hissy fit, but it ain’t gonna stop me from goin’, so I hope we’re not gonna have a problem, here.”

He kept his mouth shut. He needed to think and rehash his words in his head before he let something fly that he didn’t at all mean.

“I’m tryin’ to protect you, kid.” He was even closer than before all of a sudden, and you had to make him the center of your attention once again.

“Protect me from what? I shoot faster than you, remember?”

You made a point, but he made a better one.

“You mean ‘the one shot you know how to take?’ Is that the one?” He recalled your words from many days before, the day he began teaching you everything you needed to know. You’d been here nearly a month now, if you hadn’t learned enough already, you never would.

“Look, Arthur,” you turned away from him using all the strength you had, because dammit, you did enjoy looking at him. “I know you don’t think this is ideal, but it’s not your call to make. Take it up with Dutch.”

You strapped a rifle to your horse and grabbed its reins from the hitching post, leading the dark, glossy stallion over by where the boys were finishing up.

“Marston,” you called, all traces of light hearted fun were gone from your tone, completely dulled and sullen from the loss of excitement. “I’m with you.”

Arthur rode with Dutch nearly the whole time.

You were on the caboose end of the cavalcade, and watched them talk up ahead. There was no doubt in your mind it concerned you, because that’s why Arthur is so high strung, so angry about this job.

Javier gave you the run-down on the first few minutes of the ride. It’s a quick job, and shouldn’t get drawn any attention from the neighboring towns. Essentially, there’s a procession of carriages coming from the north and heading south east, and most of the folk traveling are fairly wealthy. The kicker is, all the valuables from each person are said to be stowed on a ‘safe cart’ in the middle of the procession. You’re not sure how they figure that, but you know Dutch has incredible sources. Using the team assembled, you’ll all have to separate the safe cart from the rest of the caravan, leading it off the trail and far enough away that it can be easily raided with no repercussions. The only downside? The safe cart is heavily guarded by several armed men and is manned by experienced drivers.

Once Javier started getting into the logistics and details of the job, you zoned out, focusing on the conversation happening with Arthur and Dutch up ahead. You had no clue what they were saying, but the body language and facial expressions said a lot.

Arthur likely expressed his concerns to Dutch, and thereafter, was told he need not be concerned… But Arthur was a persistent animal, he didn’t just dip his head and turn away.

You think that Arthur may have listed a few points for Dutch to consider, and that the man did so, with the fact in the forefront of his mind that you were still on the job.

By the time everyone reached the lookout, the two of them circled around to face the rest.

“There’s been a change of plan,” Dutch called out, looking over every face and the horse they accommodated, and they lasted longer on you than the others. “John, you’re taking the frontside of the caravan with Javier.”

And just like that, you’d been replaced.

“Where am I goin’ then?” You tilted your head in confusion.

“You’re with me, Red,” Arthur let out, his tone not nearly as angry as earlier. Now you gotta know what happened during that talk with Dutch.

“Yes, you and Arthur will bring up the back, makin’ sure there’s no surprises.”

You weren’t sure what to feel. Was he trying to keep you where he could see you? Did he think of himself as your babysitter? Why would he put up all that fuss just to give in as long as you rode with him?

“Alright,” you sighed out, acknowledging that bringing up the rear of the operation was still better than not coming at all.

The rest of the plan stayed the same, and soon, everyone split off with their respective partners for this heist.

You rode off with Arthur in silence to the waiting point, not daring to say anything until you’d been sure nobody was around to hear it. You weren’t going to rip into him about this, but you had questions. He clearly was concerned over your wellbeing if he fought so hard to make sure you wouldn’t be riding in, guns blazing, on your first job. You were just going to cover the rear, a measure of security.

When you stopped just short of the trail, you hitched your horses, taking cover behind some bushes and trees to lay low. You turned to Arthur with a huff.

“What the hell was that?”

He was taken aback, but not jumpy about your outburst.

“Don’t start with this again, kid. I’m tryin’ to help you,” he crossed his arms, leaning against the tree and watching the road. It was still too early for the caravan, but he didn’t want to meet your eyeline.

“You ain’t helpin’ me, you’re holdin’ me back,” you grumbled, stepping on a small gathering of dead leaves, becoming even more enraged - for no good reason - when they didn’t crunch beneath your boot.

“You’ll thank me one day…” he trailed, lighting a cigarette from within his pocket. You would have decked him in the face if you thought it would help.

At first you’d been grateful to him, for seeing you no differently than the others, and even showing you the ropes to become better equipped. Now you could see it was all a ruse. He underestimated you and kept telling Dutch you weren’t ready. He kept ‘training’ you to keep you busy. You weren’t falling for that shtick again. You didn’t care how pretty his eyes were, anymore.

“Where do you get off, Morgan? The shit you’ve been putting me through these past weeks…” you scoffed, finding it amusing almost just how unbothered he seemed to be. Maybe he really was just as mean as the town’s folk say. “I’ve been able to match or best you at everything you’ve thrown at me. Maybe I should just take you out of my way.”

He chuckled, standing upright and creeping towards you with slow steps. His eyes narrowed, and for once, you felt you knew what it was like to be prey.

“You wanna give it a try?” he taunted, towering over you with a threatening stare. Just seeing how intimidating he could really be, you wanted to back off. Of course, you didn’t. “You really think you could take me?”

His voice was all too quiet, all too calm. The words he spoke held such heaviness, but it didn’t show in his tone. He was teasing you, and if you gave in, he’d likely give you a humbling. You knew he’d been eyeing your hand, as if hovered closely to your gun belt… so you dropped it to your side to defuse him a little.

“I think I could drop you where you stand.”

You were all talk, now, and he knew that… but it still boiled under his skin the way you challenged him.

“You make quite a big to do of yourself… M’guessin’ that’s where most of your reputation came from,” he smirked, but he should know better than to taunt you about those men you shot dead.

“Before I got here I barely spoke a word to no one… I got my reputation from shootin’ folks so fast they didn’t have time to repent to God.”

Your dead eye stare caught him. He didn’t back down, didn’t waver… he was so staunchly preserved in his way of life that he didn’t even let it show in his eyes just how much you got to him with that line.

“Your twenty-one notches ain’t shit to me.” He’s sure that by now he’s killed hundreds, maybe thousands. Sure, most he shot in the back, but the number in which he didn’t still far surpasses your miniscule little twenty-one.

“Then let’s make it twenty-two, yeah?” You didn’t plan on shooting it, but you drew your pistol faster than he could think, trying to put it against his chest to scare him, but his reaction time was faster than you had initially thought. He grabbed the gun from your hand before it ever neared him, and threw it into the grass behind him before shoving you down.

“Damnit, Red! You have no clue, do you?” He stood over you angrily, looking at your frozen figure like you were an animal he was hunting. “You got a gift that none of us have. Hell, I’ve been doin’ this for sixteen years and I still ain’t as fast as you. You could be the best of us, but you’re too damn stubborn, and too damn arrogant. You’re never gonna get anywhere if you’re dead.”

You stood to your feet, staring at him silently. You didn’t have anything to say to him, and honestly, you weren’t sure what would even be okay at this point. He was still angry, but his arms were no longer tense, and he wasn’t seething through harsh breaths anymore. You turned away from him and walked to your horse, sitting back down by the base of a tree and tipping your hat over your eyes. This was going to be a long day.

It was approaching sundown when the caravan actually arrived. You’d been napping when Dutch and Bill first gave the signal. Arthur had been watching for it the entire time, and scoffed when he turned his head to you, finding you still fast asleep as if you had nothing to worry about.

He took a few steps over towards your resting place, kicking your boot and startling you out of your peaceful slumber.

“What?” you asked, annoyed. Your hat was still over your eyes, so he couldn’t see how dazed you actually were.

“Sorry, miss… didn’t mean to disturb you,” he teased, his mood having cooled off since the hours after the fight you had. “Just thought you should be conscious during your first job.”

You huffed and stood to your feet, fixing your hat and making sure you hadn’t left anything on the ground.

Arthur went back to the lookout position and watched through his binoculars for any signs that it was about to go down… you still weren’t one hundred percent clear on the plan, so you thought you might try and annoy him a little by reiterating it.

“So… Dutch and Bill are gonna close in on the sides, leadin’ the safe carriage away from the rest, and that’s when Javier and John stop it from the front. I got that right?”

“You got it right,” he droned on mindlessly, trying his best to pay more attention to the small flaming signal in the distance. It’s getting closer, but until they put the fire out, there’s no need to mount your horses.

“Then it‘s a four man job, they don’t even need us.”

“I s’pose you never heard the term ‘backup’ then, have you?” He snickered, still not even giving a glance in your direction. He was firm as stone in his resolve, and you figured it would be no use trying to entertain yourself further.

“Didn’t take you as the ‘backup’ type…” you grumbled under your breath, mumbling some other incoherencies that he didn’t get a chance to hear. He was almost sure he saw Bill creeping over to the torch, and became positive when the light went dark.

“Get on your horse,” he became quieter, more focused. You instantly figured it out that he was the type to zone in on his jobs, and maybe you could learn from it. If you really wanted to be his equal, you needed to learn to meet or best him in everything he thrives at.

“You get the signal?”

He nodded, “they’re coming down the trail, we gotta be ready to chase em’ when they come through.”

You both pulled up onto your saddles, holding the horse’s from moving too much. If your position was given away, they might derail the caravan from the trail. You reckon this many rich folk traveling in a pack oughta know someone’s gonna be stupid enough to steal from them. It’s why they have a safe carriage in the first place.

Within a moment, you can see the caravan coming over the hill. It’s dimly lit as the sun lowers completely behind the mountains, small lanterns clinging to every vehicle on the trail. You look up to the ridge that Arthur had been scoping out all this time, and you see Dutch and Bill riding downwards in a rapid attempt to split the caravan. That’s when you spot it… the stone cold metal wagon, weighing probably more than all the horses in camp combined, and armed to the brim with men on every corner. They carry heavy repeaters, their heads on a swivel. They haven’t seen Dutch or Bill yet, but as they round the corner, they all raise their weapons, just for the sound of horse hooves.

“Cover ‘em,�� Arthur told you, grabbing his rifle off his horse’s saddle. You did the same, not hesitant to start shooting at the men in the distance. You had relatively good cover, and couldn’t really be seen, but upon seeing so much fire come from your side of the trail, they began offroading towards Dutch and Bill.

“Do we go?” you asked, switching to your pistol as you prepared to let your horse run.

“Not yet,” he held his hand for you to watch, leaning sideways to see around another tree. He had to make sure the rest of the caravan wasn’t following the safe cart. When he saw that most of them stopped in place, he flicked his wrist, pointing in the direction you needed to go. “Now.”

You rode quickly and out onto the trail, passing the other carriages. You could vaguely hear women crying and men yelling. They ain’t gotta be afraid for their lives, so long as they stay put.

It wasn’t hard to catch up to the gang, as they had taken the remaining guards off on the way to stopping the carriage. There was one rogue horseman that Arthur turned and shot before he could get too close to the area, but other than that, they were able to get the damn thing stationary enough to rob.

“John, hold him off,” Dutch commanded, watching the younger man hold his gun to the carriage driver’s skull. The man cried out for mercy, not knowing that Dutch would spare his life regardless. He was unarmed, and wasn’t standing in their way, so obviously they would let him go. The Van Der Linde’s did have a code, after all. “Arthur, you open the back.”

And so he put his gun away and strolled up to the back of the wagon with his head held high, happy this robbery went according to plan… until of course, he opened the back, and was unprepared for a heavily armed man to aim right for his chest and pull the trigger. Two guns sounded at almost the same time, but yours sounded first, and it was just quick enough to skew the aim of the dead man, and he landed a non-fatal blow to Arthur’s shoulder. Both men collapsed, but one was still alive. Twenty-Two…

“Arthur! You alright, son?” Dutch yelled, running over to check on him. You’d already knelt down by where he had fallen back to, trying to sit up, but failing because of the pain. You immediately put pressure on his wound, trying to stop the bleeding on your own accord. You ripped the bandana from your neck and tried tying it up, but it was just barely long enough to go around his entire shoulder and underarm.

“M’fine, s’just a minor shot, it went through.”

“Brooks, you oughta take him back to camp, see if any of the girls know how to patch him up,” he gave you direct orders, and you nodded, helping a moaning and groaning Arthur to his feet.

“How’d we make out?” Arthur asked, looking into the open wagon, where Bill and Javier seemed to be rolling in money.

“Pretty damn good,” Dutch replied, giving a pat to your shoulder, since Arthur’s is in disarray. “And Brooks?”

You looked over your shoulder at him, a hopeful look on your face, longing for the approval of someone besides yourself for once. “Yeah?”

“You did good.”

And there it was, the signed seal of approval from none other than Dutch Van Der Linde himself.

You and Arthur remained pretty silent on the ride back to camp, mostly because he was in a shocking amount of pain and distress, but he did his best to hold it in.

You hitched and unsaddled his horse for him, doing the same with yours before following him into camp. He made way for one of the ladies, maybe Abigail if Jack was asleep already, or Karen if she wasn’t busy workin’ some of the town men.

“Hey,” you recognized what he was doing, so you pulled him by the opposite arm in the direction of his tent. “I’ll do it.”

His living area was just wide open space in the trees, unlike yours, however, he got quite a bit more elbow room than you did. Perks of seniority

“You don’t have to-”

“I’m tryna apologize, you should let me.”

He laughed a little, a soft smile on his lips.

“What’re you apologizing for?” He asked, sitting down into his cot as you rummaged through the supplies he had on hand. Maybe not the best stuff around, but to stitch him up and wrap it after, it was fine. He’d survive.

“Bein’ an ass, and taunting you when I know you could snap my neck in one hand.” You were flat in your tone, too focused on threading a needle to put any effort behind your words.

“I’d never,” he said, laughing a little. He seemed to be in a cheerful mood for just having been shot.

“You might,” you tied the thread off and bit the end to break it from the spool. Very hygienic, you know, but you didn’t find a pair of scissors. “You’ve only just barely reached the surface for just how obnoxious I can be.”

“Oh have I now?”

“Mhm…”

You pulled at his shirt collar, opening just a few more buttons until it could pull back over his arm. He didn’t stop you, or even wince, just sat back and waited for the sting of a needle.

“This ain’t gonna tickle,” you braced him, but as soon as you started digging into his skin, making the actual stitches, he was surprised. You were pretty good at this… the reasoning behind it was probably just another one of your many secrets, he’s sure.

“S’not so bad, actually. You do this a lot?”

“Not anymore… but I was a little rich girl, remember? Did embroidery and needlepoint since I was a little kid. I kind of miss it, actually.”

“A gunslinger misses doin’ needlepoint?” he chuckled, feeling the hole in his skin being patched back together. Now you just gotta do the other side.

“Well sure,” you furrowed your brows, leaning forward to bite the thread again and pull his body so you could see the exit wound. “I used to sit on the porch of my house and do it with my mama.”

He felt sorrowful all of a sudden. “Were you uh… close with your mother?”

You nodded, not speaking in fears you’d tear up, or your voice would crack. The way you both were sitting, he couldn’t see the direct look on your face, but he understood it was probably a sensitive subject.

Oh to think, what a life you may have led if you were not born a girl. You missed your mother, and your old friends from school. You missed being able to do needlepoint, and other more feminine activities.

“You know what I hate most about this life?” you uttered, your voice shallow, but you didn’t seem to care all that much anymore. He seemed to take a genuine interest in your problems, and your personal feelings. It was more than you could say about most men. “I haven’t worn a dress in four years… and I really love dresses.”

This wasn’t the meltdown you saw yourself having in front of Arthur, but he didn’t mind it. He placed his opposite hand on your shoulder as you bit off the last thread to seal his wounds.

“How about this… someday, when you’ve told everyone that you’re- y’know…” he trailed, nodding his head around for emphasis. “I’ll buy you a dress in town. Whichever one you want.”

You couldn’t help but smile. In the span of one day, you’d gone through nearly every emotion you possibly could with this man, but in the end, your resolve had again been weakened, and you found yourself falling into his crystal eyes once more.

“Thank you, Arthur… You’re a kind man, you know?”

He shook his head. “Not so kind to most.”

You knew not to argue with him, as you were learning, he was very self deprecating, and there was no changing his mind. You took a leap, unsure of what might come of it, but you wanted to show your gratuity some other way.

You quickly leaned forward, kissing his cheek ever so softly, almost as if it didn’t even happen. When you sat back, his eyes were a bit wider, and his brows were raised. He seemed to be frozen in surprise, and words failed him. You didn’t want him to possibly find words that could hurt, so you stood up to leave, calling after him whilst walking away.

“Goodnight, Arthur.”

And that would have been good enough, but your heart skipped a beat when your sentiment was returned.

“Night, Red.”

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark @strvberrydoll

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x you

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genericpuff · 8 months

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I really enjoyed seeing your last post!!! It reminded me of something else that I noticed when I was younger and not really seeing LO through the eyes I am now- even when I lived LO, I noticed that Minthe’s bust size.. Might’ve changed? (I could be remembering wrong, and I’m sorry if I am!) I didn’t think on it too much back then, but it felt a lot like the “she could never measure up to Persephone”, or the “she’s nothing to worry about when it comes to Persephone”!!

But then, when Minthe was supposed to be more of a “problem,” I noticed she’d get drawn with a larger bust- or at least larger than it had been back in the earliest episodes!

This could all make absolutely no sense, (and I apologize for just rambling in your askbox!), but I watching a character’s “worthiness” be portrayed through something as simple and neutral as their chest size stuck out to me then, and sticks out to me now!! 😓)

Oh don't apologize, you're literally pointing out exactly the things we've even talked about in the ULO community !

Literally here she is in S1:

And we even get a scene of her smooshing her boobs together in Episode 35 in an effort to make them seem bigger because she legit feels like Hades is pursuing the "new hotness" in the office based around their physical appearances:

But then she conveniently goes up like 3 cup sizes when it's time for her to be cemented as the villain and suffer her fate by getting turned into a plant?

I've literally seen fans grasp at straws to explain that maybe she got a boob job but then they don't realize that the story at this point has only been going on for like, 3-4 weeks at most. At best you shouldn't have to make those massive leaps to explain the inconsistent character body types. If Minthe really did get a boob job, don't you think that's something that should have been explained in the comic?

And let's be real, we all know what it's really about because it's just more of Rachel pitting women against women:

What's wild though is that Rachel is vastly misinterpreting a classic image here:

A lot of people look at that image of Jayne Mansfield and Sophia Loren and just immediately assume that Sophia is giving Jayne the stink eye over her outfit. And of course, we see this misinterpretation in Rachel's drawing that swaps Sophia and Jayne with Minthe and Persephone.

When in FACT what was actually going on was that Sophia spotted Jayne getting dangerously close to a wardrobe malfunction / nip slip and the camera just happened to catch her making a face that could be misinterpreted as slut-shaming.

"Yes, Paramount had organized a party for me. All of cinema was there, it was incredible. And then comes in Jayne Mansfield, the last one to come. For me, that was when it got amazing. She came right for my table. She knew everyone was watching. She sat down. And now, she was barely… Listen. Look at the picture. Where are my eyes? I'm staring at her nipples because I am afraid they are about to come onto my plate. In my face you can see the fear. I'm so frightened that everything in her dress is going to blow—BOOM!—and spill all over the table."

Ans Sophia has actually stated that she doesn't like those misinterpretations and is trying to actively distance herself from it.

"Actually, many, many times I am given this photo to autograph it. And I never do. I don't want to have anything to do with that. And also out of respect for Jayne Mansfield because she's not with us anymore."

Jayne died in 1967, only living for about 30 years, and Sophia herself is actually still around. I can imagine how disheartening it is to see people still misinterpreting a photo of two friends and colleagues especially when it's through the lens of slut-shaming an accomplished actress who is unfortunately no longer with us.

Sooo yeah all that said, I'm less inclined to believe it was Minthe getting a boob job and more inclined to believe it was more of Rachel's weird internalized misogyny picking and choosing which women are "sluts" and which ones are "victims" for dressing or being built a certain way. It's really gross when you start to notice it.

People have also pointed out how odd it is that every single character who gets into a relationship or is in a relationship by S3 seemingly morphs into copies of Hades and Persephone, which is really just more of a testament to how lazy Rachel is in her character designs. In her head she's just trying Hades and Persephone all the time but different colors, I imagine at this point the H x P relationship is the only thing that she's interested in writing/drawing about (and even that's arguably hanging on by a thread because she couldn't even let their long-awaited wedding scene have real room to breathe) so it's almost like she's defaulting to just zoning out and drawing nothing but H x P and then having her assistants color them differently based on who it's actually supposed to be.

But I digress. The body shaming and slut shaming is definitely hard-baked into LO and how it portrays its characters. Despite Rachel having written an actual comic portraying sexism in the past, she still can't seem to express her ideas around sexism, to the point of, again, saying she "didn't know sexism was that bad" until she worked on LO. Like, girl... you drew a comic about sexism before LO, what are you talking about? Is this more of you not wanting to acknowledge ANY of the work you did prior to LO, or are you telling me you didn't intend for those older works to be interpreted as sexism???

"I feel like female characters in general, people will be a little harsher on them and sometimes way harsher on them, and I used to be like.. before I started writing the story and like making a story I was like yeah, sexism is not that bad, and [now] I was like oh it's bad. It's quite bad [laughs], so like, I don't know, I feel like the female characters in the story don't get so much of a pass. But this isn't consistent across the board, it's not all the time." - Rachel Smythe, Girl Wonder Podcast circa 2022

#WHICH IS IT RACHEL #DO YOU THINK SEXISM WASN'T THAT BAD OR DO YOU BLAME THE PATRIARCHY FOR EVERYTHING #DO YOU THINK PEOPLE ARE TOO HARSH ON YOUR FEMALE CHARACTERS OR DO YOU MEAN JUST PERSEPHONE-#lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #lo critical #ama #ask me anything #anon ama #anon ask me anything

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anemonelovesfiction · 1 year

Text

Fated Mates 5

Ao’nung x Fem! Human reader

Warnings ⚠️: Smut, Fingering, P in V, upset Y/n.

As always English is stricken through and everything else is notmal? There is a new name in here, Vehlín (Veh-leen), its the only name of importance and it was hard to come up with 🥺

Please forgive me if the plot seems rushed, I’ve not been in the mood and kinda depressy and stressed to get this chapter out so I believe it to be crap compared to my other chapters. I did read through it to a certain point and just wanted to post it.

Eyewng is made up, just for the sake of the plot really (if y’all cared I wanted it pronounced like “Eyy-oong”)

Translation Station

Iknimaya: Na’Vi right of passage into adulthood

Sa’nok: Mother

Tewng: Loincloth

Yawne: beloved

Tawtute: Sky Person (used as “human”)

Ma’tìyawn: My love

Syulang: Flower

Ma’eveng: My child (an endearing term)

Um’ma: Mama

Word count: 6.7k

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I had believed to have been hiding my arousal pretty well over the last two days. But I felt the desperate itch to have my hands exploring my wife’s body, to have my cock inside her, my tongue on her, I wanted to caress her entire being and listen to the sweet melodious sounds she makes while I please her. But I had been busy in every way possible by helping the clan out in any way I could.

When I was younger I would typically train and follow my father around a bit to get a better hold on his duties in the instance that I’d have to take over. I’d eventually been added the role as a teacher to help the young with breathing exercises and Ilu training, as well as training those who wished to pass their iknimaya. But following my father around now was harsh, my time had been taken up from the moment my eyes opened to the moment we had communal dinner.

How my father did this every day without stopping, managing to be a father, husband, and lover to my mother was beyond me- how they had the time to have the three of us was also beyond me. We were currently sitting and fixing a couple of nets that had less holes than they were supposed to and making sure we could salvage what we could.

My ears flickered at the sudden sound of my fathers chuckle as he fixes then other half of the net that I currently held. This one was pretty big and typically required two Na’Vi to cast it, I’d been working on fixing the handle. I then look up to see what he had found worthy of his attention only to see him focusing on the net he held.

“Go to her,” He comments without looking up, I’m sure he understood that I was confused so he finally shifts his eyes toward mine. “You smell- different, go to her.” He repeats and I could feel myself flushing at his comment.

“But we still have to-“

“Don’t be stubborn boy,” He states and I stand up, running off toward where I knew my wife would be.

It didn’t take long for me to go toward the healing hut, knowing she’d be training under my mother and sister, but I did not expect to walk in and see her holding my baby brother in her hands, gently stroking his face as he cuddled up to her, his breathing even as he rested. I could only stare at her in awe with the chubby baby in her arms, she was sitting on the floor with a smile on her face and I could feel my cock stirring.

“It appears you are needed, Y/n.” My sister catches her attention but I’d blocked her out as I stared at my wife in awe, her eyes looking over toward my sister and settling on me, a shy smile consuming her features once she does.

“Are you hurt?” She asks and stands immediately, picking my brother up as she did, cradling his head over toward her neck, and he was still sleeping peacefully.

“No, I’m okay, I just wanted to see you-“ I stated awkwardly and felt the blush consuming my cheeks, my baby brother stirring in her arms, she gently bounces him and pats his back to get him calm and he settles on sucking his thumb.

“I can take him,” Tsireya says as she stands from where she had been grinding dried petals for our mother. “Go, I’ll see you back after lunch, okay?” She says while taking our brother into her hands.

“You sure your Sa’nok won’t get upset?” Y/n asks sweetly and I can hear the worry in her voice.

“No, you’ll be fine,” She reassures her and I grasp her hand, pulling on it gently as I walk toward the marui’s, feeling some relief from holding her hand in mine.

“What’s the rush?” She chuckles slightly after having jogged after me, I plant my feet on the walkway and hurry toward our marui, not paying attention to her and suddenly feeling her sink downward, our hands disconnecting. Her laughter ringing out, my ears flicker and I turn my face, seeing one of her legs had slipped through the material of the walkway.

“Oh great mother,” I mumbled in embarrassment to myself as I placed my hands under her arms and lifted her out, sitting her on the edge and examining her thigh.

“I’m okay,” Her giggle was evident, after hearing that I just picked her up and took her inside our marui, closing the curtain for privacy, settling her down.

“I see,” She states after being put down and reaches behind her back to tug on the string on her shirt, sliding it off her body, tugging on the string on her hip to untie her tewng, eyes going back to me as it falls, a growl escaping my mouth as she bites her lip.

“Come here,” I ordered her closer and watch her as she hesitantly takes her steps, strides very slow, too damn slow for my liking, stopping just a few feet away from me.

“Do you know how good you’d look as a sa’nok?” I ask her, wide eyes looking up at me, shaking her head, my hand leaning over to capture her chin and she freezes.

“I will make you a mother.” I claimed, smelling the slick coating the place I needed my mouth on the most.

“Oh fuck-“ She mutters.

Kissing her was the same as any other time, claiming her lips with my own and teasing my tongue in, making sure she was a panting moaning mess as my hands travelled through her body, laying her down with my body over hers. Her adorable sounds and sweetened smells reaching my nostrils as I shamelessly sniffed while kissing down her neck.

I’d taken my time with her, only kissing when I knew it would drive her crazy, trailing my fingers over her body teasingly, making sure every part of her had been on fire. Although I wanted to take my time tasting her, we were limited on that, and I had other ways to fulfill my desire in edging her.

I slid one finger into her sweet cunt and thrust it slowly, hearing her moan beautifully while smiling from above her, this woman is definitely driving me crazy. Her long legs spread for me willingly and I groan at the sight before me, greedily adding the second finger in.

I’m tempted to eat from the sweetest fruit before me and make her come right where she is, but I need her to wait. I’d decided on placing soft bites on her plush thighs and suckled the sensitive skin there, I could feel her thighs shaking slightly and stop all movement, hearing her high pitched whine and choose to smirk.

“I don’t want you to come yet.” I admit and she just bites her lip in acceptance, not bothering to protest, I thrust my fingers slowly feeling every inch of her, testing the waters and slowing down significantly just for her to slam her fists on the floor of our marui. I lick up the other inner thigh teasingly before lightly pressing my fangs down on her.

Taking my time with two fingers, filling her up and bringing her to the cusp, only to stop thrusting or removing my fingers completely when she is close, only for her frustrated groan to ring out every time. I’d added a third finger eventually, her sweet moans like the beautifully composed melodies playing just for my ears, my cock was terribly hard and leaking, but this was a prize I had to earn.

“I can feel you getting close again,” I muttered the observation to myself as her thighs had already been trembling, but it had gotten worse.

“Please let me come,” She mutters, sweat sticking onto her forehead and a couple of stray hairs across her cheeks as she held on to my other hand to ground herself.

“Mm, I don’t think so baby.” I answered while taking my fingers out, spreading them to see her slick webbing between my fingers, placing them into my mouth and enjoying her taste. My cock throbbing, it’d been doing that for a while, but I couldn’t take my hands off of her.

“Think you can hold on for a little longer?” I ask finally untying my tewng.

“N-no,” She whines.

“Yes you can, I know you can.” I grasp her hips lightly, looking at the markings I’d littered her inner thighs with, enjoying my teeth marks and slight bruising.

“Thank you great mother,” I stated as I slid into her tight wet heat, enjoying the way her cunt squeezed onto me and welcomed me in deeper.

She’d initially gasped when I’d gone in, I had too, I enjoyed digging myself deep inside her, just as our hips joined she lets out a long moan. I bite my own lip and stop myself from attempting to rut my hips in her, she felt glorious, so tight and wet, just for me.

“You feel divine yawne, I love how greedy your pussy gets,” I roll my hips as I say that and she moans louder.

“I want you to let everyone know who you belong to, dirty girl.” I manage to slide one hand up toward her breast, rolling the nipple between my fingers, feeling her squeeze harder on my cock.

“Please let me come,” She utters again and I whine at her squeezing me again, rutting my hips upward and she moans louder. I snake my arm behind her neck and lift her up to face me, kissing her mouth and muffling her sweet sounds while rutting my hips upward and further in her.

“You’ll be such a beautiful Sa’nok,” I grunt as I bring her hips down as I slam mine up. “Wanna see you round with my life inside of you,” I kissed her face.

“Come, ma’tìyawn.” I bite the skin between her neck and shoulder after my comment to feel her hips stutter, her pussy contracting, and a wet liquid sliding down my own thighs. It boosted my ego and made me prideful knowing I had made her squirt again, I recall her stating it was what happened when someone was being pleased very well, which means I have done my job. Her heavy breathing was the first thing I’d heard after my senses came back to me.

“Why does it glow different?” She asks while pointing between her legs and my ears flicker in embarrassment, but continuing to look at her sheepishly, ducking my head a bit.

“It glows brighter when we wish to have children-“ I admit and she blushes, starting to giggle herself.

“It was glowing at the spirit tree too,” She comments, lifting her head up to kiss me, using her still wobbly thighs to stand. It had been about two weeks since then but it was the best night of my life.

“I can’t wait to see you with child,” I smile at her, ignoring the sight of my come slipping down her thighs to prevent myself from taking her again.

“That won’t happen,” She stated absently before retrieving her shirt.

“What do you mean by that Yawne?” I asked as she struggles to tie the shirt on, I grasp her shoulders, forcing her to step closer, and turn her around to tie it off for her.

“Na’Vi and tawtute having a biological child is unheard of,” She explains, turning to look at me.

“It can if we are each others fated mate, which we are.” I stated, remembering Neteyam’s words to me when he first told me about this arrangement.

“Don’t tell me you truly believe that.” She stated as if she were getting angered.

“Maybe its because nobody has tried it yet.” I offered and she rolls her eyes.

“Hey, whats wrong?” I asked realizing sudden change in mood, she’s never really been the type of person to be upset at a topic.

“Nothing,” She tries walking back toward her tewng but I stop her, this was a serious discussions in my eyes, I didn’t want her angry at me.

“Talk to me, ma’tìyawn, why are you upset?” She turns to look at me again and her face falls into a sad one, fixing it just slightly to appear at ease, but I knew better.

“Why are you pushing this so hard? Why put something in front of me that I can’t have?” She asks, turning her face from me.

“What do you mean?” I ask her.

“Believe me, I want to become a sa’nok, I wish I could. But I knew I had to give that up the moment I chose you. I’d asked Norm about the compatibility between myself and Neteyam and he said it was a very unlikely.”

“But we are to have four children of our own,”

“Stop saying that!” She yells and its completely out of character for her to do so. “That’ll never happen, the sooner you come to terms with it the better.” She stated coldly, but even with her head turned away from mine, I can see the tears falling from her cheeks and onto the floor of our marui.

She doesn’t bother staying long after that before tying her tewng back on and angrily walking out, leaving me confused as to why she would believe a tawtute over believing in Eywa.

It hadn’t taken much for me to feel absolutely horrible for having upset Y/n over the conversation- if we could even call it that- we’d had about children. I didn’t have much time to think about whatever had occurred since I knew my father had been expecting me back at any point. But I couldn’t help feeling upset for having made my wife cry, I vowed to make her happy and feel as though I continue letting her down.

I knew exactly where my father had been and I knew he was expecting me back at some point but I had to do something real quick. I grabbed my own spear before diving in the water and going to find the one fish she had talked one time about, she mentioned that she wishes she knew what it was but only ate from it once.

__________

“Hey Y/n, how was-“ Tsireya starts greeting me but stops when she see’s the angered expression on my face, stopping herself from continuing her comment.

“I’m glad you’re back, child, I need your help with something,” Ronal is quick to ask as she see’s me, I turn to see her with a cross-body cloth sling resting on her shoulder, her baby inside it.

“Sure,” I accept and she seems happy.

“I need you to collect some eyewng for me, I would do it myself but my hands would damage the petals. I used to send Tsireya when she was younger but her hands have also become too big for the job.” Ronal explains and I nod.

“Where can I find them?” I ask, expecting myself to have to go alone, making sure to pay attention to her instructions.

“Tsireya will go with you, child, I’m not sending you alone.” She nods toward her daughter and Tsireya warmly smiles, nodding along to what her mother says, she stands and heads out of the healing hut, I go to follow her but get stopped my Ronal’s hand on my shoulder. I stop and turn to look back at her, a worried expression on her face, the tattoo’s making her look stunning.

“When you come back we can talk about whatever is bothering you.” She states and I nod, it’s not that I wanted to, but how do I tell the fiercest Metkayina woman no?

“We do not need to travel far, just in the woods, they’re hidden near the clearing.” Tsireya mentions as she begins walking and I follow behind her.

I remember when we would tell each other everything before, but now that I am married to her brother, would she turn and tell him what she’d found out? She wasn’t like that before, but we were friends then, and her brother was an asshole bully that meant absolutely nothing to me. Would things truly change because of one marriage?

“You can tell me anything, Y/n. What troubles you?” She asks and I realize just then I had stopped following her, she had even walked back toward me to say that. I wonder how long It had been since I stopped walking.

“I’m sorry, just stuck in my head today.” I answer without saying much but she just smiles.

“If you’re worried whether I’ll tell Ao’nung, I promise I won’t.” She adds and I feel my bottom lip tremble before my tears gush out again. Remembering the conversation I had with him was heart wrenching, not because of what was said, but because of my feelings on the matter.

“Oh, come here syulang,” She pulls me close to her in a hug as my fat tears dribble down my cheek, taking in big breaths, sniffling to prevent my snot from getting on her gorgeous body.

“Whatever is the reason for this?” She asks while swiping my tears from my cheeks. I felt like I was being comforted by a mother, someone who’d understood how to care for a small child, and my tears kept coming, and I started wailing pathetically.

“Oh no, come here,” She hugs me again, waiting for my tears to finish, and although we stayed in this position for a bit they eventually do.

“Ao’nung just made a silly comment about something that made me emotional,” I tried pushing it off as no big deal but she makes a face.

“I do not want you thinking I am prying, but what did he say? He has a knack for saying the wrong thing frequently.” Tsireya states with her own pout on her face as she thought about her brother.

“It’s stupid, really.” I try playing it off, starting to walk toward the woods to keep our day going.

“Not if it made you cry,” Tsireya states as she walks beside me, keeping her pace steady with mine.

“I was just being sensitive.” I continue walking, finally managing to get into the woods before she stops me.

“Sensitive or not, he should have been kinder.” I sigh, whats the worst that could happen?

“He keeps saying things about having children, but I don’t think it’ll happen. I don’t want to talk about it or I’ll become a crying mess again.” I finally tell her the reasoning and she only nods in understanding.

“If you would like me to beat him up, let me know.” She answers simply, understanding I didn’t want to talk any further on the topic.

“You don’t have to worry about it,”

“Then lets go find the eyewng my mother needs,” She is quick to change the subject but I hadn’t quite expected her to start running toward the clearing. I trotted behind her trying to keep up with her long legs but it was near impossible, she’d arrived at the clearing first and I had been stumbling behind out of breath as fuck.

“Fuck off, I wasn’t ready!”

“You still loose, Y/n,” She laughs as I leaned over myself, hands on my knees, doubled over sucking in the pandoran air greedily.

“Come on they’re over here,” Tsireya motions for me to follow but I’m thankful to Eywa that she was simply walking.

I listened to everything Tsireya said about finding the flower and being careful with it’s sensitive and surprisingly thin petals, I could understand why Ronal had entrusted me to pick them. My hands were small enough to pick them out of the dirt with no damage.

She held the basket as she instructed me on carefully extracting the plant, making sure to bring the roots out as well. I’d placed them in gently and she had stopped me once we’d gathered enough. She even mentioned how badly she tore them during her first scavenge for them and how her mother had to calm her as she cried.

She covered the medicinal purpose of the plant as we continued walking back and gave examples of when it should be used. It surprised me when we’d came back to the entrance of the healing hut since I had no idea how long we’d actually been walking as she talked.

“We are back,” She calls out to her mother who had been tending to one of the fisherman who’d had discoloration of his foot where he’d clearly cut it up with coral. It didn’t look infected but it was still gruesome.

“Y/n, please tear off a petal from the eyewng,” Ronal states while continuing to tend on the foot of the man before us, she’s digging out small particles of coral but making the cut ache and bleed as she continued working.

I hesitate to take one of the two petals this flower possesses and carefully tear it off of the stem, making the one petal appear like a miniature blanket.

“You will need to put it on his foot,” Ronal instructs and I walk over, kneeling down in front of the man, Ronal holds his foot for me.

“Place it gently, ma’eveng.” She says sweetly and I carefully place it on his foot, blanketing the injury he has.

“Good, now place this aloe over the petal very carefully,” she uses her free hand to push a small jar of aloe my way, a flat stick placed in to spread it over any surface easily.

“How much do I need?” I asked, clearly looking for her expertise on the matter, clearly winning her favor.

“Pick some up with the tool in there-“ I do just what she says as she says it. “-perfect, now be careful not to tear the petal, spread it on and make sure to spread it slightly past the petal so it does not fall off easily.”

“Yes, just like that,” She lets the foot go after I am finished and she hides her smile well, but the corners of her mouth were pointed upward.

“Thank you very much,” The male states after Ronal had given him the okay to stand.

“Just be careful next time, Tu’lí, and do not wait as long as you did this time. That is very careless behavior for someone of your rank.” She states harshly and his ears point downward as if being scolded by his own mother.

“Understood,” He bows his head respectfully and she pats his shoulders twice signifying that he could leave, it catches me by surprise that he bows down to me and thanks me as well, just before taking his leave out of the hut.

“Please take Vehlìn to your father, Y/n and I must speak.”

Ronal tells her daughter as she hands off the tiny boy who’d been placed in a make-shift bassinet with blankets inside it. I seem to catch his eye and he makes adorable grabby hands toward me, my own heart yearning to carry the boy, but smiling at him instead.

“I’ll see you later Vehlìn,” I reassure the boy who’d yet to understand words, his little displeased half cry until he notices he’s in his elder sisters arms, happily squealing as he lays his head back down on her chest. Tsireya is quick to disappear, following her mothers instructions and leaving us alone.

“What is the matter?” She asks and takes a seat in front of me, I follow after her, sitting with my legs crossed, facing her and becoming rather nervous to bring this issue to her attention.

Not that it was a real issue, but how many more people needed to be dragged into this conversation? Would she make fun of me for being upset over something so minuscule in her eyes or would she decide to take her sons side after letting her in on it? I could feel my anxiety taking over as I thought about the endless possibilities until she clears her throat, staring right into my soul.

“Well I, no wait, according to your- well technically it’s a tradition? Unless it’s according to- I mean-“

“Whatever is bothering you clearly seems a lot for you to handle,” Her voice was missing the sharp edge it usually held, her observation was true, but I was expecting a rude comment from her.

“I’m just- I can’t understand.” I finished my thought and formed half of a coherent sentence.

“And what is that?” She asks.

“My biggest dream when I was younger was to become an Um’ma and getting courted by Neteyam had me thinking about that possibility in our future. I took it upon myself to ask Norm, the tawtute scientist, about Na’Vi and tawtute compatibility on having children. He said he’d done previous research to see of he could find a way to merge both species together but that it was impossible.”

Ronal nodded occasionally as I talked, not once looking away, or stopping me. I was grateful she was willing to listen to this as I figured she’d want nothing more than to listen to someone else’s struggles in her clan.

“I had been talked to by Neytiri in a horrible way just after finding this news out. Not having his Sa’nok’s blessing and the devastating news had me begging Neteyam to choose someone else. Someone his Sa’nok could approve of and someone he could have children with. But he declined and told me he loved me even if I couldn’t bear his children.”

I continue explaining and am very thankful to have my mother in law being attentive to my story.

“But Ao’nung sounds confident that because of Neteyam choosing us as mates- along with Eywa’s approval- that we are meant to have children. I desperately wish I could give that to him but knowing that it can’t happen makes me feel like a disappointment when I know thats what he wants.”

“You were born on Pandora, yes?” She asks and I nod.

“I was the first tawtute female born on Pandora, Spider was born after me as the first male.” I admit to her and she smiles.

“And you willingly learned of the Omatikaya way?” She asks and I nod once again.

“I was mostly chasing after Spider because I knew Neytiri didn’t like us around her children, but learned the language, and how to trust my body like he did.” I admitted and she nods once.

“Maybe this was all to prepare you to be placed into this position in your life,” She speaks calmly and it only confuses me.

“What do you mean?”

“You trusted your body to move in the forest, yes? Maybe now you should trust that Eywa will guide your body through the necessary changes of pregnancy.”

“But I’m not Na’Vi.”

“You never needed to be one to carry the child.”

“But our bodies aren’t compatible.” I stated quickly, feeling like I did when I had to start yelling at Ao’nung.

“I believe they are more compatible than you think.” She smiles sweetly and I’m at a loss for words.

“And what makes you believe that?” I ask with a sigh, knowing that it was impossible to win this argument without walking away, but I had been tired of all the arguing, I just wanted to have a peaceful conversation with her.

“She has chosen you specifically for my son. She knew of your wishes to become an Um’ma just as he wishes to become an Up’pa, why would she purposely allow your union and torture you without the possibility of carrying a child?” She asks and I’m shocked at her apparent clarity, but I was left clouded, how was she as hopeful as her son.

“Does breaking the shell during the ceremony really tell you how many children the couple will have?” I ask her and she smiles.

“Why don’t you ask Eywa?”

I was unsure of how I had been talked into whatever Ronal had asked me to do, but found myself following along behind her as she gathered everything she needed, tossing them into the water she had been boiling and handing me the basket to pick apart some of the eyewng petals.

She had been the first to explain that if the petal is broken, it no longer works at all, and all of the healing properties comes from the petal staying intact. After she had said that I can conclude this is why that guy, Tu’lì, had bowed for my hands being still enough to not rip the one I’d placed on his foot.

I had heard Ronal start to laugh as my fingers slowed while tearing the petal off of the stem, making sure to carefully remove the stem from the root as well. I started blushing and turn to see her hiding her smile behind her face.

“What are we making?” I asked her as she grabbed the fourth root and placed it in the water, two of the stems, and one petal following right after.

“One is a tea, the other is a test of some sort.” She responds quickly as she stirs the water again, I just stood there watching it change color as she stirred.

“I will need you to spit in this one,” She offers the small shallow bowl over to me to spit into and I just look up at her, expecting her to be joking and quickly realizing she was not.

“Seriously?” I asked out of habit, but manage to dribble spit into the bowl for her, watching her quick hands stirring it together. The powder was a light green color and became slightly darker once it mixed with my spit. Before I could ask her what it was we were looking for she serves up some of the water from the tea and gives it to me.

“Drink?” I ask and she nods, waiting for me to take a sip, I cautiously sniff it, wondering what kind of aroma the eyewng would give off, and find myself slightly disappointed that it didn’t have one. I only look back up at her and take a sip quickly, it lacked flavor as well, it was like drinking hot water, and it felt weird.

“Do you feel any different?” She asks but I just make a face at the question.

“Was I supposed to?” I asked her only to catch her slight frown, she lifts the cup I’d spit into and sets it back down just as fast, was she disappointed?

“No, I guess not.” She states as she puts out the fire where she’d started boiling water.

“Do you need hell cleaning up?” I offer as I get up and take the cup with me only to have her reach a hand out for the cup I had.

“Do not worry about that. I will take care of it. You should go and join for dinner. I will arrive shortly.”

I nod my head in understanding. She was typically a woman who enjoyed her own company and I’m sure I’d already asked her too many questions for the day. I hand her the cup and take my leave, going out toward the designated area and deciding to eat with my adoptive family, it had been some time since I’d seen them and I wanted their company.

Upon walking up to my family I notice one of the most annoying had actually not been within the group. I frown upon the reaction since we always got along, but I wondered why he’d been missing. I say hello to my siblings who are there, Jake and Neytiri included.

“Where’s Lo’ak?” I asked almost immediately after our hello’s.

“He’s finally asking for Tsireya’s hand in marriage.” Jake breaks the news and I feel giddy inside, my stomach even surprisingly bubbles a bit at the thought, he was finally getting married to her!

“It took him long enough!” I smile at the news as everyone agrees.

“He wants to ask permission from everyone separately, He’s already asked Ronal and Tonowari but still needs to ask Ao’nung.” Spider stated as he digs in to his meal.

I’d grabbed one before hand and started picking at it slowly, not really in the mood to eat all that much, I might have to go pick some fruit and enjoy that later.

“I was wondering how long it would take him to set this plan in motion,” I said. “I’m very proud of him though,” I admit and Kiri smiles at the comment.

“He was very nervous when asking Ronal this morning,” She adds in and Tuk laughs.

“He kept starting over before she placed a hand on his shoulder and told him to stop talking before he threw up,” Her squeaky giggles cause me to laugh as well.

“So you guys were spying on him?” I joke.

“He wanted me there for moral support in case she had declined. Tuk just happened to be there,” Kiri lightly pokes Tuk’s shoulder.

_________

“I have already asked your sempul and Sa’nok, but I figured it would be good to ask you as well.” Lo’ak began and I could tell he seemed nervous about whatever was to leave his mouth.

“Ask me what?” I asked him with confusion. After he’d called out to me I was surprised to see him alone for the first time, he usually came up with my sister or his siblings.

“I wanted to know if you would give me your blessing for becoming one with your sister,” He didn’t sound nervous but upon looking up at him I smirk a little, his face showed every emotion running through his head.

“If she has been willing to put up with you for this long I will be surprised if she manages an eternity,” I joke and can see him crumble slightly.

“Not funny, bro, if you would have asked me about Y/n I wouldn’t be teasing you about it.”

“Take it easy, I’m joking, of course you have my blessing. She truly loves you, I do not know why, but she does.” The smile on his face is worth the little joke, he playfully shoves my shoulder but seems excited.

“What do you have in your hands?” He asks and I smile to myself.

“Fish for my wife, she mentioned this kind when we hung out for the first time. I knew this is what she had been talking about but forgot about it in the midst of everything that happened.” I answered and he nods.

“I always knew you were a sap, the type to pay attention and spoil her just to act all tough in front of everyone else.”

“Shut it, forest boy, I can take you in a fight now.”

“Yeah, sure,” Lo’ak laughs and I glare at him.

“I could,” I stated again.

“Do I need to remind you of your face meeting my fist, several times?” He was clearly amused at the conversation but I just rolled my eyes, there was no point in getting mad over nothing.

“Sure, Lo’ak,” I stated absently and he places a hand on my shoulder, stopping us from walking toward the crowd

“Everything okay?” He asks with genuine concern and I feel proud of how far we’ve come since the first day he arrived.

“I hope it will be,” I admit and he raises a brow.

“Whats going on?” He asks but I just shake my head.

“Just a small argument with your tsmuke, I upset her.” I try giving as little detail as possible, I don’t want to be reminded of upsetting her or bringing this intimate detail up to family. I’m sure they’d find out at some point but I didn’t want to upset her any more than necessary and I doubted she’d want half the clan to find out why.

“They’re sitting together, let’s go see if she’ll forgive you,” He wiggles his brows after stating that and I roll my eyes. It was always something stupid with this one. I shake my head at his antics but follow behind him either way.

“Hey tsmuke,” Lo’ak greets her while placing his hand on her head and ruffling her hair, intentionally messing it up and making it stick out randomly, she shoved his hand off her head while laughing and smacks it away from her.

“Stop disturbing the peace you wild hyena,” She says before her face freezes as her eyes land on me. I smile at her and she returns it before her attention is drawn toward Jake.

“I take it things went well?” He asks as he looks at his son and I notice Y/n turning to face Jake as he says that.

“Now I just have to ask Tsireya.” Lo’ak nervously runs his hands over his knees while joining in with his family.

“You will be fine ma’itan, I see the way she looks at you and how happy she is when she is with you.” Neytiri gives her son a hug while also nudging Y/n and she looks at her adoptive mother before looking back at me, understanding settling on her features a she stands.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” She waves at everyone before joining me and tugging my arm gently, so I follow her as we walk to be more secluded spot.

“I brought you dinner-“ I offer and hand her the wrapped fish.

“Thats so sweet, but I just ate,” She takes it either way. “But I know your mother hasn’t eaten yet, I think she’s still want to-“ She stops talking and stares at the wrapped food in her hands.

“Can you take this a second?” She asks and sounds different, I take it from her just as she turns and vomits, her stomach having rejected the contents of food she had just ate. She’d had her hair braided and out of the way and I’m thankful she did, but she uses her hand to wipe her mouth.

“Lets go toward Ma’Sa’nok,” I stated, making sure to hold onto the food and push her stray hairs away from her forehead.

“I’m fine,” She stated tiredly. “Just want to go home and sleep.”

“I’d feel safe if she looks you over, tíyawn.” I urge and she sighs, nodding after.

“Okay.” She stated as we start walking a short distance over toward my mother’s healing hut. Still seeing her carefully cleaning her supplies as we walk in.

“Don’t you worry, I saw what happened. Y/n I need you to sit down please.”

“Please don’t make me drink that tea again.” She mentions as she sits and places a hand on her belly, gently running her hand to try to ease the ache. “I have a feeling it made me vomit.” She says and my mother smiles.

“I had no idea how it would react with tawtute which is why I had you spit into the dish as well. Making sure to mix everything together very well. The tea was supposed to make you do that, but it appears your reaction is delayed.”

It starts making sense to me now, she must have given Y/n Eyewng tea earlier, but did she have a reason for doing that, or was she just curious? I eye my mother and look back to my mate.

“You knew it would make me throw up?” Y/n asks and looks like she wants to argue, but rubs her stomach again and groans, she looked uncomfortable.

“It only makes you throw up if you are expecting.” My mother turns back around and shows us a bowl with purple pigment inside of it, my eyes widen at the realization, looking back at Y/n I smile as my eyes fill with tears.

“Expecting what?” She asks as she looks at the purple colored pigment, eyes going back up to my mother who’d been smiling, then she looks at me, face softening.

“Why are you crying?” She asks gently but eyes my mother again, I don’t bother explaining much as I sink onto my knees and hug her, bringing her body closer to mine and feeling her sigh as she snuggles into me.

“I feel better when you hold me,” She rests her head on my chest and I chuckle.

“Will one of you tell me whats going on?” She asks sleepily.

“Your child is seeking comfort from ma’itan, you’ll crave being around your mate now more than ever.” My mother fills her in and she pops her head up from my shoulder.

“What child?” She asks and I kiss her cheek.

“You are with child, ma’tìyawn.”

#avatar smut #avatar #avatar the way of water smut #afab reader #human reader #aonung x reader #aonung #aonung x reader smut

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 1 year

Text

Five-Finger Discount (Dean/Reader)

Title: Five-Finger Discount

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Dean x Female Reader

Summary: It's supposed to be a simple case. A little undercover. A little burglary. A little spell. Dash of salt and burn. No muss, no fuss. So, why the hell are you getting these uncontrollable thoughts about Dean's... hands?

Word Count: 10,300

Tags: Hand & Finger Kink, Dean Winchester is a Scoundrel, Dean gets a Manicure, Fluff and Humor, Shameless Smut of the Finger Variety, Dean Winchester Talks Dirty

Notes: Because Jensen just can’t keep his hands to himself. See notes on AO3 for the offender/crime in question.

A persistent tapping on your bedroom door awakens you. It could be late evening or early morning in the windowless bunker.

Before you can check your phone for the actual time, Dean’s voice calls your name from the other side of the door.

You groan. Whatever time it is, it’s not ‘wakey wakey eggs and bakey’ time. “What?”

“Got word from Sam. He’s figured out what’s been killing the inmates in NSP.”

You sit up and feel for the lamp switch. After a turn and snick , you mumble, “Let there be light.” Your voice raises in answer to Dean. “That’s great.”

“Well, not that great.” The conversation is still happening through the closed door. “Sam figures it’s a ghost of a prisoner that died behind bars in 1870.”

“Why not great? Did you want more of a challenge? Ghosts are a milk run.”

You can hear the dramatic sigh, picture the tilt back and forth of his head, and the way his mouth mimics either you or Sam when the sarcasm leans on the excessive. Which is kind of ironic coming from the King of Snark. “Can I come in? You decent?”

“Yes.”

It’s definitely the middle of the night when you get a look at him. Dean’s hair is mussed. There are cheek and chin creases from scuba pillow diving when he sleeps on his stomach. “You got something formal to wear?”

“Huh?”

“A gown, dress, something promish or wedding worthy?”

“Promish?” That question reply to his question earns you a broad stance with hands on hips like a superhero as Dean stares you down. You twirl both hands around to remind him of the non-existent storage space in the bunker. Which should not be a thing in such a huge fortress where men dressed in three piece suits on the daily. “Sure. I have a whole rack of them hanging in my walk-in closet.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, smart ass. Well, we’re gonna have to go do this thing in less than twenty-four hours that needs you in a dress and me in a tux.”

You suck in your lips and try not to laugh at how pissed Dean appears at the thought.

“It’s a charity fundraiser in Lincoln,” he continues. “We have to act like a couple of out-of-state spenders with deep pockets to get our hands on the Hand of Glory that belonged to this ghost.”

“What about Sam? I bet he’d look much better in a dress than I would.”

Dean shrugs. “He’s got the hair for it. But we can’t risk somebody making him.”

Of course. The one time Sam goes investigating on his own. He posed as an FBI agent and poked around too many people.

You and Dean are going to have to go shopping. The all-out kind. Max out a stolen credit card at the mall kind.

Dean is gonna be miserable. You can’t wait. Grumpy Dean, for some reason, is very entertaining.

“How about you in the dress and me in the tux?” you offer.

“I don’t have the legs for it.” Dean shakes his head. “Get a few more hours of sleep. Gonna be a busy day.”

You’ve been around Sam and Dean for a long time. Long enough to have gotten a little numb and even blase regarding certain things.

The dangers of a hunt. The stench of death. The amount of blood a beheaded vamp body can ooze.

As you tick the tasks off for the heist with a trip to a dress shop earlier and currently helping Dean pick out a tux, another thing you’ve become indifferent to smacks you right in the goddamn face.

The hotness of the Winchester brothers.

You were talking with the owner of the suit store when Dean parted the curtains of the fitting booth he’d been in for five minutes.

And there it was, dressed to the nines, cutting a fine figure in a black tuxedo.

The plain as day fact of how unfucking-believably gorgeous Dean Winchester is.

Stephen, well-dressed and highly animated, claps hands in front of his face. “Oh. Wow, that is, it’s like you stepped right off the cover of GQ magazine,” he gushes at Dean. “Turn around, turn around.”

Dean blushes, spins on his heels, and averts your and Stephen’s gaze. You’re glad because you can feel the warmth racing over your own cheeks.

“Sir, that is screaming perfection. I don’t even think it needs to be taken in. It’s like a second skin.” You’d think Stephen was buttering him up for a sale if he was overexaggerating. But, he wasn’t.

“Well, good, cause it’s not like we’ve got time for a tailor,” Dean huffs. Then, you hear, “You’re awfully quiet. What do you think?”

“I-yeah-it’ll do.”

After Dean swipes the key card, he steps aside and lets you pass the threshold first.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

The suite is swanky. No motels for you on this trip. You’ve got to keep up appearances, after all.

Windows that meet the ceiling give you a sweet view of downtown Lincoln. It’s not the New York skyline, but everything looks impressive from a higher vantage.

Dean pushes the squeaky luggage cart. The door clicks closed solidly behind him. “Alright. We got a few hours to get ourselves presentable. Then we head on over to the Sheldon Museum of Art.” He hangs the garment bags containing his tux and your dress in the closet. The duffle bags each get a chuck onto the king-size bed.

You nod at the reminder. Sam will be at the fundraiser as well. Between the ruse of you and Dean as the wealthy Mitchums from Kansas and Sam’s Agent Dion, you’re confident the case will be resolved before another not-so-innocent victim dies. “Too bad we can’t really enjoy a stay at a place like this.”

“Eh, overpriced. I can’t wait to get home to the bunker. It’s a lot nicer.” He rolls the cart back toward the door. “I’ll be back in a few.”

He’s gone before you can quibble with Dean over your and his idea of luxury. But yours does have windows, excessive amounts of pillows, and room service.

Dean returns to find you’ve commandeered the entire vanity counter with makeup. He chuckles. “Never seen you put any of this crap on before. Do you even know how?”

“Asshole.” You thwack his tummy, but clenched stomach muscles anticipated the retaliation. “I’ll wear makeup for this case out of necessity. I don’t believe in going into debt to keep up with the latest beauty trend. This stuff costs a fortune.”

Dean picks up a packet of press-on nails and looks at the price tag. “Well, hopefully, it’s all worth it.”

As Dean inspects your haul, you notice the dirt under his own nails. “Your hands,” you state.

“Huh?” Dean’s brow furrows. He puts down the box and stares at his fingers.

“Those aren’t the hands of a millionaire.”

He smiles. “I’ve got a great rags to riches story I can use. You see, one day I was shootin’ at some food, and up for the ground came a bubblin’...”

“Ooor, you can look the part.” You cut off his recounting of how the Beverly Hillbillies came to be and sweep a hand in his direction. “Hurry up and shower. I’ll do your nails.”

His eyes bug out. “Do my nails?”

“Relax. Just gonna tidy them up. No polish. Although there’s nothing wrong with a little color on a guy’s nails. But maybe not for this event. We don’t need you to stand out too much.” You think about how he looked in that tux and realize how much he will stand out already at least in your mind. He’s still blinking at you, processing what’s about to happen. “Well, hurry up, Jeb. That oil ain’t gonna find itself.”

You gulp at the sight of a freshly scrubbed, washed, towel-dried Dean. It shouldn’t be affecting you like this. You’ve seen him just out of a shower with his white t-shirt and sweatpants when you’ve been hunting on the road.

Maybe it’s the change of scenery. No motel. No mildew smells. No obnoxiously loud wallpaper to mask the soot and stains. No revving engines or wheels peeling right outside the door. None of the things that usually overwhelm and distract your senses.

His entire face is scrunched up in confused awe. Tools are neatly lined atop a towel on the small island by the kitchenette. Not the usual gun-cleaning ones, though. You clear your throat and pat the breakfast stool beside your seated frame.

“Is this gonna hurt?” he asks.

“Just a little detailing is all.”

He sits and eyes you warily.

A gimme gesture requests his left hand. He provides it, resting his fingers over the bridge of support yours creates. You try not to flinch in surprise at the warmth and weight. It’s not like you’ve never touched him before. But, you’ve never had the opportunity for contact to linger.

You lean down and in, lifting his fingers in inspection and deciding your plan of attack. Damn. They’re, well, you wonder how you haven’t noticed how big they are. His entire hand dwarfs yours in comparison. Dean’s a big dude. He is not as tall as Sam, but considering they’re both over six feet, you shouldn’t be surprised that his digits are substantial. You picture Sam’s hands in your mind’s eye in the usual situations. Tapping away on a keyboard. Flipping through their dad’s journal pages or some gigantic volume of lore in the bunker. Those fingers are long, but their slender and taut, proportionate to Sam’s body type and size. Jolly Green Giant size.

Dean’s? Well, it’s not that they don’t match Dean. They’re beefy, thick, and solid. All the things Dean is. But they’re more like a jumbo sausage sandwich than a hot dog that’s a little too big for the bun. Even the width of his palm seems way above average.

“What’s wrong?” Dean’s question calls out and you wonder how long you’ve been staring at his freaking hands.

“Nothing,” you mumble.

You get to work, using a nail brush that’s been soaking in a bowl of warm, sudsy water. A sturdy grip wraps around two of Dean’s fingers - it’s all you can comfortably manage - and the bristles scrub back and forth in quick passes.

Dean chortles. His fingers pull back slightly. The look on his face is one of surprise. You grin and ask, “Did that tickle?”

He snorts. “What? No. I’m not ticklish.”

“Mm-hmm.” You tug his fingers toward the brush. “Hold still then.” You continue the process. Dip the brush in the water bowl. Play Dean’s fingers like a washboard. And you delight in how his jaw clenches and body squirms. He does an adorable shimmy shake that starts at the shoulders and ends with an ass cha-cha. But you only let the torture go on for a minute or two. “Okay. Give them another wash. Then we’ll clip ‘em, file and buff, and these nails will scream private prep school and ivy league polo.”

He rises. “As long as there’s no more brushing.” He punctuates how serious he is about that with one of those fingers right at your mouth.

You swallow the urge to bite that finger.

For someone who was uncertain about the thought of a manicure earlier, Dean is back in a hurry to continue the process. You exaggeratedly shake the nail brush out of the soapy water bowl and softball it into the stainless steel sink a yard away. It clangs about like a noon bell. You raise both hands, “I’m unarmed.”

He snickers, “Not so sure.” He skirts his gaze over the remaining items. “Sharp and stabby things.”

“You have used clippers before. You’re not an actual Cro-Magnon that drags knuckles on the ground and runs nails along some flint.” You grab one stool and carry it to the other side of the island, settling into position for the next step. “Sit and stop acting like a baby.”

“Damn,” he murmurs, following orders and taking his seat from before.

“Hands,” you request.

He harrumphs and splays his fingers atop the terry towel, like a cat stretching and digging in with their claws. His hands are creamy colored and speckled pink from the washing and scrubbing. Ten digits tap along the cloth in wait. And you stare, longer than you should.

What in the holy hell is going on? They’re fingers for chrissakes. The same fingers you’ve seen on Dean all the time, day after day in the bunker or in the car or on a hunt. It’s not like he got a hand transplant or something.

“Come on, Madge.” Dean snaps two of those fingers together. “This is where you’re supposed to tell me I was soaking in it.”

“Huh?”

He rolls his eyes. “Softens hands while you do the dishes?” He adds to the dramatics and unhinges his jaw. “Come on, we’re the same age. You gotta remember that commercial? Palmolive?”

“Oh, right.” You feign recollection, inhale to steady yourself and grab his left hand. It’s down to business time. “I’ve only lost five of my last six clients. Nothing to worry about.”

“Quite the comedian,” he razzes back.

“I am. Apparently you could learn a thing or two from me. The first? A punchline isn’t funny if you have to explain it.”

“Yeah, well…” He begins.

“Maybe come at me with ‘your face is a punchline’?” you suggest.

His lids blink in confusion. “It’s not, though.”

For some reason that shuts you both up.

You spend the next minutes manipulating each of Dean’s fingers, one by one in your palm as you clip. Tick, tick, tick. You give the nails a nice straight edge and round out the sides. His nails are stumpy, boxy and twice the width of yours. His skin is calloused, toughened in the spots you expect. From the thousands of hours he’s gripped Baby’s steering wheel, handled a shotgun, cranked a wrench, slid into the trigger of his Colt. But they are soft in other spots. The patterns of lines criss crossing and connecting like a terrain map enthrall you.

He’s quiet. Watching you work. You’ve forgotten to be mouthy for this bit. It’s hard to focus on anything but this and his breathing. You’ve forgotten the basic steps of inhaling and exhaling.

It’s when you’ve moved on to filing that Dean remembers how to word. “You’re good at this.”

“I should be,” you croak out then clear your throat. “I did my older sister’s nails all the time growing up.”

“Hm, I guess Sammy didn’t get the little brother memo about doing my nails.”

I grin up at him. “Maybe you should have had him watch that Palmolive commercial.”

His laugh is soft. His eyes gleam with that hint of mischief he dons when there is no imminent threat. When life is as close to normal as possible. You wonder what it would be like to take those hands and place them around your waist. Guide him to hold you steady, secure.

He opens his mouth, stops to lick his top lip.

It’s taking everything in your power to not catapult over the island and slam your lips against his.

He finally speaks. “We should get ready.”

And your daydreaming dissipates just like that.

Two hours later, you and Sam wait outside the St. Charbel Chapel in Calvary Catholic Cemetery. It’s the closest church and holy ground from the museum Sam had found in his research.

A fire truck zooms down a nearby street, siren wailing.

You wait for Dean.

Things had not gone according to plan.

At the fundraiser, Sam got cornered near the crudités by a Lancaster County Sheriff’s Office deputy. From what you overheard, Sam’s cover had been blown. He was in imminent danger of being arrested by Deputy Dickens for impersonating a federal agent. Dean was off in one of the acquisition storage rooms searching for the Hand of Glory.

You all were SOL.

You did what any hunter interested in self-preservation would do. Walked over to the nearest fire alarm and inconspicuously pulled the lever. Alarms went off. In the chaos of disgruntled partygoers filing out of the building, Sam dropped the deputy to the ground with a combo shoulder check and leg sweep. You were down on the floor in a flash, asking the lawman if he was alright. Before he could reply, you held a handkerchief doused with your travel-size bottle of chloroform to his mouth and nose. A clutch could only hold so much—such an inconvenience.

Sam pushed the passed-out deputy under the appetizer station’s floor-length tablecloth. You both did a hurried power walk past the crowd gathered in front of the museum. Sam tried his best to slow down his stride enough for you to keep up wearing heels. At least you only had four blocks to cover to end up at the cemetery, the agreed-upon meetup location.

You pace in wait. “He’ll be here,” Sam states with conviction.

You never want to leave a man behind. Especially not Dean.

Sure enough, Dean’s shadowed figure jogs up the cemetery walk in the dark minutes later. You recognize his panting first.

Sam shines a light in Dean’s direction. He’s a bit disheveled from whatever he had to do to skip out of the museum undetected. The hair, styled in a neat part earlier, is now askew.

“Guessing I have you two to thank for having to hop out a bathroom window and into thorny rose bushes.”

You shrug. “Sam was about to get handcuffed.”

Dean ponders for a moment. “Context is important to determine whether that’s good or bad for Sam.”

“Dean, come on, did you get it?” Sam asks with an impatient wave of his hand.

Dean pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and flaps it open with a wrist snap. He pulls out a gnarled, desiccated object under his jacket's lapel. “I did get it, using my five-finger discount.”

The burning ritual had at least gone smoother than the rest of the evening. Sam dropped the two of you around the back of the hotel in his rental car. You both had left Baby in the connected garage and taken a cab to the museum.

“See you all at the bunker.” He smiles, energized, and pumped from a successful hunt. He’s glowing and adorable. You realize you have gotta dial back the internal ogling of your hunting partners and quick or it’s gonna get all kinds of uncomfortable in your head.

“See ya, Sammy.” Dean grins and salutes.

“Don’t take too long to get out of town.” Sam advises, flicks his bangs out of his eye line with a shampoo commercial head whip, then peels off with a wave.

The key card lets you sneak in through the poolside.

The ride up the elevator starts quiet. You spend the time zoning out and staring at the tapered triangle of shoulder and back that makes up Dean’s tuxedo jacket.

So, dialing back the ogling is going great.

“You looked really good tonight,” Dean murmurs. You catch his gaze in the door’s reflective surface. “I mean,” he clears his throat, “you still look really good. I never got the chance to tell ya earlier.”

The attention straightens your posture. You adjust the spaghetti strap of your little black dress. “Thanks.” It’s all you can think of to respond. You tear your focus away from the eye crinkles, now the newest sexy thing you’ve failed to notice. It’s safer to inspect the corners of the floor for dust. The small enclosed space heats due to Dean Winchester occupying it.

The elevator dings and you hold in a sigh of relief. You exit first, then halt so he leads. You trail behind him in silence to the room. He opens the door. Your steps scoot past his body.

“Got time to change?” Hopeful, you’re already rifling through your duffel for your jeans and flannel.

“Sam’s right. We should probably bolt.”

You groan.

“Let’s put some miles between us and Lincoln.” It’s not really a suggestion.

“Fine.” You give in, knowing he’s right.

You aren’t tired on the drive back. The sense of accomplishment after a successful case turns most hunters into live wires, you included.

You and Dean have been chatting about the hunt. The lackluster food at the fundraiser. Sam’s impressive Latin skills. An apparent millionaire whose breath stunk like a month old convenience store burrito. And you knew what one of those smelled like from unfortunate firsthand experience. The conversation switches to some repairs that need to be done around the bunker. A casserole recipe on Pinterest you want to try. Who’s going to get the treat of washing all the MOL classic cars in the garage. The topics pogo all over the place. You love these moments with the brothers.

You’re an hour and some change out from Lincoln, halfway to Lebanon, when Dean has an idea.

His finger wags at a mile marker. “There’s a decent bar in Bruning. Wanna grab a drink to celebrate?”

You stare at his unbuttoned tux jacket, then your dress. “Like this?”

“Sure. Why not?” It’s not really a question as he takes the exit.

You drew the line at wearing heels in the bar. Dean grabbed your worn cowboy boots from Baby’s trunk. He leaned against the car beside your open passenger door. You tugged on boots, leaned forward, giving any passersby a free show down the front of your dress. Arms folded, Dean scowled and puffed out his chest to any male who dared to glance in your direction.

A minute later you both entered the bar and did the usual routine without speaking. Head to respective bathrooms. Clean up and make yourselves respectable looking. But as you blotted your foundation and appreciated the staying power of your makeup in the mirror - okay, maybe that setting spray was worth the price - you considered who you were making yourself respectable for?

It’s not like either one of you were expecting to get lucky tonight. The bunker was less than two hours away. No one was gonna pick up a local and take them back to their motel room.

You applied a fresh coat of red berry lipstick.

So, that left only you and Dean freshening up for… each other?

You scoffed at the ridiculous idea, ran fingers through your hair.

A drink. One drink. To celebrate a job well done.

“That’s all it is,” you mumble.

You’ve played darts for an hour. Dean’s on his third whiskey. You’ve downed four fruity rum concoctions, mainly because you loved hearing Dean order the drink.

Entertainment was the least he could do after beating you for the sixth time.

The waitress stops at your high top and grabs the empty plates and glasses. “What else can I get you two?”

Dean clutches a dart, deep in focus, squinting at the target board. “You wanna nother Bahama Mama?”

You suppress a giggle and smile at the waitress. “Just more water. Thanks.”

“We should probably load up on the grease before we head home.” Dean peers at the waitress over a shoulder. “Maybe some fries, darlin’, to go along with one last shot of whiskey?”

“Sure thing, sugar.” She smiles, then waits for Dean to turn around before eyeing his backside in approval. With a grin, she taps your bare forearm. “Lucky you,” she whispers.

You are lucky. But not for the reason the waitress thinks. Being around Sam and Dean means safety and security. The eye candy is merely a bonus. One you are debating if you should indulge in more often or continue to restrict your caloric intake.

After all, there’s nothing wrong with appreciating a work of art.

Dean had flung his necktie in Baby’s backseat and unbuttoned his collar during the drive. The casual way he now wore the tux was even more attractive. “Probably a good idea if you lay off the alcohol. It’s definitely affecting your game tonight.” He grins.

You lean your heavy weighted head against a palm for support. “Yeah, must b’it,” you slur, more than you like. Your gaze zones in on his fingers gripping the dart. Those damn fingers have been a distraction all night. He has to be unaware he’s sabotaging any ability to focus. Dean is an outright flirt with his targets. You’ve seen him lay on the charm thick and sticky the same way he slaps peanut butter and jelly on white bread. Subtlety has never been his thing.

Speaking of targets. The dart launches out of his hand and lands dead center. “That’s what I’m talkin’ bout.” Dean performs the ka-ching motion for what feels like the hundredth time that night. Normally, it’s annoying, but you battle your lids open to stare at his clenched fist in awe. Again. He slides onto the bar stool and inspects you with a concerned smile. “You usually drink me under the table. Sure you’re okay?”

“Fine.” You hum.

The waitress whizzes by and deposits Dean’s shot and a basket of fries. Dean’s voice floats in the air expressing his thanks to, you think he says, Linda. Then a pointed order hits you right in the face. “Hey, eat something. I ain’t carrying you to the car like some swoony duchess on those shows you binge.”

“They’ve got carriages, not cars.” You blink over and over and straighten up. A handful of fries fill your mouth. Your brain hasn’t caught up in time to tell you to shut up and chew. “Yud make a ghood ake.”

“What?” Dean smiles at you like he’s happened across his favorite Scooby-Doo episode while channel surfing.

You gulp down the gluey mashed goodness. “You’d make a good rake.”

“What’s that? Some kind of man servant? I was a handmaiden once.” He indulges in some of the fries before you eat them all. Those fingers push them past his lips.

“No. A rake’s-” You huff at the gall when he attentively licks the grease off his thumb. His tongue is quite, um, “Nimble.”

He frowns, obviously confused. “A rake’s nimble?”

You shake out the cobwebs in your brain, tripping you up with a collision of thoughts. “A rake’s a ladies’ man,” you mutter.

His spine stiffens, shoulders pop back in pride. “I do try to please the ladies every chance I get.”

“We are all well aware.” More fries thankfully save you from saying anything that may humiliate.

“Guess those aren’t your favorite characters. You probably like the stuffy types that are all serious, with their noses up in the air or stuck in a book.”

You shrug. “Nah, I go for the rogues.”

One of Dean’s brows quirk up. “The dangerous type?” One side of his mouth lifts as well.

“Yeah, a scoundrel. You know, the one you can’t quite figure out. They’ve got this bad reputation or some sordid past. But, they go after what they want. Take what they want.” You hum again and close your eyes. You can still see Dean’s grin in your mind’s eye.

“Too bad I don’t fit the bill.”

You freeze. Eyes still closed. He didn’t just… did he?

“I mean. It’d be all kinds of wrong. Me going for something I wanted, damn the consequences.”

You inhale and grip the curve of the table top. You open your eyes to find him sipping at his whiskey. “Don’t fuck with me,” you whisper.

He gives you a toe curling smile now. The glass clinks onto the table. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m not your type.”

“I-wh-” It’s too late. You’ve never been on the receiving end of what is most definitely Dean Winchester flirting. “What makes you think that?”

He leans in. His breath meets your inhale and you take in all the spice and warmth. “I wouldn’t do a thing to mess this up. Not unless, you know, I knew.”

You nod, dumbstruck. “Yeah, that makes sense. I mean, yeah.” A whoosh of fatigue makes your head spin.

Dean smiles. “We live together, hunt together. Packed like sardines together twenty-four seven sometimes. Wouldn’t want to mess any of that up. Unless I knew, you know?”

“Knew what?” Your chin drops to your chest despite your best efforts. The weight of your body gets ready to do a face plant on the table top. You squish your lids shut tight and groan in horror at the inevitable.

But, Dean is there to save you. Again. His fingers swoop in to cradle your jaw and lift up your head. The embarrassment and alcohol finally overtake you. As you fade, you hear, “Maybe I’ll tell you when you’ll remember the answer.”

You woke up in your bed, back at the bunker. Again, with no idea if it was morning or night. No idea how much time had passed since…

You spring upright to sit. And, yeah, that was a mistake. Your head pounds. Your mouth is dry and tacky. Your stomach feels like it got turned upside down. Not that much time has passed since…

You groan and lay back down, slow and gentle. You piece the last snippets of memory together.

You stare up at the ceiling, grateful for the darkness. You want it to suck you up whole.

Did you pass out in the middle of Dean hitting on you? Did Dean end up swooping you up and putting you in the Impala? Driving you home passed out in the back seat - or God forbid the front passenger seat with you lolling about, mouth probably open and drooling - then carrying you throughout the bunker to your bedroom? Did he…?

You pat your chest and feel the spaghetti straps and silky fabric of your little black dress. You sigh. He had taken pity on you and only stripped you of your cowboy boots.

There’s a soft tap on your bedroom door.

“Oh no.” You pull the blanket over your head, mortified. You don’t think you can face him.

But it’s not Dean that says your name. It’s Sam.

“You alright? I heard you… uh… moaning.”

“Yeah,” you squeak. “Hungover.”

You think you hear Sam snicker. “Dean said you outpaced him by a mile. In darts and drinks.”

That makes you pause to recall. No, you definitely don’t think any of that’s accurate.

“He made some breakfast before he went out, if you’re hungry.”

Great, he can’t bear to face you, either. “Thanks, Sam.”

“If you’re up for it later, I could use some assistance researching.”

You take a measured breath to quell the nausea. “I’ll let you know.”

You’d chewed some aspirin and drank glass after glass of water from the sink in your room and somehow passed out for a few more hours.

You drag yourself out of bed around noon and shower in an effort to resemble something close to human. The stomach growls lead you to the bunker kitchen. At first, you smile at the plate of pancakes Dean covered with a clean kitchen towel for you. A frown follows at the odd shape of them. They aren’t his usual silver dollar pancakes stacked six high.

You tilt your head, attempting to figure out what Buttermilk Banksy was trying to create. The two pancakes, side by side on a large plate, obviously started out as circles. But then, four long tendrils were added along the top of each and a little offshoot one on the side. A turkey? Why the hell would Dean make turkeys? It wasn’t anywhere near Thanksgiving time.

“‘Bout time, sleepy head.” Dean’s voice wafts in from the doorway. He strolls in without a care in the world. There’s no hesitancy to lock eyes with you. Which is good. That has to mean you didn’t make more of a fool of yourself than you remember. He tugs on the fridge door. “Do you want something else or those pancakes enough?” He’s asking the interior of the refrigerator more than you, his head circling the shelves. “Was gonna pile on the grease but thought you might need to take it easy after last night.”

“No, this is great. Thank you.” You keep your voice low, hoping he’ll get the hint and not make too much noise.

He seems to, clicking the door shut softly after grabbing a cold slice of pizza. “Oh, I thought we’d do a movie night in the Dean cave. I bought angus ground beef for burgers. I’ll make some potato wedges. Grabbed your favorite microwave popcorn, movie theater butter.”

The menu, miraculously, doesn’t make your stomach lurch into panicked somersaults. “None of that sounds Sam approved.”

“He’s got that author signing book store thing in Stockton tonight.”

Oh, right. You’d forgotten for a moment how excited Sam was to listen to some guy read a chapter from his book on the evils of the Federalist Society.

“Think you’ll be up for it?” Dean asks, brows raised hopeful.

You smile. “I think I will.”

“Good.” He captures a third of the pizza slice in one bite. After four chews and a swallow he finishes with, “I’ll go easy on you.” The grin he flashes catches you off guard. It’s that one that if Sam saw it, he’d suspect you and Dean had a secret.

Problem was, you didn’t know what the secret was.

“We got weapons to clean in an hour. No matter what Sam says about research.” Dean taps the door sill on the way out of the kitchen. “Meet you in the library. Don’t be late.” He disappears.

You stare down at your breakfast, which is now technically lunch, and a queasy feeling erupts. But not from the hangover or the thought of eating.

The pancakes Dean made. You think you know what the shapes are now.

A pair of hands.

Time in the library with Sam and Dean is pure torture.

You’re sat equidistant between the two of them, in the middle of one of the long massive wooden tables. Sam is on one end, flipping through page after page of a volume on corporal punishment. He’s trying to work out an easy cheat sheet - a work flow chart - that you all can use in the future. If you can identify what crime someone was charged with committing way back when, you’d have a better idea of the dismembered mummified appendage to track.

Dean occupies the other head of the table. A worn cloth laid out in front of him, all manner of weapons lined in a neat row atop it, awaiting his hands.

His hands. God, you hope the pancakes were merely a cheeky, inside joke on Dean’s part. Maybe it was a reminder about your insistence on the manicure. Or the friggin’ Palmolive commercial that, thanks Dean, you can’t get out of your head either. Because now all you can think about is Dean’s massive fingers dipped in a teeny tiny glass bowl filled with sudsy dish detergent.

Between Sam’s page turns and Dean’s clink of weapons your brain can’t settle or calm down. You’re also trying to appease both hunters. You’re reading through a book on your right and sharpening a machete on your left.

“That jugglin’ act might leave you with more than a paper cut if you aren’t careful,” Dean chides.

You swallow down the urge to quip something back. It’s only when the whetstone clears the curve of the machete and halts at the tip that you tear your gaze from the task and stare at Dean. “I can handle it.”

He smirks. “Oh, I’m sure you can HANDle it.” He shrugs. “Just wouldn’t want you to lose a FINGER.”

“How about you quit distracting her? She’s doing you a favor.” Sam’s brows lift pointedly at Dean. “And besides, why do you insist on cleaning weapons here when you could literally be doing it anywhere else in the bunker?”

Dean curls up the fakest smile at Sam. “Cause I love your company.”

The boys settle after a few more grunts and scoffs at each other. You plunge nose deep into lore and wish the pages were waves pulling you out to sea.

There’s no way Dean’s emphasis on “hand” and “finger” were accidental. Dean’s pretty intuitive. But you are a pretty good actor in your own right when you need to be. However, there’s still a chance that you said or did something when you were too intoxicated to remember.

It’s not helping that Dean’s performing his weapon cleaning like a goddamn seduction. Mr. Hand Model takes apart the sawed off, cleans the inside of and around the barrel, reassembles, and clicks all the pieces back into place. His nails look perfect, shiny and slick with the gun oil. His beefy fingers curl around the wood and steel in a way that makes you want to trade places with the firearm.

You somehow endure for 45 minutes. Last night’s indulgences are blamed in an excuse to head back to your bedroom. As you preemptively wish Sam an enjoyable outing later, Dean reminds you to rest up for dinner and a movie.

Ugh. You know how Dean gets when he won’t let something go that he finds hilarious. This could go on for a while.

It’s a trap. It’s gotta be.

Dean’s lowering your defenses with good food and good company.

It all started in the kitchen where dinner was served. He wasn’t kidding about the burgers. He made quarter pound medium rare works of art with cheese and all the toppings. The bun was Texas Toasted out. The guy even used the air fryer to produce ridiculously addicting potato wedges with a spicy paprika and chili powder coating.

Then, it was Dean cave time. No beer in sight, you were given pop to drink, with an offhanded “no repeat performance of last night” remark. You slid down the couch, groaning, pulling the hoodie over your face for dramatic effect. He grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl sitting between you on the couch and added, “You know, so you don’t pass out midway through the movie.”

You inhale the buttery goodness beside you and relax, popping back up in your seat. A swig of sugar wakes up your lethargic post-meal brain and settles the nerves that Dean is up to something. “So, what masterpiece do you have for us tonight?” you query.

He presses a button on one remote and the lights dim. Another remote in hand, another button press, and the television screen blares with an all too familiar soundtrack.

“The Empire Strikes Back.” You nod. “Good choice.”

“It’s your favorite one,” Dean reminds you.

“Yeah. Yoda. Duh.”

Dean chuckles.

Things fall into that easy going movie commentary that you and Dean are so fond of doing. It drives Sam crazy when he's watching stuff with the two of you. You’re spouting behind the scenes facts you know you’ve told Dean a half a dozen times already (like how the puppeteer who’s voicing Yoda also voices your favorite muppet, Fozzie Bear). Dean adds his own sound effects when the AT-ATs are firing, points out every Wilhelm scream, and helps Harrison Ford out by quoting all of Solo’s lines.

Leia is fixing some equipment on the Falcon and you comment, “I like the braid updo more than the cinnamon rolls.”

“Eh, I don’t know. The combo of beauty and baked goods is pretty hard to beat.”

Solo walks in and tries to help. Leia pushes him away. You sigh. “Here they go.”

Dean turns to you and raises an eyebrow. In perfect sync with Solo’s dialogue he utters, “Hey Your Worship, I’m only trying to help.”

You eye roll. “Would you please stop calling me that?” If it's a quote battle Dean wants, it’s on. If Sam were here, he’d be so done with the both of you right now.

“Sure, Leia.”

A huff for good measure. “You make it so difficult sometimes.”

Dean leans in. “I do, I really do. You could be a little nicer, though. Come on, admit it. Sometimes you think I’m all right.”

Wait. Wait. Oh no. You don’t have to be looking at the screen to know what happens next. Leia hurts her HAND trying to turn a lever. You clam up at all the fucking context this scene now holds for you and Dean. You can’t say the next lines. Because you know that Solo grabs Leia’s HAND as she says, “Occasionally, maybe… when you aren’t acting like a scoundrel.”

That’s when last night’s rum-infested confessions cut to the front of the memory queue. You adore scoundrels, rogues.

Dean doesn’t miss a beat, though. He even gazes down at one of your HANDS. He continues the performance. “Scoundrel?” Face half cast in shadow, his lids widen, irises still manage to catch the light and entrance you. “Scoundrel?” A huge grin emerges. “I like the sound of that.”

Solo is massaging Leia’s HAND the whole time.

Leia whispers, “Stop that.”

Dean replies, “Stop what?” Though he’s not questioning the screen. He’s locked eyes with you. Daring you to break away first.

Leia answers, even softer. “Stop that. My hands are dirty.”

Dean tilts his head, uncaring. “My hands are dirty, too. What are you afraid of?”

“Afraid?” Oh, Leia, Don’t egg him on.

“You’re trembling,” Dean’s voice is softer. He’s edging closer, but there’s only so much distance he can cover with the popcorn bowl in the way.

You decide now’s as good a time as any to try and act your way out of a paper bag. “I’m not trembling.” You coat your response with steel.

Dean is only encouraged by your participation. “You like me because I’m a scoundrel. There aren’t enough scoundrels in your life.”

You ponder for a moment. “I happen to like nice men.”

“I’m nice men.” Dean offers with complete sincerity.

You scoff. “No, you’re not. You’re…”

The music swells. Solo and Leia kiss.

But, you and Dean just stare at each other, for what feels like an eternity. You know C3PO is gonna interrupt the lovebirds at any moment. It’s the only lifeline you have, so you wait for the robot with the worst timing in history to save you from embarrassment.

“Guys?” Sam’s voice calls from the hallway.

You snap, stick straight, your back pressed against the seat. Sam must have come in through the garage.

Dean sighs. “Yeah, Sammy. Come on in. Back so soon?”

The door flings open. Warm ceiling lights from the hall halo Sam’s figure. “You know how they say, never meet your heroes? Totally valid advice tonight.” Sam stumbles into the room, all lanky limbs, and sinks into the cushy side chair. He runs fingers through his hair, his profile scrutinizing the screen. “Jedi?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Seriously, dude, how are we related?”

The three of you watch the rest of the movie without much commentary.

And you and Dean do not quote any other lines.

You cleaned up the dinner mess, alone, in the kitchen. You insisted it was the least you could do and Dean didn’t put up much resistance.

You find Dean’s bedroom door open on your way to your own for the night. You stop in the doorway to thank him again.

He’s putting away some shirts in his dresser, back turned. He looks comfy, cozy, showered, and perfect. You compose yourself in a split second when he senses you and cocks his head to the door. “Hey, everything okay?”

It’s his usual question, always assuming something needs fixing or solving. But, you sense extra concern in the tone this time.

You nod, wanting to ease the tide of Dean Winchester’s worry. “Thank you. Tonight was fun.”

“Yeah, even with Chewbacca?”

You chuckle. “Be nice.”

He waves you in as he wraps up his laundry. You oblige and sit by the tiny corner table. “Yeah, you’re right. Solo actually wouldn’t mind Chewy hanging out with him and Leia.”

You smile. Apparently, it’s Star Wars character dissection time. “So, if Sam’s not Chewbacca…”

The drawer squeaks closed. “Luke.”

“Han doesn’t mind Luke. Annoyed, sometimes. But, everyone annoys Han at one point or another.”

Dean sits at the edge of the bed, facing you. He stretches, hands entwined and arms raised overhead. A white t-shirt hugs his form here and there. You get a glimpse of perky nipples pressing against fabric. “Luke was competition. Before the brother-sister bombshell,” Dean states.

“Yeah, guess so.”

“But, the three of them, they made a good team,” Dean continues.

You nod, deliberate and slow.

“It only takes one person to start getting feelings for another one in the trio and then the whole galaxy is in jeopardy.” Dean taps the pads of his fingers together.

You sigh. You didn’t want to have to rat yourself out. But, Dean’s got a point. So, how do you go about telling him you’re finding him unbelievably attractive all of a sudden? And how do you ease his apparent worry? What, you’ll do your best to keep it in check? It won’t interfere with the work you do?

“We’re a good team, right? You, me, Sammy?” Dean cuts through the silence with the questions. He scrubs at the nape of his neck.

“I-I’d like to think so. But, you’re right, Dean. It can throw the whole balance off in a good working relationship if someone starts to catch feelings that aren’t reciprocated.”

His eyebrows form a distraught mountain peak. “So, it’s true?”

He looks so unhappy at the possibility, but you’ve gotta be an adult about it. “It just started happening during the last case.” You shrug. “But, I don’t have any intention of acting on them.” A hand raises. “Don’t worry.”

His lips purse tight. Nostrils flare. He’s deep in thought. Finally, he says, “But, you won’t know if you don’t act on it.” He nods more to convince himself now. “You should talk to Sam about how you feel.”

You blink, dumbfounded. “Huh?”

“Hey, I gave it a ‘good ole high school dropout that earned his GED’ try. We have established that I am not your type.”

“Wha-?”

“I’ll be fine with the two of you being a thing. I want to see you and Sam happy. If that means you both, together, that’s great.”

Your hands circle in front of you. “Whoa, whoa. Back up a minute.” Suddenly, your heart is racing.

“What?” He’s got that vacant puppy dog expression, every muscle in his face relaxed, wide open eyes.

You steady your breathing. “What made you think you were my type?” You can’t help the question. You only hope it doesn’t sound belittling or sarcastic. Right now, it’s your last defense of self-protection and attempt at fact finding. You gotta know if you are misinterpreting the revelation that Dean may in fact be upset if you and Sam were an item. Because… he wants you two to be an item?!

“You were acting… weird… ever since Lincoln and the manicure.” He twiddles his fingers. “I was picking up signals that weren’t there, I guess.” He shakes his head and mumbles. “Or, I probably was looking too hard to find something that wasn’t there. Like those times you tell me I’m sniffing around the wrong dog’s butt.”

You squish your lids at how crass you can be. It’s giving you less reasons to think he could find you attractive in any capacity. “Okay, but why was that so important to know?”

His arms extend from side to side. He’s getting riled up and more than a little miffed. But, you know that might work in your favor. His mouth tends to run on autopilot and the truth comes flying out. “Our, I don’t know, petri dish of co-existing in this jack-in-the-box wouldn’t get fucked up. I wouldn’t go off half-cocked and do something I’ve been wanting to do for a while unless I knew, for sure, that you felt the same way I did.” His hands retract and fall in his lap. He’s not looking at you, instead staring at his socked feet. “But, you don’t.”

You’ve got actual fucking butterflies beating their wings like bongo drums in your stomach. “What have you wanted to do for a while?”

His eyes track up to you. He’s inspecting you, hard. That’s doing nothing to quell the excitement inside. “What’s the point in telling you that now?”

“Because, maybe… you’re wrong and… you are my type.”

Dean’s lids lift a quarter of an inch. It’s a minute, micro reaction. But you catch it.

“Maybe I’ve been ignoring it for a while, because, like you. I didn’t want to mess things up. I love Sam.” You swallow, ready to bare all. “But, I haven’t been thinking about what his hands could do to me,” you whisper.

Dean inhales, sharp and quick through his nose at that confession. He exhales, adding, “Don’t fuck with me.”

You can’t do anything but grin in a way that you’re sure makes you look like a goddamn idiot. “I should have said that to you numerous times today. The pancakes. The gun cleaning. Freakin’ Han massaging Leia’s HAND!”

His lids widen. “Hey, it was me testing my theory. Like when we gotta douse someone with holy water to make sure they aren’t possessed. All but the movie, though. Swear I did not remember that scene until a few seconds before it started happening.” He sits up, rubs palms on his sweatpant clad thighs. “Well, okay, I didn’t remember the hand thing, but I wanted to see how you reacted to like THE best scoundrel ever.” Now, he’s grinning. “Been thinkin’ about my hands, huh?”

You roll your eyes merely to play along. “Alright, don’t get a big head.”

He cocks his head like a devilish rogue. “No need for a big head when I’ve got big hands.”

The giggle escapes before you can lasso it.

Dean slides his gaze up your seated frame. It’s a filthy, seedy expression. And hot as fuck. He stops to stare at your mouth, then licks his own. When his eyes meet yours, he commands, “Come on over and show me what you’ve been thinking of.” He pats his thighs. “I’ve got a nice warm seat for ya.”

He’s kidding, right? He wants you to sit on his lap. As if you’d even consider it.

And, yeah, you aren’t considering it. There’s no time for consideration when your legs have already propelled you out of the seat. You give his bedroom door a swing in a passing thought about closing it for privacy.

You can see the look of surprise on Dean’s face as you march over to the bed. But it’s mixed with want and eagerness. He opens his arms in welcome.

Warmth prickles your cheeks at the forwardness you display in accepting the invitation. One knee props up on the bed beside him. You anchor hands onto his shoulders, feel those fingers fan and lock onto your waist, and you bring the rest of your body up to straddle his lap.

You sigh, staring down at that kid in a candy store grin of his, and marvel at how very right it all feels. You settle, your ass firmly atop his thighs. The heat of him is immediate.

“Been wanting you like this,” he whispers, his nose brushing the skin exposed around your collar. A hand molds to the side of your neck, holding you in place. You shiver at the lips skirting upwards along the channel of your throat. “Now who’s ticklish?” It’s meant to tease, but his voice has lost that hint of mirth. It’s deeper, daring you to deny his observation as anything other than fact. “Maybe you aren’t ready for my hands. All.” A kiss at the juncture where your lobe meets your jaw. “Over.” A peck at the tip of your chin. He threads his fingers into the base of your hairline. He eases your head with a smooth tilt down. You lock eyes with his green ones once again. “You.”

The only response you can give is to connect your lips to his. Feeling the pliant, soft give of his mouth against yours. Then his insistent lean up and forward, forcing you to stand your ground while seated on his lap. You have to demonstrate your want is equal to his.

And you want. You so want.

Whatever you’re doing, his approving moan eggs you to continue. With each swipe and dip and dive of your lips, your mouth opens a bit more. The access encourages Dean’s tongue to taste. He laps at you gently, swirls around just enough that your core begins to ache. He pulls away and you groan. You’re drunk with desire, heavy and heady.

Your lids blink open slow and sleepy. Thankfully you find Dean’s looking as blissed out as you feel. He’s inspecting your reaction through a hazy gaze. His hand captures the side of your face. Five pressure points sink into your skin. His eyes flicker to your mouth to watch his thumb outline the curve of your lip. The pad tugs and drags at your skin.

It’s only a second of wordless communication between the two of you. He asks with a lifting of his lids. You agree with an affirmative blink.

His thumb delves into your mouth, up to the first knuckle. You wrap your lips around. Suck with the gentlest of pressure.

His mouth lifts into a slight smile. “Good girl,” he whispers.

And, fuck if that doesn’t open your floodgates. You’re slick and ready.

Dean’s other hand runs along the waistband of your yoga pants. “You been thinking about my hands all over you…” His thumb glides under the fabric of your panties. “Taking you apart, piece by piece.” He delves farther down, until he taps the top of your mound. His jaw clenches at your gasp of anticipation. His thumb hooks under your tongue against the floor of your mouth to express just how in command he is right now. “You gonna do what I say, Your Worship?”

You nod. You’ll don a pair of cinnamon buns if he tells you to right now.

He smirks, cocky and full of confidence. “The better I make you feel down here...” He works his thumb between your folds and presses against your clit. You squirm in his lap. “The better you suck with that beautiful mouth, yeah?”

You nod again. He releases the pressure in your mouth, circles your bundle of nerves. He slips and slides while his fingers splay over your stomach to anchor in place. You latch onto his thumb again and suck on it like a straw

“Pretty sure this isn’t as wet as you’re gonna get,” he comments like a fucking weatherman. After only a few seconds, he sighs and shakes his head. “Too many fucking clothes.”

You’ve only sparred with Dean a handful of times. Every time, he’s bested you with graceful movements and quick action. He disengages from you for what must have only been seconds, spinning you around in his grasp and pinning your back to the mattress. He’s whipping off your t-shirt, pants, and underwear. Leaving you in only your bra.

He leers over you, hands running up the underside of your thighs. He kneels onto the bed, all of his clothes still on, to wedge against your ass. All of you is on proper display for him. And he takes it all in.

“Right, Gorgeous. Where were we?” One hand rides its way up your chest back to your mouth. You accept his index finger between your lips this time. His other hand resumes playing with your clit. “Hm. Much better.”

A gasp escapes from your mouth. Your tongue ejects his finger so you can point out, “Who’s the one with too many fucking clothes on now?”

“All good things come to those who wait, darlin’.” He settles further, criss crossing over top of your flesh. His legs sandwich your right thigh while he strums your pussy. The hope of what else is to come pokes into your side through his sweatpants. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, slipping his finger into your mouth again. The pull of his left hand guides you to lean your head toward the right. He settles his beefy forearm onto the mattress above your shoulder.

His chest pins you down in a kinky wrestling move. Teeth snag your ear lobe. He applies pressure to the swollen flesh over a ridge of bone, then uses a flicking motion that makes your thigh twitch in delight.

You're sloppy with your technique of licks and sucks as he feeds you another digit. But, really, how is any gal supposed to mind their manners with Dean Winchester fingering her? You groan, helpless, as he explores your folds, finds your entrance with two tips. “I know you got a thing for my hands,” his hot breath tunnels into your ear canal, “but, if you want, I can fill you up real good with something else.”

You can’t reply with any actual words, only moans of agreement. The erection pressing into your hip bone sure does feel substantial. If it’s anything like his fingers - two fingers are currently surfing around your tongue and rubbing against your palate - he’ll have no problem filling you up.

To ground yourself in the reality of the situation, you snatch at the hem of his shirt and tug. Your pelvis tilts up at the slow insertion of one of his other fingers down below. “Damn,” he pants into your ear. “How long’s it been since someone took care of you, all nice and proper? So- so tight and wet.” He hums. “And warm.” A languid slide out with one finger, only to be accompanied with another when he pushes back inside. “Feel so good. Gonna feel even better around my cock after I make you come… Princess.”

You will not ever admit to the fact that you squealed with Dean’s fingers in your mouth. That you convulsed after only seconds of him playing with your clit and stretching open your hole.

Fireworks continue to skyrocket in your head. Your body tipped into the oversensitive zone. You’re aware of every bit of him plastered against you. He’s made you slick with arousal and sweat. Layers of fabric cling to skin. You should be suffocating with him laying atop you, but he feels like a weighted blanket. Warm, secure. Dean’s fingers don’t retract from your mouth or pussy. They are frozen in place. Your teeth nibble one set. Your muscles spasm around the other.

He hasn’t moved. Hot breath huffs hard into the crook of your neck with an occasional sharp inhale and hold. You close your eyes. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that you could fall asleep like this.

“Was that… too much?” He deep-throat whispers in your ear now. “I may have gotten a little carried away.”

“N-mph-,” you chortle around his fingers.

“Shit, sorry.” He pulls his hand away from your mouth, the other slowly out of your hot core. Matching sighs release from you both.

“No,” you heave, and his chest rises up and off. “It was… awesome.”

He’s in your face now, all green eyes and pink lips, a veil of freckles along the bridge of his nose and forehead. “Yeah?”

You squint, trying to focus on all the glorious aspects. He’s studying you. You get the feeling he’s really not sure. “Why is the ladies man doubting himself all of sudden?” you tease, rocking to shuffle him out of the daze.

A shrug. “It’s you. I don’t always read you right.”

You lean your head back into his memory foam in an attempt to make full eye contact. “I don’t know how many ways you can misread giving me a mindblowing orgasm.”

He blinks, cautious. “Is what I did going to… you know… change things between us?”

“Oh.” You stop, dart your gaze to the ceiling past his shoulder for dramatic effect. “Oh, absolutely. I mean,” you pause, “how could it not?” You shake your head and feel his entire body go rigid. “It’s gonna be so awkward and uncomfortable around here.”

When you dare to look at him, there’s a hint of something you don’t see often on Dean’s face. You think it might be fear.

You can’t bear it any longer. “I mean, I can already imagine the disgusted look on Sam’s face when we start making out right in front of him.”

Within seconds, the expression turns to one of relief and amusement, accompanied by the charming cockiness that’s gonna turn you to goo at the most inopportune moments from here on out. “Well, we don’t have to tell him right away. It might be fun to, you know, sneak around right under his nose.” He relaxes, sinks into you again. “I could have you all sorts of ways, in all sorts of places, doing our best not to get caught.”

You smile. “Don’t want to tell your brother you’ve stolen my heart with that five-finger discount of yours?”

He chuckles, rolls his eyes, then cups the heat of your folds again. “I mean, I sucked at Biology, but pretty sure this ain’t your heart, darlin’.”

“You’re wrong, you know?”

He blinks, all sass and spectacle, “This IS your heart?” He squeezes.

You peck his lips, roll your eyes, and curl arms around his waist. “No. Solo’s got nothing on you. YOU are the best scoundrel.”

A breathtaking kiss makes you all lightheaded. When he finally pulls away and allows you to exhale, he lifts one side of his mouth into a confident grin. “I know.”

THE END

#dean x reader #dean winchester smut #female reader #dean x you #spn fanfic

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berryhobii · 1 year

Note

I just want say I love your writing! Like I have never related to any work more than yours! You’re doing something special for black army and I just want thank you for that! Hope you’re doing well and I wish you the best and a million dollar lottery ticket girl! 😄😂🫶🏾

(P.S if you feel like it and if you get a chance please write more for Yoongi 💔 us Yoongi Stans starving and having withdrawals 😪)

Wow! Thank you so much for your kind words. They really mean so much. I’m so glad I could bring more representation and I hope you feel good reading my works.

Here’s a special little something for you Yoongi stans🥰🩵

“I don’t think this looks right, Yoongi.” You pouted, twisting your body every which way in the mirror. Your hands tugged at the top of the dress as if trying to magically make it fit the way you wanted it to in your head.

Yoongi, who was sitting outside typing some quick minute work emails, said, “I’m sure it looks fine, lovely. Come out and show me.”

Sighing, you turned around to open the dressing room door, stepping out to show your sugar daddy turned totally exclusive boyfriend one of the dresses you’ve chosen. It’s the 8th one you’ve tried on but you didn’t really like any of them. What you thought would just be a cute little date had transitioned into a full blown shopping spree. Yoongi pulled up to your apartment, your favorite Starbucks drink and snack already waiting, and whisked you away to the luxury district of Seoul. Hand in hand, he led you into stores, wanting you to pick something out in each one.

“You deserve it after being asked to take over the north branch of the company. I want you dressed like you own that place.”

So to Cartier, Gucci, and Zara you went to get you an entirely new wardrobe worthy of your position. To be honest, you stopped shopping for work a little while ago and now you were just choosing dresses for fun nights out.

For someone as accomplished as you, a sugar daddy probably seemed like overkill. You’ve managed to rise in the ranks at your dream job, getting a managerial title in less than 2 years. No doubt you had enough money to support the lifestyle Yoongi was giving you. Truthfully, this relationship didn’t start as a sugar daddy sugar baby thing. Your friends had taken it upon themselves to sign you up for a singles mixer—you know, one of those events where a bunch of single people went to try and find dates. You talked for about a minute before a bell rang and you moved on to a new stranger. Stuff like that really wasn’t your cup of tea.

What your friends had conveniently left out that it was a singles mixer exclusively for sugar daddies and sugar babies to find each other. Imagine your surprise when you and a couple of your friends rolled up to the bar, only to find a gaggle of late middle aged and older men sitting around the tables. You almost broke your ankle trying to run back out but your friends forced you to the bar for a drink.

Before you knew it, you were going through the rounds of meeting a lot of gentlemen that reminded you of your uncles. Gross.

So when you finally came across Yoongi during the last round, you thought maybe this thing wasn’t so bad.

One thing led to another and now you and Yoongi had been together for a little over 2 and a half years.

He had captured your heart with his clever remarks and charming personality. And he was very easy on the eyes. Not to mention, he was only a couple of years older than you with his very own successful law office.

And you had caught his interest with your timeless beauty and charisma. He doesn’t think he’s laughed as much in his life as he does when he’s with you. You were just so lovely and honest and sweet. It was hard not to fall for you.

Now seeing you in that dress, Yoongi thinks he was falling even deeper.

His mouth dropped at the sight of you in the mid thigh navy blue dress—long sheer sleeves and square cut at your chest to show the gorgeous expanse of your chest.

“Do you like the sleeves? This dress definitely isn’t for the workplace but it’s very nice.”

He wasn’t even listening to what you were saying, eyes going down to your ass. The dress had a deeeepppp incline, the open back stopping just above the curve of your ass. Everytime you shifted from foot to foot, your ass jiggled a little and you both knew you were wearing the tiniest pair of panties.

Fuck.

“Yoongi?” You had asked him a question three times with no answer.

Turning around, you found him standing right behind you, flinching a little at his sudden closeness. “Y-yoongi?”

Suddenly, his lips were on yours, his body crowding all of your space. It took you a moment to respond but you did, kissing him back just as fervently and desperately.

You pulled back to whisper, “what’s gotten into you?”

His dark eyes sent shivers down your spine and right to your pussy which was already wet from him fingering you in the car on your way here.

“You.”

His rough hands pushed you back into the dressing room, barely managing to close the door behind him before he was back on you. Deft and experienced fingers ran up your bare back, goosebumps popping up in his wake, his lips trailing across your jaw and neck.

Your own hands went straight to the waistband of the loose pants he was wearing. He normally wore suits so seeing him casual was secretly a favorite look of yours.

“You look divine in this dress. I’m buying you one in every color.”

You giggled at his words but you knew he was probably serious. He’s done the exact same thing with a lingerie set you surprised him in on his birthday. The way the white lace set made your dark skin look even more sinful and delectable than it already was should be considered a crime.

“I’ll wear whatever you want.” You leaned closer to be right next to his ear. “My body is yours, sir.”

His eyes rolled back, both at your tone and the name you called him. God, you were so sexy. And all his.

“Then get on your knees and suck my cock. Show sir that you’re grateful.”

Falling to your knees, you took the elastic off your wrist to tie up your knotless braids, happy you sprung for a style that could easily be put up when you wanted to pleasure your man.

Yoongi helped you get some of the stragglers in the back before holding your hair for leverage. You both knew where this was going.

Eyes locked on his, you pulled his pants and underwear down, his hard cock springing out from its confines. Your warm palm encased him, a sigh falling from his doll like lips.

Gathering spit in your mouth, you opened your lips to take him all the way in to the hilt.

Yoongi’s head dropped back as the heat of your mouth surrounded him. His hand gripped your ponytail tighter, keeping you down and letting your tongue work over him.

“Oh my god…..” he huffed out, pulling your head back so that only the tip was resting against your tongue.

Your nails scratched up his thighs. “Fuck my mouth, baby. Give it to me.”

That was his breaking point. Using both hands to hold either side of your head, he began thrusting his cock in and out of your mouth. You relaxed your throat, patting yourself on the back for training your gag reflex during quarantine. You know………..for when you could go back out and mingle….anyway.

Your eyes remained focused on Yoongi’s face, your pussy clenching at the sight of his tightly shut eyes and dropped mouth. His long hair had fallen out of his manbun, the strands sticking to the building sweat on his forehead. Your fingers itched to hold onto that bun and ride his face until his neck hurt. Maybe once you got home.

Yoongi forced you to take all of him in, holding you there for a few seconds before pulling back and doing the same thing. Eyes watering from the assault on your throat, you let Yoongi use your throat however he liked. You were his and vice versa.

“Fuck….” Yoongi yanked your head back off of him, his orgasm feeling too close already. “Stand up.” He shakily breathed out, holding out his hand to help you to your weak legs. He placed a quick kiss to your lips, wiping away the drool that had slipped past before turning you around and pushing you against the mirror. You took a moment to look at your disheveled appearance in the reflection—your edges had began to curl back up, your pupils dilated and slightly unfocused, and the dress had became slightly skewed from all of your heavy petting. You looked a mess.

Not time to think about that now though. It didn’t take long for Yoongi to have your dress pulled up and your panties around one of your ankles. He also pulled the front of your dress down to allow your breasts to spill out, your already soaked cunt was practically screaming for his cock.

The mirror was fogged up from your breath, the cool glass making your nipples harden. “Fuck me, baby.” A sharp slap came down on your ass, the fat jiggling under the force.

“Don’t rush me.” His gruff voice said. And you’d be lying if you said that little show of dominance didn’t get you wetter than that scene in Step Up.

After moving your hair over your shoulder, Yoongi’s hand grabbed your shoulder, the other holding his cock to line up with your awaiting hole. You spread your legs a little more, arching your back to give him more access.

He didn’t give you any warning before he was diving into your wet cunt. Your mouth dropped as his cock stretched your tight walls, the overwhelming girth knocking all of the air out of your lungs.

“Oooooo…..Yoongi…..fuck. That cock’s so fucking big.” You gritted out, resisting from punching the mirror.

Yoongi inhaled a deep breath, trying not to cum as your silky walls tried to milk him for everything he was worth. The effect you had on him was just too strong. Only you could push him to the brink that fast.

Once he had calmed himself, Yoongi started a pace that could only be described as animalistic. The absolute force of which he was pushing his hips against your ass was causing a clapping noise so loud that you thought there were people giving you two a standing ovation.

An almost shriek like moan flew from your lips but Yoongi slapped his hand over your mouth to muffle it, one of your hands going up to hold onto his and the other squeezing your breast.

“Quiet.” He spit. “You want everyone to know I’m in here fucking you like a slut? Huh? Is that what you want?” His hips never slowed down as he spoke, pushing deeper and deeper until it felt like he was in your guts.

Your eyes crossed as his cock bullied your sweet spot, orgasm building faster than ever. His degradation along with the fact that you two could be caught at any moment was enough to propel you right over the edge.

Your knees buckled, Yoongi’s arm going out to wrap around your waist to keep you up.

“Good girl. Look at yourself while you cum.”

Your bleary eyes, that you didn’t even realize you had closed, slowly opened to look at your reflection and the sight sent you straight there.

Yoongi was staring directly at you, those panther like eyes making you feel so open and vulnerable. Both of your hungry eyes begging. Out of all of your moments with Yoongi, times like this really reminded you of just how much he had broken down your walls. He brought out a sexually adventurous side of you that you didn’t even know you had and you were actually grateful for it.

Or maybe you were just dickmatized…..eh.

Your pulsing walls were squeezing Yoongi’s cock hard enough to almost break it off, his own orgasm feeling incredibly close.

“Get back down.” He pushed you back down to your knees, your body quickly turning despite your orgasm still making you feel weightless. He just commanded your body that way.

Like it was muscle memory, you opened your mouth and held out your tongue, your hand coming up to take hold of his shaft. You pumped his fast, making sure to squeeze him at the tip just how he likes.

Yoongi’s eyes clenched shut, his breath labored as his orgasm got closer and closer. He braced his hands against the mirror behind you, his knees ready to give out much like yours had.

You couldn’t help but focus on the sexiness of your man’s face. It honestly made you want another round but you had something else to focus on.

“Fuck…..fuck….I’m cumming, love. Oh shit.”

“I want it. Give it to me.” You sucked harshly at his tip, still pumping him quickly.

With a moan and a full body shudder, Yoongi’s cum hit your tongue, the saltiness familiar. You continued to suck until he was recoiling from sensitivity.

He reached a hand down to tap against your chin, your head tilting back and eyes staring directly into his.

“Show me.”

You opened your mouth to show his release on your tongue. His hand dipped your chin, thumb pulling at your juicy bottom lip—his own lip pulling between his teeth.

“Swallow.” And who were you to deny?

Swallowing his cum down and then opening your mouth to show him you obeyed, you got a hum of approval from him.

You both took a moment to regain your breaths. Yoongi held out his hand to help you stand, pulling you into a hug. You sighed as his warmth seeped into your skin.

“You okay?” He asked you after a brief moment of silence.

You hummed. “Perfect. I’d have to say, I’m shocked you’re into public displays. What happened to that whole ‘your moans are only for me’ thing?” You teased. You could imagine him rolling his eyes.

Before he could give you a smart mouthed retort, a knock on the door caused both of you to scramble. You practically pushed him away to adjust your dress as Yoongi yanked his pants back up and fixed his hair.

“Um, yes?” You tried to call out in a normal voice, tone a bit hoarse from the recent exercise.

“Is everything fitting well? Should I bring you another size?” The polite voice of the associate asked.

You made eye contact with Yoongi, a cheeky smile spreading across his face and making you laugh.

“Uh, could you actually get me this same dress in all of the available colors? I’ll be purchasing them.”

#bts #bts smut #bts fic #bts x black reader #yoongi smut #bts imagines #askberryhobii

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year

Text

Deuce, Malleus: My Dream, to Defend

I now read everything Malleus says as extremely ominous and foreboding (knowing the context of book 7) 👨 THEY’RE ALL RED FLAGS 🚩, YOUR HONOR *proceeds to perpetuate the red flags by giving Malleus reasonably optimistic but also ominous-in-the-right-context dialogue*

Also??? Why are Ace and Deuce's faces on their birthday cards so similar 😂 They kinda match, even their Groovies (they kind of look like they're racing each other!)… cute

A Boy in Bloom, and his Flowering Future.

“What makes you glad you can use magic?”

Malleus paused, pondering the question. “What an odd inquiry.”

“For Malleus-senpai, yeah. You use magic for almost everything! It must be hard to just pick one thing about it that makes you go, 'I'm thankful for this!'. But for me…” Deuce tilted his head back, looking up to the structure that loomed over them.

It was the main building of the campus, housing numerous classrooms and offices. Regal and imposing, with several turreted towers and balconies, it was less an academic institution and more like a castle. A castle where dreams and wishes came true. Among them, his--if he worked hard enough.

"I'm happy that I got into Night Raven College," he said earnestly. "I never thought I had the magic potential to make it to a place like this, but here I am... standing at the steps."

Malleus's mouth curled. "What a surprise. Many of the students I've encountered here are the self-assured types. If I may ask... Why is it that you did not believe yourself worthy to stand among us here?"

"Long story short, I was kind of a delinquent back then. I'd use my magic to get up to no good. Y'know, laying the smackdown on anyone that talked shit or looked at me the wrong way."

"... 'Lay the smackdown'? 'Talked shit'? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with such colloquialisms."

"Er, it sounds really wrong hearing those words come from you... Basically, it means 'fighting' and, 'when people say bad things about you'. Got it?"

"I understand. Perhaps I will take care to incorporate such terms into my vocabulary. It may even make me appear more approachable to others."

"AHHHH!!!" Deuce startled, frantically waving his hands to silence his interviewer. "M-Maybe that's not such a good idea!! I think Sebek'd tackle me to the ground and kill me on the spot for teaching you bad words..."

"Fufufu, I jest."

"A-Are you really...?"

"Of course. Please, continue sharing your story." Malleus gestured for him to proceed. "Pray tell, why is it that you became entangled in such affairs?"

"Lots of stuff," Deuce said vaguely. "Mostly because I stood out. Didn't really fit in. It was easier to take out my frustrations on others than to work on myself.

"When my magic came to me, it was helpful to have in fights. It would drive some people off, and they'd leave me alone. They were scared of getting crushed again by a cauldron."

"Scared, you say... Hmm." Malleus looked pensive. "I see. So there are cases where non-mages feel threatened by the existence of mages."

"Huh?!" Deuce stared at him, eyes bulging. "That never occurred to you before, senpai?!"

"Magic comes naturally to me. It is capable of blessings and miracles. I cannot imagine why anyone would fear it."

"Well, I think it's because magic can do good things, but it can also do bad things.”

“Good and bad…” Malleus’s brows crinkled as the considered the thought, a finger to his chin.

Deuce’s stomach dropped at the sight. “Did I speak out of turn?! Y-You don’t have to listen to what I said if you don’t want to, senpai! Forget me, wh-what do I know anyway?!”

“… No, not at all. I was just thinking about your words. It reminds me of something my grandmother told me.”

“Eh, your grandma? Y-You don’t mean the queen of Briar Valley? I… reminded you of her?” Deuce squealed, afraid to speak her name.

“Yes, she.” Malleus’s eyes darkened, resembling a storm right before lightning struck. “Grandmother says that we Draconias were gifted with great powers—and with it, great responsibility to our people and their smiles. It is with this power that we are able to protect our country.

“Is it not similar for magic in general? The wielder is the one who determines whether one’s magic is used for ‘good’ or for ‘bad’ means. In which case… it is up to each of us to use what we have for ‘good’.”

“Draconia-senpai…!!” Deuce clutched a fist to his heart. A smile was at his lips, his eyes shining. “You get me!! I… I want to use my magic for things like that! To defend my friends and my family…!!”

“That is the way.” Malleus smirked, relishing in the newfound fire in his junior’s eyes. “The power to protect those you love is within your own hands. All you must do is shape it, guide it… and make that dream come true, regardless of the obstacles that may cross your path.”

“I’ll do my best!! If there’s one thing I know I’m good at, it’s being stubborn!”

“That kind of persistence is unique to you.” Malleus showed his teeth. “Take pride in that, Spade.”

"You bet I will!!"

"... Incidentally, how do you fare in Defense Magic?"

"Urk!!" The birthday boy visibly deflated--an indication of his answer. "N-Not the best... I studied as much as I could, but still barely passed my last exam. But don't worry about me, Draconia-senpai!!"

Deuce pointed at his temple. "I'll train my brain even more so I can get at least a C next time!!"

A C... so he means to say that he earned a D on his previous exam.

A low laugh rumbled out of Malleus. “How truly tenacious of you, Spade. I wish you the best of luck on that journey.”

He lifted a hand, fingers curling around the milky orb floating in the sky. The wind rustled upon his command, ushering in a cool breeze that chased off the bleating heat of summer.

“The birthday road, and your future, awaits.”

“Yes!! I’m on my way!!” Deuce eagerly mounted his broom. His knees were tucked together tightly, stiffly securing the handle.

“Ah, and Spade. One more thing.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“When the times comes,” Malleus said with an easy smile, “you are free to defend yourself against my magic.”

Deuce nearly fell off of his broom at the suggestion. “Whaaat?! There’s no way I’d be able to hold up against your magic…! I’ll be just a pile of ashes by the time you’re done with…”

He caught himself and stopped. A deep breath taken, and then he set his jaw. The peacock green of his eyes had dimmed into a shade more serious.

“… No. I… I just told you that I wanted to be the kind of guy who’s capable of defending the people he loves. That means no running away, even if I’m scared, even if I know I might not win! That’s my promise to myself.”

“Fufu, that’s what I like to hear. I will be expecting you sometime then.”

Deuce gulped. “Got it! I’ll face your challenge and my future… head-on!!”

FwooooOOOSH!!

A steady wind kicked up, starting small and growing into a powerful gale. Deuce yelped as his broom bucked forward, inching above the ground on only a few startled sparkles. He looked back in horror, only to find Malleus chuckling into a hand.

Had that been a magical push?

“Heh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?” A wicked glint had surfaced in Deuce, from the eyes to his grin. “I’ll show you just how I ride…!”

Gripping the handle tightly, he leaned forward, bracing himself for a familiar rush. Height wasn’t his goal, but speed.

The world stilled. His senses sharpened, his thoughts growing louder, more insistent.

Imagine a magical wheel. Think of becoming one with the wind. So fast that you’re not yourself anymore.

He blasted off, a tornado of swirling blue petals left where he had once been. Flitting down lazily, drunken on the moonlight, they were the mark of a speed demon reborn.

The past, far behind him.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Malleus Draconia #Deuce Spade #Deuce birthday takeover #something no one asked for #spoilers #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios

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ykiwrite · 2 years

Text

letters to wednesday

"Don't even think about it."

You didn't even had a chance to say anything before she cut you off.

"What? I didn't make a noise-"

"You want me to dance with you, correct?"

It would be a lie if you said no and she would by all odds saw right through you. The dancefloor was overflowing with people, couples every now and then, teachers, even soloists. The observer she is, Wednesday must have caught you eyeing everyone and everything, smiling to some or dying in embarrassment.

Two of you occupied the farthest table possible in the dance hall because she insisted it's for the best and she has zero interest in watching this nonsense so it's better not to witness at all. Neither did Enids convincing help, it only added fuel to the fire when she said you two looked like a black hole in the corner ready to draw in anyone from afar due to matching black dresses no one dares to glance, let alone look at you for too long. That was the best compliment she got today, other than that it was dreadful. Too much of bright colors, lights way too bright, music was obnoxious and she regretted everything leading to this point. All she did was silently count the minutes until it's acceptable to leave without looking too rude which was unusual for her. Since when did she care? Would hate to admit it but ever since you came along she noticed the unusually big number of situations she found herself in if it weren't for you she would avoid.

"How did you- okay well, maybe? Would it kill you to dance with me?"

"Yes, i'd rather take death as an option."

"Come on, it doesn't have to be long. Just a few minutes."

"Absolutely not, it's humiliating and the song choice is beyond acceptable."

"We didn't move from this table ever since we arrived. Plus, look at us. We both match and you can't deny we look the best out of everyone there. Let me remind you this black dress i had to wear because you wouldn't come to the dance if i didn't equals you owing me."

"The only thing i can agree with you on is the reason why we look so stunning is because of me. Otherwise you would pick some rainbow colored dress Enid made you wear."

"Wednesday please. It's not every year this happens."

"Good thing it doesn't. It shouldn't even happen at the first place."

Just like that you realized it's probably not worth it chasing after her stubborn self. Taking a glance once again for hundredth time around the room, leftovers on every table, alcohol of which you have no idea how it got imported, Enid most likely gathering a new gossip worthy stories in the corner, teachers talking with new faces you never seen before, it was starting to get dull and boring. Wednesday could recognize that face of yours clearly, it's her most known one after all. Except when she's with you but only she knows that.

"Where are you going?" Wednesday questioned as you got up from your loyal seat you swear left your figure on it from how long you've been sitting.

"Just outside for a bit. It's getting hot [in] here anyway. I'll come back in a few."

Cold, almost freezing stone did justice outside. Although not being as comfortable as that chair from the inside it was bearable for a quick stop. Pulling out your phone thinking Wednesday is not completely crazy when she says humanity is too dependent on it nowadays. She has her own way of thinking and you did appreciate the dynamic of you two. Somehow and for whatever unknown way you two work together. It was never a plan, much less expectation to fall in love with someone. Your only goal was to get out of this legal prison as soon as possible. Now you're not coming out alone after all.

As she writes her novels on the old fashioned typewriter, you are not far behind following her with a laptop on your lap making frequents visits to AO3 and Tumblr doing your own writing. She's not interested in that fanfiction stuff anyway. If anything you two certainly excel at together is shared, concerningly over detailed knowledge of serial killers. You are convinced that's on top of the list of reasons what made her adore you.

"This is not what a short break looks like."

Turning around only to be met with Wednesdays far better expression than it was looking at that dance inside. You must have lost track of time once you checked your phone.

"It's getting to an end anyway."

"Enid told me i should give this a chance. Precisely, you a chance. According to her we could ‘close off this dance in a style’ or whatever's the meaning behind that" she said taking a empty seat next to you.

It was your out of the ordinary silence Wednesday made a remark of. Out of everyone in this school you are record holder for most spoken words with her that are not necessary life threats or morbid and existential philosophical quotes. That's something to be quite proud of. Which also means she can read you well.

"So, do you not want to go back inside?"

Shifting your gaze that found a spot on the moon to her, you were about to answer but stopped the moment your eyes met hers. Is this the thing Kafka wrote about, you wondered. All those letters made sense.

Wednesday was ethereal. Too shallow word to describe her. Yet you didn't allow yourself to let it be known out loud. What would she think, probably another saying of yours that caught your attention amongst all the things internet offers. No depth behind it, no genuine emotions, thrown into the sentence just because with no backing whatsoever.

You weren't aware Wednesday grew to love it. You weren't aware your cold and frightening girlfriend took interest in your ramblings over the months. You didn't know you were far better therapist than that woman she escaped from ever was. What do you think the main topic of her parents calls was?

"You can say it" broke the silence.

"What exactly?"

She sighed as she took your hand, surprisingly warm hands that saved the warmth from inside intertwined with yours lifelessly cold.

"Shall we go?"

"Dorms?"

She nodded, overly prepared and ready to leave this place once and for all.

"Yeah. Let's go watch some documentary on unsolved murders." you proposed. Few steps ahead of her, hands never changed the positions from before when she tugged you to a halt.

You shot her questioning look as she shortened the distance to the point of her breath hitting you as she whispered "This is an exception, for you only."

Gently grabbing you before pulling you in for a embrace. It felt comforting, enough, odd gesture but all you can wish for. With your eyes shut tight it felt like eternity passed.

"That's all i'm getting for sitting 5 hours straight today?" you said through laughs.

"Maybe more at the dorm but don't be too greedy."

lack of wednesday fics is wild

#wednesday imagine #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader

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wardenparker · 1 year

Text

A Second Chance at Life

Part 3 of A Second Chance at Love

Jack Daniels x female reader Zach Wellison x female OC Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 22.7k Warnings: Mentions of: homelessness, hunger, discrimination, human trafficking, past military service, classicism. Cursing, alcohol/food, awkward flirting, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, just a touch of a praise kink. Summary: Junior returns to Statesman after a mission with a civilian in tow. Ready to go to bat to Ginger to get Zach a place as a Statesman agent, it shouldn’t be surprising that the whole Daniels family is ready to adopt the young man as well. Especially Jack and his beloved wife’s youngest and most mischievous daughter. ✨This piece can absolutely be read as a stand alone!✨ Notes: Set 23 years after the original ‘A Second Chance at Love’, this part 3 is a celebration of TWO YEARS worth of writing collaborations between myself and absurdthirst. Keri is a divine angel of inspiration and a true friend and I truly don’t know what I would do without her. Thank you for being there through thick, thin, and everything in between. I would not be who I am without the friendship and support you’ve shown me over the last two years. 🧡🧡

Part 1 ~ Part 2

"Jack!" When the alert on your watch goes off letting you know that the Statesman jet is about to touch down, you fully abandon the tray of chips, dips, and appetizers that you were putting together on the kitchen counter and go to poke your head out onto the back deck where Jack is sitting with a glass of Statesman Reserve and a book. "Put the burgers on the grill, honey. I'm going to go pick up Junior from the jet and Janey should be over with the other kids soon."

Anytime Junior comes home from a mission, it's cause for celebration. The whole family descends on the big ranch house and a mountain of cheeseburgers gets demolished to welcome him back again. Your twin girls are grown now, beautiful young women in their own right who dote on and challenge their brother in equal measure, and Junior and Janey's three kids are finding their own footing in the world. The family you thought you had lost for such a long time has materialized around you and become something worthy of gratitude, and you have never taken a day for granted.

Retirement has its own set of challenges, just like getting old does. Groaning, his joints protest slightly as he sets the book down and rocks himself forward to push up out of the chair. “Yes ma’am.” He grunts, tossing you a craggy grin that isn’t quite as lecherous as it might have been about ten years before, but Jack Daniels is still a man who is besotted with his wife. “As long as you give me a kiss before you go.”

"Well, of course," you roll your eyes at him like he's crazy for even asking, but Jack hasn't taken a day for granted either. He still makes sure to show and tell you just how much he loves you every single day. Stepping out onto the deck, you wrap him up in a hug and inhale the familiar scent of his cologne with a grin before tipping your head back to kiss him. You move a little faster than he does these days but it's only because you've done a bit less damage to your body over the years – party planning not having been nearly as physical a job as being a secret agent. "I love you, sweetheart."

“I love you too, darlin’.” Jack promises, the kiss more tender than passionate, but the bone deep resignation of love carries through the simple gesture. “I’m throwin’ some extras on since the grandkids seem to be eatin’ everything in sight.”

“Tucker is trying to bulk up for senior year.” The way it makes you grin is the picture of grandmotherly indulgence. Your youngest grandchild - Junior and Janey’s younger son Tucker - had taken after his older brother in every way. Miles started playing football in middle school, so Tucker did also. Of course, now Miles is working on his medical degree and Tucker is about to start his senior year of high school. Time flies.

“Sounds like Tucker.” Jack shakes his head and pats your ass as you turn, pulling out of his arms. “I’ll even throw on a few of those veggie burgers on the grill for Sam.”

“I put two on a separate tray, and her vegan cheese.” Though the twins were born barely two minutes apart and have been basically inseparable their whole lives, Sam and Riley have grown into very individual women. Sam has joined the front of the Statesman Operation as a distiller, and recently jumped from simple vegetarianism into veganism in solidarity with her wife. So far the hardest transitions for her are actually for her family, and not for her at all. “You’re a good father, Jack. You know that.”

“Try to be.” Jack grins, thinking about the three children that he is damned proud to be called their father. “Never thought I’d ever be able to say that a few years ago.” He reminds you. “Gotta prove myself, to myself.”

“You’re a damn good daddy and a damn good granddaddy, too.” You pause for one more kiss to his cheek before pulling away again. “I gotta go get Junior. Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone.”

Jack chuckles and nods. “I won’t. You just now got it decorated the way you like it.” You are always redecorating or changing something and he loves it.

“It only took me twenty-three years.” Tossing him a cheeky grin, you head for the front door and grab your purse to go pick Junior up from the airstrip.

He knows why. For a long time, you still expected a knock to come. A phone call to tear you away from the life you had with him. Changing things up meant you could focus on a goal, a reminder you were still here. Jack hums, turning on the speakers and playing some music as he fires up the grill and moseys into the house to get the burgers.

******

“We should be on the ground in five minutes.” Junior checks his watch, forcing himself to stop pacing and down the rest of his drink so he can sit for the jet’s descent. He hasn’t technically broken any rules, having gotten the all-clear from Ginger Ale to go ahead and bring a civilian back to Statesman, but the knot in his stomach says that not everyone is going to like it. This man, though? This man saved his life. With astonishing skill, no less, and then turned out to be a military veteran with nowhere to turn. Jack Daniels Jr. has made plenty of sacrifices for his work or for his family, but he has never left someone helpless when he could be their helping hand. His mother taught him better than that.

Zach looks up at the man who has insisted that he come back with him to Kentucky, of all places. He can tell that he’s nervous. “Look, I can just— leave.” Zach offers, drying his hands on his borrowed jeans and shrugging. The streets of Kentucky can’t be too different from where he was. “You already bought me dinner.” All for picking up a weapon and pulling a trigger. It had been instinct. Seeing someone running through the park that was being chase by a group of armed men, he had leapt into action when one of the rifles had been dropped. Picking it up, aiming and pulling the trigger without a second thought.

"No, no, no." The Statesman agent shakes his head, telling himself to relax as he sits down across from the ex-Marine. His knee pops a little but that's a small complaint for a man old enough to have a grown daughter. "The thing is, Zach," he glances at the younger man from under his Stetson. "You've got faster reflexes than most - maybe all - of the recruits I've seen over the years. You said what you did was instinct, but those are some damn impressive instincts."

Zach snorts and shakes his head. “Preservation of self of what the psychologist told me.” Not that he had a lot of help after he got back stateside. Once he had his discharge papers it was ‘good luck and don’t let the door hit you’.

"It takes a strong character to still have a sense of self and not dissolve into apathy during hard times." He had come close to it himself, as a teenager in Witness Protection, but he had been lucky enough to have his mother to think about when he couldn't see to taking care of himself. Junior shifts in his seat, rubbing his palms together and looking straight ahead at the young man in front of him. "I'd like to offer you a job. Not one specific one, but Statesman is a big operation and there are a lot of different opportunities for someone like you." Does he have one specific job in mind? Of course. But being an agent isn't for everyone, and more than anything he just wants to help this man who saved his life.

“Why?” Zach’s suspicions are caused by the nearly three years he’s spent on the streets. Almost thirty years old and the only thing to his name is what is in his pack. Since leaving the military, not one damn person has offered him anything more than platitudes. “You don’t owe me anything.”

"I owe you my life," Junior tells him honestly. "But I'm afraid that would be a pretty shitty life to hand to you, all things considered. And my mama taught me not to give used gifts." He shrugs slightly, feeling the jet start to descend. "Military vets get dealt a raw fucking, deal, Zach. Pardon my language. You deserve to have a life you can be proud of."

Zach clenches his jaw, not answering that. It was true and it stung. He had gotten a raw deal, but he also knows that he’s too damn proud for charity. “You never told me what the hell got you into that situation.”

"My work." He has to stay intentionally vague until he can bring Zach to meet Ginger, and he knows that won't happen until after dinner. Dinner is mandatory. Even with nearly half his life spent in Kentucky with his father, he still never misses a family meal for anything short of a mission. "The man you shot would absolutely have tried to kill me if he'd gotten a hand on me. Unfortunately not the first time a man's tried that, but that's the life I chose."

The other man can’t help but snort at that. “Well, it looks like you get paid better than the military.” He says, looking around the sleek jet. “Swear I’ve heard of Statesman before.”

"Definitely get paid better than the military." Junior chuckles at that, topping his hat back. "Statesman is whiskey. Best sour mash in the world, bar none." It's so much more than that, but he can save that tidbit of information for later.

“And whiskey equals guns….” it’s not a question, because Zach feels like Jack won’t answer it. But something else is going on. “I’m not being kidnapped and forced to have genetic testing performed on me, am I?”

The specificity of the question is what makes Junior bust out laughing, and he shakes his head while he waves off the younger man's concern. "No, but my son is pre-med so if you start hearing a lot of gruesome talk out of him it's just academic curiosity, not a threat."

“Wow.” There’s an undercurrent of bitterness there that can’t be hidden, but it’s not directed towards Jack or his son. It’s more a shot at his own life choices that have obviously turned out so well. “You don’t look old enough to have a kid pre-med.”

"I appreciate that." Never one to deny being proud of his family, Junior straightens his back a little and unconsciously flexes the hand that bears his wedding ring. "Wife and I were young when we got married. Miles is actually the middle child." Like any proud father, he is immediately digging into his pocket for his wallet to show off pictures of his kids. Having gotten the all-clear to bring Zach back to Louisville, he knows that the young vet is going to meet his family anyway. No harm in showing him a photo a few minutes in advance. "There. That's my wife Janey, our oldest Becca, and the two boys are Miles and Tucker."

“You have a beautiful family.” Zach sincerely means that, a little envious at the happy family in the picture. He had always imagined that kind of life for himself, it had just never worked out.

"It isn't always easy, but hard work is worth it." He sits back again and slides his wallet into the pocket of his jacket. "Listen. I don't intend to force anything on you, or to tie you up into something that you're not happy with. That's not the point here." Loyalty at Statesman was earned through respect and hard work, not kidnapping. Although ironically there sometimes was a bit of light relocating involved - like with this flight. "If there isn't a job at Statesman that you think you can be happy with, then you go ahead and say so. I'll have this jet bring you wherever in the world you want to be dropped off and you can pretend you never met me or even heard of Louisville, Kentucky. Just give it a week to decide. Is that a deal?"

Zach looks around the plane again, aware that the shower he had taken an hour earlier was first hot shower he’s had in peace in a long time. The few times he could get a bed at the local shelter, the water was cold and he had worried about people stealing his meager belongings. “Doesn’t look like I have anywhere else to be.” Zach chuckles, lifting the glass of whiskey he hadn’t touched before to his lips. Humming at the taste. “And this is good.”

When the jet touches down a few minutes later, the flight attendants have little to do but bid their passengers a good day and go about tidying up. Junior leads the way, chuckling softly to himself when he steps out onto the mobile stairs and sees the familiar black pickup truck waiting for him. The Bronco died years ago, but that has never stopped his father from having a truck. "Looks like our ride is here," he tells Zach, pointing down to the tarmac just as you pop out of the front seat to wave.

Zach frowns slightly, shuffling his bag over his shoulder and hums. “That’s your mom?” He asks, surprised because you certainly don’t look old enough to be his mother. But he has just seen a picture of Jack’s wife.

"My parents were high school sweethearts. I guess young love sort of runs in the family." With a hearty slap on the shoulder, Junior leads Zach down the stairs toward the truck and quickly shoots a text off to Ginger letting her know that they've landed and will be in to see her as soon as she wants.

"I only asked for a postcard from LA, Junior." Your instinct is to tease a little, knowing that whatever might have caused your son to bring home a civilian and not immediately sweep them off to Ginger's office to be debriefed must be quite a story. Keeping things lighthearted until you know more details is really all you can do considering the classified nature of Junior's work as Agent Absinthe. "Looks like you brought home a friend instead?"

“Mom, this is Zach Wellison.” Junior rests his hand on the other man’s shoulder, feeling the way it rounds slightly in self-consciousness, even though he is wearing a clean set of clothes from Junior’s own bag, with the promise that his own clothes would be cleaned as soon as possible. He introduces Zach to you, telling him your name. “Zach pulled my ass out of the fire, and I decided he would be a damn good fit at Statesman.”

"Well that's a hell of a compliment." The polite thing would be to offer him a handshake, but hearing that this man saved your son's life has you offering him a grateful hug instead – the instinct of a mother still very attached to her son after going through so much together. "Are you hungry, Zach? We've got burgers on the grill at home and all kinds of things to go with them. Family dinner always includes a brave man."

“I don’t want to impose.” The snacks on the plane hadn’t been touched but there’s no mistaking the grumble of his stomach when you mention burgers. It’s been a few days since he’s had a proper meal.

"It's not an imposition at all. I insist." You urge them toward the truck, which has more than enough room for the three of you, and smile when your son tosses his bag in the back without hesitation. "Junior, text your sisters and let them know you're back? I swear getting Sam away from the stills is like pulling teeth these days and your father is making her veggie burgers without a fuss tonight."

“Damn. Junior whistles, sounding impressed. He waggles his brows. “That’s something akin to a miracle.” He tosses Zach a grin. “Dad is a ‘meat is king’ kinda guy. And grillin’ is his specialty. Making veggies burgers hurts his soul.”

The three of you climb into the truck and head for home. It's a short drive with the ranch being just outside of Statesman property, but it's enough for you to note that the civilian your son has brought home with fairly quiet but highly alert. He seems to notice everything but only takes it in without comment. You chat about light things for a little while before refocusing your attention on your visitor. "Are you from California originally, Zach?"

“Yes ma’am.” Zach answers quietly, finding the lush green hills in the background very tranquil. “Sacramento area originally.”

The ma'am catches your attention and you glance over at your son while you drive. "Sacramento's Army and Air Force country, isn't it?" You ask, though you know your casual tone doesn't erase the point of the question.

“I was a Marine.” He snorts, smirking slightly before he remembers there’s nothing to actually be proud about anymore. “Went against tradition.”

"Junior's father was a Navy pilot. Seems like every branch has its ups and downs, but we honour service in our family. Thank you for yours." Though you get the sense from his reaction that he might not be too glad about the decision in hindsight, you would just consider his sacrifices all the more worth recognizing because of it. "How long have you been stateside, if you don't mind my asking?"

“Three years, five months and six days.” Zach supplies easily, having kept up with the time since he had been discharged eight months after he had come back from his final deployment. “Ma’am.”

"Well, you'll still find plenty of 'sir' and 'ma'am' around here and plenty of folks following orders, but Statesman is a lot more laid back than service, thank goodness. And the food is infinitely better."

"Does that mean you made cobbler?" Junior asks, sitting up in his seat like he's suddenly twelve again as he looks over at Zach. "She makes a blueberry and peach cobbler that I swear must have magic in it."

The compliment is sweet, if a little overblown, but you nod as you drive. "I made it with vegan butter for your sister, but don't tell anybody until they start eating it. I want to see if anyone notices."

“You know dad will taste the difference.” Junior laughs and shakes his head. “He swears he can taste the chemicals.”

"He swears up and down," you agree to that, but the smile on your face turns sly. "But I made shrimp and grits last night with vegan butter and oat milk and he had seconds."

Junior grins and looks back at Zach. “My younger sister’s wife is vegan and she just went down the rabbit hole with her. Hence the recipe changes.”

"We just want to make sure Vanessa and Sam are always able to eat with family." Not to mention that your whole family adores Vanessa and were glad to welcome her into the family. Having Sam marry so early was only a minimal surprise. After all, like Junior had told Zach earlier, young love runs in your family.

“You said you had two sisters. Twins?” He asks, wanting to keep everyone straight. “So you have three kids and three grandchildren?” That question is directed towards you.

"Exactly right." Directing the car off the highway toward the ranch, you nod to your son's guest and smile. "We had Junior right after we were married, and his sisters quite a while later. Sam and Riley are around the same age as our grandkids - that's Junior and Janey's three. Actually, the twins and their niece Becca were all born the same year."

Eyes widening in surprise, Zach absorbs the idea that the younger sisters of Junior are younger than he is. “Wow.”

"It's unconventional." You can admit that readily, and you love your big family full of very different and very strong personalities. "But it works for us." In the distance, the top of the ranch house comes into view and you point it out on the tree line. "There's the ranch. We'll be home in no time."

The house is big, and gorgeous. He’s awestruck by the larger house, then the slightly smaller one just a few hundred feet away. “Is it a working ranch?” Zach asks, seeing horses out in pastures. All of this speaks of a lot of money.

"Small, but yes." It makes you shake your head as you turn down the long road that is your driveway. "My husband decided he wanted to retire from his main career on the early side and amp up the ranch work. There's a bit of breeding and sale, but we also have a stable for show horses and teachers that give lessons."

“What did your husband do? After he got out of the Navy?”

Your eyes tick quickly up to the rear-view mirror to see your son subtly shake his head. A civilian answer, then. “He worked for Statesman.” You tell Zach. “From security guard all the way up to CEO.”

“CEO?” No wonder they have a ranch. “That’s impressive.” There’s more that’s not being said, but it’s not his place to ask.

“Things were hard for us in the beginning, so we make sure that we never turn anyone away.” Which is, you suspect, why Zach is here with Junior. The former military man is wearing your son’s clothes, after all. That is a fairly large clue.

Zach’s mouth snaps shut, shame and the anger from that shame nearly making him ask you to stop the truck. He doesn’t want pity and he’ll be damned if he has anyone look down on him for his circumstances.

There are a half dozen cars in the driveway by the main house when you park the truck, all telling you that you’re the last to arrive. A group of three is passing a frisbee in the yard and music is pouring out of hidden speakers, but the real commotion is out in the back deck where your kids and grandkids are digging into appetizers like there’s no tomorrow and the twins are in the middle of a hot debate with their father at the grill. This is as much a family party as it is any regular Sunday - it just so happens that your Sundays usually turn into parties when everybody is able to show up.

Zach climbs out of the pickup, hanging back as if he is hesitant to get near. This is obviously a family function and he doesn’t belong here.

“Come on,” Junior doesn’t let him shrink away, one hand patting his shoulder but not pushing. “There’s always at least a couple of friends at these things.” To prove his point, he directs Zach’s attention to the frisbee players. “That’s my oldest and my youngest. But the third kid is somebody my youngest knows from school. Couldn’t tell you the kid’s name if I tried, but he comes around sometimes. And playing with the dog? That’s one of the guys my wife and daughter work with. I promise I didn’t bring you into the middle of something I thought would be awkward.”

“I don’t know.” Zach huffs. “I don’t want to intrude. Just— point me towards Statesman and I’ll walk and tour the grounds.” He smirks sardonically. “I’m an outdoors specialist after all.”

“We’ll go after dinner,” Junior promises, fully ignoring the joke made at Zach’s own expense. “You want a drink? I don’t know what else is here but there’s always cold beer and good whiskey.”

It’s been so damn long since Zach’s had a cold beer in a relaxed atmosphere. He nearly drools at the thought. “Yeah— I guess a beer will be alright.” He concedes. “Just one.”

“Sure thing.” Leading Zach through the yard behind you, Junior stops to say hi to Janey and the frisbee players, introducing Zach as he goes. There are handshakes and greetings and hugs all around, and you make it up on to the porch to say hello to your girls before they make it halfway through the yard.

“Jay brought home a civilian?” Sam asks quietly, sipping her whiskey as she watches them closely. The girls had long-since picked up on Janey’s nickname for their brother and liked it better than calling him Jack or Junior.

“Yes he did,” you nod and turn to hug Riley next. “And I haven’t gotten the whole story yet, so be nice.”

“We’re always nice, Mom.” Riley contends, although there is a smirk in the corner of her mouth when she says it.

Sam snorts. “Yeah? Since when?” Riley is older by two minutes and she never misses an opportunity to remind Sam of that fact. “Where you nice when you told that old breeder to go choke on a horse co—”

“Okaaaaaaaay.” Riley interrupts, rolling her eyes. “Sometimes I’m nice.” She huffs dramatically. “But that old bastard deserved that.” She contends.

That earns a laugh from you and Jack, who both disliked that particular breeder despite his good work. It was a blessing to be rid of him. “Here,” you hum, handing off two bottles of beer from the cooler to your younger daughter. “Go say hi to your brother.” “Yes ma’am,” she chuckles, accepting the bottles and grabbing the magnetic bottle opener from the side of the grill. “Jaaaaay!” She calls out, trotting down the steps with drinks in hand. "I've got beeeer!"

Turning automatically to the sound of someone shouting, at first Zach is anticipating anger. Until he catches the face of the woman practically racing for him and Junior— not Jack like he had introduced himself as after the firefight. His heart leaps up into his throat and he swears he nearly stops breathing, she’s so pretty and carefree.

"Thanks, Ri." Junior takes both bottles and offers one to Zach, not missing the slightly dumbstruck look on his new acquaintance's face at all. "Riley, this is my new friend Zach." He nods to his sister, miraculously without smirking. "Zach, Riley is the younger of the twins. My baby sister."

"Nice to meet you, Zach." She offers the new arrival her hand brightly, cheery vibrancy making a good cover for how hard her heart starts pounding when he looks up and meets her eyes. His irises are the colour of freshly brewed coffee and his jaw looks like it was cut by a Grecian master sculptor, making Riley practically gulp down a breath. "I—um—it's...I mean...welcome."

“Hi.” Zach takes the beer up to his lips to hide the small smile that Riley managed to bring out. “So your ‘Jay’s’ sister?” He asks before he turns towards the other man. “How many damn names do you have?”

"Three." He shrugs, except the answer is actually four. Agent Absinthe isn't exactly a nickname so much as a title and it's not one used outside of work. "Jack Daniels Junior gives two out of the three. My wife and sisters call me Jay."

“I see.” Zach raises a brow, nodding at the obvious. “So I’m guessing that your father is Jack Senior?”

"Found where all fathers can be found," Riley smirks and points up at the deck where the grill is the center of all activity. "At the grill. But if you guys want any of the salsa or guac that Mom made you better get in there. Tucker brought a friend and teenage boys are bottomless pits."

As much as Zach’s stomach rumbles at the thought of fresh salsa and guacamole, he nods politely and sips his beer. “Thanks.”

"You guys make friends, I'll be right back." Junior glances between his sister and his potential recruit with a twinkle of amusement before he nods and makes off in the direction of the deck.

Shuffling slightly, Zach glances her way, struck again by how pretty she is before he reminds himself there is no way this woman would be interested in him. “So did you grow up here?” He asks, rolling his eyes as soon as it comes out of his mouth. What a dumb fucking question.

Riley catches the way he rolls his eyes at himself and grins, smothering a very uncharacteristic giggle. "That's my room in the top floor corner." She points, indicating the set of windows with linen-colored curtains in it. "Kentucky born and raised, unlike my brother. But my guess is you're not from around here? Since you came home on the jet with Jay, I mean." For some reason the ability to form an original or interesting question has escaped her, but that's probably from the man beside her.

“California.” Zach bobbles his head, glancing up at the window, wondering if it was a nice view out of the window. It must have been to grow up in a place like this.

"I've never been." And why that makes her dig the toe of her boot into the grass is completely beyond her. "It looks pretty in the movies, though. For whatever that's worth, she's definitely not at the top of her game tonight.

“Don’t bother.” Zach huffs. “It might be nice to visit some areas.”

"Not a big fan of California, got it." She nods and shoves one hand into the pocket of her jeans while she takes a sip of her beer. "Well...maybe you'll like Kentucky better?"

“Sorry.” His shoulders roll back, aware he’s sounding like a complete asshole. “The last few years haven’t been the best, so I guess I’m bitter.” That’s putting it mildly, but she wants small talk, not a pity party.

"I'm sorry to hear that." It pulls her attention, though, bringing her eyes up from her toes to find his. "I know we just met, but if you need to vent or whatever..." she shrugs, hearing exactly how strong she's coming on, but there's no chance he would ever be interested in her. It's just being friendly to someone that her older brother brought back from a mission. And it's not like that had happened more than one other time ever.

“You don’t want to hear about it.” Zach huffs. “But thanks. It’s a nice thought.” In what way could this beautiful, rich girl ever commiserate with him? He shrugs. “Junior said to come to Kentucky, and I had nothing better to do. Might not work out. Rarely does.”

"I hate to admit it, but my brother is rarely wrong," she admits, sipping her beer again. "When he has an instinct about a person he's right about ninety-five percent of the time." He had certainly been right about the last guy she'd brought home to meet the family, a fact which stings a little and makes her frown instinctively before she quickly recovers. "Well...come on, Zach from California. Nothing helps smooth over meeting new people like alcohol and food, and we can make both of those things happen."

He hadn’t been going to approach the food by himself, so being dragged over helps. You are standing next to an older version of Jack, so much so that Zach has to blink. Hanging on to his arm and laughing like the picture-perfect family. “You know, being from Kentucky, you don’t have an accent.”

"Yeah, it, uh...it turns out that if you go to a college in New York City to be an engineer and you're a cowboy boot wearing Southern girl with a country accent, nobody takes you seriously." The way Riley rolls her eyes is an obvious cover for a deeper hurt, but she taps her boots on the stairs as they walk up to the food. "I phased it out pretty quickly during freshman year. Not that it eliminated the problem of people assuming girls can't do math, but at least it lessoned the jokes a little."

“Shit. Girls are a shit ton smarter than guys.” Zach snorts then shakes his head. “Sorry about the language.”

"Please, I'm not delicate. Swear all you want." As if to prove it, she scoops up a chip full of guacamole and crunches down with a happy moan of contentment.

An innocent moan over a chip and guac shouldn’t make him think pornographic thoughts. He shouldn’t be thinking about what he could do that would make her make that sound, but it does. He’s lucky that he wasn’t drinking, otherwise he would have choked to death on beer. His cock twitches in extreme interest and he swallows harshly.

“Seriously, try some,” Riley urges. It’s not like she’s oblivious, but she also doesn’t fully process that the hungry look on Zach’s face is more about her and less about the food.

“O-okay.” Zach moves over to grab a chip, anything to take his mind off the way she sounded.

It doesn’t help that she reaches for another chip at the same time, unleashing the sound all over again right before Zach takes a bite. If she had had any idea of how drastic his reaction was, though? Well…she probably would have closed her eyes and tilted her head back just to give him a good visual along with the sound. Zach chokes on the chip, coughing and sputtering as the damn corn chip threatens to go down the wrong pipe. Making him slap himself on the chest as his eyes water and he coughs.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” Riley doesn’t really have a panic button but she cringes internally at his reaction and gives his back a gentle rub after he stops coughing. “No dying on us, okay? Miles is only pre-med, he’s not prepared to save lives just yet.”

“S-sorry.” He manages, coughing again one last time and taking a hasty sip of his beer. “Got caught in my throat.”

“Maybe pointy foods aren’t prime for you,” she jokes, more teasing herself with realizing exactly how broad Zach’s shoulders are than him over the chip thing.

“Maybe.” He can’t help but chuckle, even though he is kicking himself over the faux pas. His shoulder tingles where her hand is resting, making him feel like he’s being shocked.

“Better now?” Resisting the urge to offer him mouth to mouth if he should ever need it, Riley clears her throat as little and grins. “That’s alright. Swallowing is hard,” she teases, managing to continue to look completely innocent.

Zach blows out a breathe, the scandalous comment about what she can swallow on the tip of his tongue but he can’t say that. Surprised that he’s even thinking it. It’s been a long goddamn time since he’s really thought about sex beyond some distant memory.

“Cat got your tongue?” Her eyebrow ticks up in curiosity.

“Apparently.” Zach grunts, rolling his eyes at himself again. “Just, trying to breathe without incident.”

“Right. Sorry.” Riley sags a little against the porch railing, feeling embarrassed. Just because she’s all hot and bothered over him doesn’t mean he is over her – and she has to remember that, since it seems like she’s the only member of the Daniels family born without the flirting gene.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Zach frowns slightly, not liking the way that she seemingly deflates in front of him. “How embarrassing would it be to survive war zones and die by a chip? I could never show my face in hell.”

“War zones?” That seems to perk her ears up, and her head tilts slightly. Curiosity is certainly one thing the Daniels kids have in spades. “You’re a vet?”

“Yeah.” Does everyone in this family like military? “Marines. Or used to be.”

“I almost went Navy,” she admits with her signature shrug. “Like my Dad. Went through a recruiter and everything. It was exciting, I was going to go right out of high school. When I went to get checked out…turns out I had some health issues we had no idea about. So I got to go get made fun of in engineering school instead.”

“I’m sorry.” Not that he believes she needed to be in the military, but it’s always crushing to learn you can’t do what you want. “I’m sure engineering is better than having creaky joints at twenty-five.”

“Everybody ends up where they’re supposed to be eventually, right?” She can sense that maybe she’s hit a sore spot, and Riley picks up her beer again wondering if maybe she just talks way too damn much.

“You could say that.” He was meant to be on the street, fuck, what a depressing thought. She doesn’t know that though, unless Junior has already told her. “So what do you do at Statesman?”

“Research and development.” Her actual work right now is in gadgets and equipment, but for the sake of the distillery’s cover story she could talk about things like the distilling process and the chemical complexities of whiskey. Everyone in the family could. “I do the science and then my twin sister does the actual brewing.”

“Hmmmm.” Zach has his doubts that a brewery is all that is going on. There’s too much that is left unsaid between Junior and his mother. Still, he takes another sip of his beer. “So isn’t this like…drinking the competition?” He asks, titling the bottle up in the air.

“If we brewed beer, sure.” The question makes Riley’s lip curl into an amused grin, though, and she takes the last swig from her own bottle. “Statesman is purely a whiskey operation, so it’s more like…embracing the community.”

"Ohhhhh." He knows that, but it's a way to extend the moment. Enjoying the slightly disjointed conversation.

“We grew up with whiskey like some people grow up with a favorite cereal.” By now it’s obvious that Riley’s most frequent gesture while she talks is to shrug. Almost as if she’s afraid of being taken too seriously or inconveniencing someone with talking too much.

“That’s cool though.” Zach insists. “I know about how to get drunk, even if I haven’t done that for years.”

"We can definitely make that happen, if you want to." After all, it's not like they don't always have an abundance of bottles of different kinds in the house. "Actually the bottle room in the cellar is pretty cool. I just upgraded the atmospheric controls about a month ago so."

“You have a bottle room in your house?” Zach’s eyes blow wide, unable to even think about that kind of luxury. The differences are stark and he’s starting to wonder if he will fit in here just working.

"Yeah, it's super fuckin' cool actually—" She flusters, setting down her empty bottle and motioning to the house. "Do you want to see? It's actually a really cool house. The whole story behind it is cute and everything."

It doesn’t sound like she is bragging, and that’s the only reason why Zach nods. “Okay.” He agrees, looking down to check to make sure there isn’t anything on him that he might dirty up the house with.

"My dad basically built the place himself." Through the porch door and into the kitchen, Riley wipes a little nervous sweat from her palms onto her jeans and shuts the door behind them. No one will even notice they're gone, she reasons, and Jay brought this guy home. So clearly she's just being friendly. Just friendly. Right. That's why she's telling him her parents' love story - because it's totally normal and friendly. "My parents were apart for a long time. Mom got mixed up in a mob thing when she was pregnant with Jay and they were in WITSEC for twenty plus years. Dad built their dream house as a kind of tribute to her. And then when they found each other again they started adding a few more things to the house here and there."

“That’s…wow. So your dad thought they were dead?” It explains the age gap between Junior and the twins. “That’s amazing and horrible.”

"Yeah, it was..." Riley shrugs as she leads him into the house, pointing out little things and pausing in front of a wall of wedding photos in the main hallway. Two photos of her parents, one of her brother and Janey, and then Sam and Vanessa's wedding photo from just last year. She's the only one missing from the wall now, but she pushes away the swimming dread that that thought conjures in her belly. "Dad talks about it like it was such a dark period for him. But they're so perfect together, I can't even imagine what they would be like apart. Either way, um...yeah. That's how the house came to be. The...the cellar is this way."

Zach glances at the photos, the ones of her parents’ wedding were obviously at different times. He had to assume one was the original and another, your father looking older and more distinguished, was a vow renewal of some sort. He’s notices she isn’t in a wedding photo of a bride and groom, having clocked the lack of ring on her hand. Not that it mattered, he just noticed. “Lead the way.”

The cellar is fully furnished, having become a playroom when the twins were little and then a dance studio for the two years they took lessons, then a practice room for their high school rock band after that – at which point it had happily been soundproofed. Now it is a games room with a card table and pool table, a large sofa, and a bar built into one wall that stood next to the glass door of the temperature-controlled bottle room. In most houses this would be a wine cellar, but not the Daniels house. This is a glorified whiskey showroom, with a few other things collected over time. Riley punches a code into the panel on the wall and shoots Zach a grin before the panel chirps and the door hisses to indicate it’s unlocked. “Come on in. It’ll be cool inside at first. Like how walking into an air conditioned building in summer makes you feel freezing for about five minutes. But this lasts about a minute max.”

“Holy shit.” Zach eyes widen at the causal luxury and the comfort that seems to be in the game room. Then the sophistication of the whiskey room. “This is better protected than most state secrets.”

"Thank you." Riley fully beams, her shoulders doing a happy little wiggle as she grins. "I designed the system and built it myself."

“This is what you do?” He’s impressed. Looking around and admiring the security. “This is damn good.”

"My sister makes the booze, and I protect it," she laughs lightly. In actuality, she worked like a cowgirl version of James Bond's Q, developing new tech that would help keep Statesman's agents safe in the field - but that's not exactly the kind of thing she can tell this new arrival. Her status as Agent Grenadine needed to stay tightly under wraps just like her brother's active field agent status and her father's former identity as Agent Whiskey. She'll take the compliment, though, enjoying the way it warms through her as they look around the bottle room together.

“So it’s a family operation.” Family is something that Zach hasn’t had in a long time. The men he called brothers had all drifted off, moved on with their lives while he had been stuck in a horrible rut.

"Sort of." He gets a nod from her as she traces her lingers along the label of a limited release bottle produced the year she was born. "There's a lot more than just our family involved, but yeah. Statesman is definitely tight-knit. Once we let somebody in..." She offers him a half-smile, knowing that Jay never would have brought him back to the house if he didn't like the guy or intend on bringing him into things eventually. "That's sort of it. You're family."

He shuffles slightly, aware that she’s trying to tell him something but he can’t quite believe it. Maybe the mangy stray dog that someone takes mercy on. Not family. “Sounds nice.” He admits quietly.

"So far nobody's run away screaming," Riley jokes, laughing awkwardly under her breath.

“With all the liquor, no one would be able to run a straight line.” Zach jokes, laughing slightly.

Riley snorts, hand barely making it up to her mouth to smother the sound, and ends up stifling a torrent of giggles in the process. All she can visualize is her beautiful, proper, and upstanding niece Becca trying to run away tipsy and it’s the funniest goddamn thing she could possibly imagine. So much so that it basically has her sagging against the wall. “That’s—” She cackles once more, trying to catch her breath. “That’s an excellent visual.”

Zach grins, the sight of her laughing at something he said is probably the most beautiful damn thing he’s ever seen. “You drink enough and tell me you can run straight. We used to drink all night and PT still drunk and it looked like we were bobbing and weaving enemy fire.”

"You paint a very vivid picture, Zach." She straight out giggles again. "And suddenly the idea of drunk PT is making me very glad I didn't end up serving."

“Yeah…” he shuffles again and gives a half grin. “It was interesting. Corporal Ivers said the beer shits motivated you to run faster.”

"I mean, I can definitely see that." From one of the racks built into the walls, Riley pulls a bottle of Statesman Blue Label - a bottle frequently shared in the Daniels family between friends or a family events. Since today sort of seems like both, it's sort of a safe choice to bring upstairs. "Have you ever had Statesman before?" She asks, not realizing her own unconscious attempt at stalling down here.

“No?” Zach admits with a small shrug. “Don’t know if I’ve really seen any besides the commercials. What kinds do you have?”

"We've got a couple of open bottles down here if you want to try?" Out in the main room, there is a bar with partial bottles worth looking through. "The Blue Label is a family favourite, but the Reserve is really good and there's a bottle of 2014 Select out there that was a really good batch. Notes of maple and vanilla with this cedar smokiness that makes me feel like I'm at a campfire in the woods every time."

“I’m really good at camping.” Zach is completely ironic and un-ironic at the same time. Camping was a part of life in the military, but the urban camping was the real adventure.

“Come on, then.” Feeling confident enough in herself to nab his hand to lead Zach out into the main room again, Riley still doesn’t look back at his face as she goes just in case he reacts poorly to the innocently flirtatious move. It’s not like she pinned him against a wall and stuck her tongue down his throat, but little touches can all add up to something fun. And Zach is extremely cute.

Shocked that she is holding his hand, Zach lets her lead him out of the whiskey room. Knowing that if she knew what he was, she would probably turn her nose up at him, he tries to just enjoy the moment. Huffing slightly as she yanks him forward. “I’m hurrying.” He promises, wondering what it is about her that relaxes him.

When he doesn’t pull away from her Riley allows herself a silent thrill and decides to open the decanter of 2014 Select and pour their shots with one hand. “Close your eyes and think of sneaking a flask into summer camp,” she tells him, offering him one of the shot glasses. Whether he chooses to shoot or sip, it’s going to be delicious either way.

“Sláinte” Zach offers, nodding to her before he puts the glass to his lips and tosses his head back. Letting the cooler than room temperature whiskey slide down his throat.

“Cheers.” This is the one time she does look him directly in the eye, remembering Jay teasing her about how you have to look someone in the eye when you drink with them or it’s seven years bad sex.

“That is….” Zach feels the burn, the warm heat sliding down his throat, but the normal wince doesn’t come. “Smooth.” He murmurs, looking at the shot glass and then back to her. “Damned smooth.”

“Isn’t it incredible?” There’s a reason this one is her favorite. It’s the ultimate hug, in Riley’s opinion. “When Sam and I turned twenty-one, we made s’mores shots with it.”

“S’mores shots, huh?” Zach huffs and shakes his head. She made drinks out of this instead of just drinking it? “Sounds fun.”

“We were twenty-one,” Riley shrugs like it was a long time ago when she sees the doubt in his eyes. “Everything had to have chocolate in it in order to be good.”

“Chocolate is good at any age.” Zach argues, although it’s been a long time since he’s had chocolate.

“You’re not wrong.” She smiles a little, feeling silly for all of this — this whole attempt to flirt a little or whatever the hell it is she’s been doing. Riley clears her throat, pouring them each another shot and handing him his glass.

“Thanks.” Zach murmurs, feeling his heart race when their fingers brush. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been offered a drink and a nice evening.”

There’s a moment where she could swear she sees him gulp down a breath, but it’s probably wishful thinking. Just projecting her own attraction onto him. Even so, she flusters at the sentiment. “Any time,” Riley murmurs with a grin. “Any time at all.”

“To—” Zach completely blanks out, the idea of saying something charming and witty completely failing him. He doesn’t flirt, or at least, he hadn’t in a long time. “Not choking to death on a chip.” He manages with a roll of his eyes.

Riley grins, letting out a small giggle at that, and holds up her glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

At least she hadn’t thought he was completely insane. The tips of the shot glasses clink together and Zach feels the way his entire body relaxes as the next shot goes down even smoother than the first. Riley hums at the warmth as it spreads through her limbs, just letting her enjoy the moment for what it is. Brand new attraction is something to relish after all, even if it’s fleeting or one sided. Nothing is more fun than feeling those first tugs of want.

Zach leans in, about to make a comment about how good it feels to relax when the door upstairs opens. Making him stiffen and rocks back to put the proper space between them again. Reminding himself that he’s a guest, one that is a surprise. “Ri? You down here sweetheart?” The voice of her father comes down the stairs as boots descend and Zach can hear the censure in his voice. Asking why she’s alone with the homeless man his son had dragged back to their picture-perfect home. Maybe even wondering if he’s pocketed something valuable down here.

"Just showing Zach the cellar, Dad!" Riley calls back, almost straight out laughing to herself at the timing. Right as Zach was starting to relax and she had discovered that gorgeous dimple in his cheek, her father's tingling Spy Sense had gone off. "Is dinner ready?"

“Yeah everything’s ready.” Jack descends to where he can see his daughter and the newcomer. “Let’s go eat so Junior can take Zach to Ginger.”

"Sure thing." The drawn look of suspicion on his face lightens when Riley doesn't protest or try to stall, setting down her shot glass and nodding toward the stairs for Zach to follow. After all, it's not as though she was really trying to seduce him. She wouldn't have been mad about it, but she wasn't really trying.

Jack watches the boy – man – he’s not a boy. It’s almost visible the way that his guard goes up, nearly making Jack relax slightly. There’s something about him that he wants to nurture, protect. Like he was one of his own kids. Junior told him quietly about the vet saving his skin, how he had been sleeping in the park that Junior had been chased through. His heart was compassionate, but still, where his children are concerned - he’s cautious. “Hope you like burgers.” He offers. “Plus we fried up some bacon and it’s perfect with the missus’ guacamole.”

Riley groans, the vibrating sound of hunger unapologetic as she nabs Zach’s hand again to lead him upstairs. “A bacon guac burger sounds amazing!”

Jack’s brows quirk under his Stetson, but he doesn’t comment on his daughter holding Zach’s hand. “Well, come on then.” He grunts at her. “Get your tail up here before the boys eat all of it.”

******

The meal is as exuberant and good natured as a Daniels family get together always is, with everyone nursing groaningly full stomach by the end. Everybody gets a clean up job to make things go faster, and after Junior and Zach help to clear the table the oldest Daniels boy gives his wife a kiss and promises they’ll be back soon. “C’mon,” he nods to Zach, swiping up his Stetson from where he had been sitting. “We gotta go see a lady about some arrangements for you.”

“You don’t have to go out of the way for me.” The anticipation of a gentle letdown is already hanging in the air and Zach moves towards the bag that is still in the back of the truck. “I can just hitch a ride out of town. The meal was enough.”

“It’s my boss,” Junior explains, always knowing his family would disown him if he just let Zach wander out of Louisville without help. Especially Riley. “She wants to meet you.”

“I didn’t get you into any trouble, did I?” He hadn’t expected the lack of police investigation, or the way that he had nonchalantly told whoever was in his ear about killing people, but he doesn’t want the man to lose his job.

“Not at all. If anything, Ginger’s impressed.” They climb into the truck together and head back toward the highway, bound for Statesman’s main offices. When Ginger Ale had taken over the running of Statesman from Champ ten or so years ago, the only person who was surprised at the offer was Ginger herself. Since then she’s led the agency fearlessly and honorably, giving the whole place a new sense of vibrancy.

Zach highly doubts that, but it’s easier to just go along right now. He can always leave later on when the boss is yelling at him. “Well, that’s something.”

The drive doesn't take long, just a reversal of the route they drove earlier from the airstrip out to the ranch after landing. At this time of night there aren't many people around and the cars in the lot are few, but Junior parks in a spot by the front entrance and grabs his hat again after throwing the gearshift into park. "C'mon," he encourages, as though it's his catchphrase or something. "Top floor. Right in the bottle cap."

“Well that’s a hell of a view.” Zach looks up at the large building that looks exactly like a whiskey bottle. It’s definitely a statement although he’s not quite sure what it says.

The barrel-shaped elevators give him a good chuckle, and by the time Junior is strolling into Ginger's office with a contented smile, he's pretty sure he knows how this is going to go. "Evenin', Ma'am," Junior drawls, waving Zach into the office behind him.

"Jack." Ginger looks up over the rim of her glasses at the younger Jack Daniels before her eyes move over to the more tentative man behind him. "And this would be Corporal Wellison, yes? Shut the door behind you and have a seat, gentlemen.”

Zach is unsure if he should salute the older woman, but he refrains. He’s not in uniform anymore, nor is he a corporal in the Marines. “Ma’am.” He offers politely, wondering if all the woman are just unreasonably beautiful around here. This Ginger looks like she could have modeled, even now.

“I understand I owe you some thanks.” Ginger looks to Zach directly, her steepled fingers peaking under her chin. “Jack here is one of the best men in my operation and I don’t like to think of what I’ll have to do when I don’t have him at hand any longer.”

“I didn’t do anything special.” The small shrug of Zach’s shoulders isn’t to dismiss Ginger, he had just assessed the situation and chose a side. Apparently, he had picked the right one. “Sometimes back up in a firefight is necessary when you’re pinned down.”

“That’s exactly my feeling.” She nods, looking between the two men. For the last hour she’s been absorbing Corporal Wellison’s file and reading through reports from the clean-up team that deployed to LA. A full background check on the former Marine had been very enlightening. “And it a appears that you’re a very good man to have as back up.”

“I was a Marine.” There is a bit of pride in his tone. “We didn’t leave anyone behind on the battlefield.” In real life was another story, but she isn’t interest in that.

"You're a Marine with an exceptional record and impressive marksmanship." She can't deny that, nor would she even under other circumstances. Of course Statesman had active recruitment processes, but sometimes candidates just fell right into their lap. "I understand that circumstances haven't exactly been favourable for you since you returned stateside." Ginger shifts in her large chair, moving his file forward on her desk for him to see. To show him that she's been looking into him, unapologetically. "From what I've heard and what I've read, I'd like to extend an invitation to you. Call it...an application process. Our own version of boot camp, if you will. We have room for two more people on our team here and if you're inclined? I think you'd be an excellent fit."

Zach’s eyes narrow suspiciously. The idea of boot camp had the wheels in his head turning. “Recruited for what exactly?” He asks. “I was told this is a distillery not a Blackwater group.” He looks over at Junior and wonders what the fuck he’s gotten involved with. “I’m not a merc.”

"No, you're not." A smile tugs at the corners of Ginger's lips as she sits back. "You're a gunslinger. Choosing your battles and covering a victim when you see him being pursued in a park," she gestures at Jack, knowing he isn't innocent or a victim in any way but for the purposes of this exercise. "You sound like a cowboy to me. And if you'll sign on the dotted line..." An NDA seems to materialize on the top of her desk as if from nowhere. "I'd like to introduce you to the other side of what Statesman is all about."

Seconds tick by. Probably the longest twenty seconds of his entire life. Another glance at Junior doesn’t reveal anything beyond the man’s desire for him to sign the paper. Then his eyes find Ginger. Watching her carefully and there’s a slight edge of challenge in her gaze. Enough that Zach is leaning forward and taking the pen to scrawl his signature on the line.

A quick glance down at the paper and Ginger's photographic memory are all she needs to know that that signature matches up with the others of his that she'd seen and this young man is indeed who he says he is. Good. She had been right about him being upstanding - most people would think there was no cause to lie about who you are when you have nothing, but she had found that that was exactly when people started to bend their stories to suit their situations. "Statesman is an independence intelligence agency," she explains, pressing a button on her desk that causes control panels and monitors to appear from behind previously mundane panels of wood around her. "And Jack Junior here is one of our finest agents."

He is struck dumb for a moment, eyes wide as he absorbs the way the room shifts and he frowns slightly as a million different questions pop up in his head. “Independent intelligent agency…” He repeats slowly as if he is weighing his words and reconciling them with what he is seeing. “So those men chasing you…” he turns to Junior for a full explanation.

“Were thugs hired by a human trafficking operation.” Junior sits back in his chair, tilting his Stetson back a little so there is no question that he is looking Zach in the eye while he tells him the honest truth. “They didn’t take kindly to my partner and I posing as buyers to get those girls back to their families. I drew the short straw - pulling their firepower away so the others could get to safety.”

“Then I’m glad I picked up that gun.” Zach scowls angrily at the idea of human trafficking. He’s seen a lot of that shit while he was on the streets and there was nothing he could do.

“It’s not always big operations.” Ginger warns him, seeing the righteousness in the young man’s eyes. “Sometimes it’s small. Observation. Or escorting people who have no way to protect themselves. Sometimes it’s intelligence gathering or undercover work.” Clearly proud of her agents, she does tilt her head a little and smile. “But it pays a hell of a lot better than law enforcement does and doesn’t have to answer to whatever yokel is in office at the time. We operate only on what we see as benefitting of our time. And frankly? We’re damn good.”

“And you want me?” He asks, lifting a brow as if he can’t believe it. He can’t. After the military, no one wanted him. He was used up and slightly bitter about that fact.

“I went over your service record and your background check while you were with Agent Absinthe, and on paper you’re a perfect candidate.” A part of that, unfortunately, is his utter lack of family or friend attachments. Not even a job to put his notice in at or an apartment to pack up. But for those unfortunate circumstances, Statesman could offer him a place to live with a steady paycheck and a proverbial family to have his back. “If you go through the training and decide that being a field agent isn’t for you, we have plenty of secure jobs on the ground as well.” Ginger folds her hands in front of her on her desk and smiles - something her predecessor rarely did but she thinks Zach might find comforting. “You can say no, of course. But not everyone gets a second chance at life. I sincerely hope you take us up on it.”

A second chance at life. Zach remembers what Riley had said about her parents. Twenty years without each other, one thinking that the other and the baby were dead. Only to find each other again and pick up where they left off. He wonders if he could get back a little of the man he had been before. The gun hadn’t felt as heavy in his hands the last time he turned one in with the military. It had felt right, even better now that he knew what kind of scum he had dispatched to hell. “Not like I don’t have some free time in my schedule.” He reasons, giving a slight shrug. “Might be interesting to see what kind of training you’re talking about.”

“Hot damn.” Junior laughs out loud, reaching out to slap Zach’s shoulder gleefully. “Didn’t I tell you, Ging? I knew he’d be in for it!”

“Keep it in your pants, Jack,” Ginger chuckles. It’s definitely not the first time she’s said that to a man named Jack Daniels. “Jack can show you to temporary quarters until we get your housing sorted out. There’s a cafeteria on the bottom floor of this building that feeds employees three meals a day for free, and I’ll have a company ID delivered to your room overnight. Both of you report to the training grounds at 0800 tomorrow. Any other questions for now?”

“I—” Zach stops for a moment, gathering his thoughts and then he starts again. “Thank you.” He offers quietly, aware that this invitation did not have to be extended. “Is there anything I need?” He doesn’t have a lot, but maybe his old running shoes he’s been wearing for the last four years will hold up.

“We have some things ready for you in your room to get you through until your first paycheck is cut.” She had a feeling he’d say yes based on how Jack had told the story of their encounter, but she doesn’t really want to overwhelm the young man by letting him know that the room is the extremely comfortable visiting agent’s apartment on the fourth floor, not just a room with a bed. It’s fully furnished and packed with clothes in a variety of sizes so that he’ll be able to find things that fit without having to ask for help. A little dignity, at least until they had him situated in a permanent residence. “Anything in the space you’ll be staying in, is there for you to use.”

“Thank you again.” He’s a little overwhelmed at this point. Barely hanging on to his emotions. “I won’t disappoint you.”

“I don’t expect you will, Zach.” Standing almost in unison, Ginger extends her hand to the young man and can practically feel the vibrations coming off of him. Tomorrow will be a very big day for Zach Wellison, it seems. “I sincerely hope you don’t have an aversion for Stetsons, because we’re going to have you wearing one in no time.”

“Never worn one.” He admits with a grin. “Unless you count when I was two.” There’s a few pictures he had from his childhood, one of them is him in his diaper and a cowboy hat.

"Well, we'll fix that soon enough." She nods when he takes her hand, acknowledging the leap of faith he's taken tonight. Not everyone could do it – they'd deny or lash out or even be upset at the revelation. But she has a good feeling about this man. "0800, gentlemen. I'll let Tequila know to expect you."

Even though it is her office, in the blink of an eye, Ginger has disappeared. Leaving Zach slightly bewildered until he notices the hidden door off to the side. He had been battling the intense emotions and near teared up and she was just…gone. “Now what?” Zach asks Junior.

"I can show you where you'll be staying, if you like." He offers, stepping out from the area surrounding his chair to stretch his legs. "It's an apartment a few floors down. Usually used for visiting agents from the New York office, but that just means it's ready for you now at a moment's notice."

“Are you sure I’m not putting anyone out?” Zach asks. “I thought Ginger said I would be sharing a room?” He doesn’t want any treatment that would have him set apart from everyone else.

“If you’d rather stay on the ranch, that’s fine.” It wouldn’t be the first time that either he or his father had taken in someone to stay for a while, and he knows that there is plenty of room. “Might be less lonesome.”

“There’s no way you have the room at your place, not with three kids.” He would offer to sleep on the sofa, but then people would be tip toeing around him and he didn’t want that either.

"My parents have room at the big house." Out of Ginger's office and back through the hall, Junior presses the call button on the elevator and leans against the wall. Now that Zach has accepted the invitation to stay and try Statesman on for size, he is fully relaxed. "They keep a guest room ready and Mom loves to have visitors, so it wouldn't be imposing." He shrugs nonchalantly. "Dad was a legend when he was a field agent. I'm sure he'd love a chance to bust out some old stories for someone who hasn't heard them a hundred times."

“No wonder your mom was wary about answering questions about his job.” Zach murmurs, understanding now that the entire family is in this business.

"The title of CEO is a cover for senior field agent," Junior explains when the elevator doors open. "There's all kinds of corresponding titles for civilian jobs to agency jobs." He jabs the button for the bottom floor, sure that Zach would prefer to stay at the ranch than alone in the Statesman building. "And, of course, there's some jobs that are just civilian. Like my sister Sam and her wife Vanessa? They really are both distillers."

“But not Riley?” Zach sneaks a glance over at Junior as he asks, trying to be casual about it.

The older man stifles a smirk, keeping his face totally neutral as Zach tries to be stealthy in asking about the woman he spent nearly every second of tonight with. It was abundantly obvious that Riley was attracted to Zach right off the bat, but it seems that the feeling is mutual. "Riley is in Research and Development," he explains, affecting a bored tone. His sister's work has been invaluable, actually. "She's technically an agent, but not a field agent."

He’s slightly relieved, happy she’s not getting chased or shot at. Maybe slightly rooted in that old school belief that women should be kept safe, although he has a hell of a lot of respect for women in authority. “That’s good. She’s a smart lady.”

"You guys seemed to get along pretty well." Junior cracks a grin, but in all honesty he's okay with it. Zach got dealt a shitty hand by life. Not because he made bad choices but because the system failed him. Now, hopefully, a new system could give him a better chance.

Zach immediately rounds his shoulders, aware that he should have kept his distance from Junior’s sister. “You don’t have to worry, man.” He murmurs. “I hear you.” All he can think about is that Junior is warning him off and he can’t mess up this chance.

"Hear me?" The grin disappears from his face, replaced by an expression of worry, wondering if he said something he shouldn't have. If Zach had taken something differently than he meant it. "No, man. No. That's not—" He shakes his head twice as they wait for the elevator to come to a full stop. "She's a grown ass woman. And she obviously likes you a lot. Ri's never been very good at hiding that kind of thing. There's no...warning here, or anything. I wouldn't have left you guys alone together or brought you to meet my family in the first place if I objected to something about you, Zach."

Zach snorts, not believing that. “Yeah, because you want your little sister to be interested in a homeless bum.” The doors to the elevator open and he quickly steps off, angry – mostly at himself – about how this is going.

"As of five minutes ago, you're Statesman." Junior reminds him as they walk to the truck. "Listen, I— I've never been homeless. But I know what it's like to have no sense of your future and the hopelessness of not being able to grasp a real life." He unlocks his pick up and waves Zach in, sighing a little as he shoves his key in the ignition. "Until I was twenty-four, my mother and I were in Witness Protection. Every single thing about my life was a lie. We were relocated five different times because the people after her kept finding us. It was...terrifying. So I know it's not the same, but I also know that you didn't ask for it just like we didn't ask for what happened to us. It can take a while to adjust to something new. Just...I'm asking you to believe that we don't think less of you. Our family knows what it's like to not be able to make your own decisions about life. And it's no one else's business what you were doing before you came to Statesman. No one here comes from the perfect life. No one."

Shame isn’t something that Zach is unfamiliar with, but it’s been a long time since someone made him feel that way because they were being kind. “‘m sorry.” He apologizes quietly. “When you’ve been kicked long enough, you feel like you deserve it. You expect it.”

"I know that feeling." For as much as you ever shielded him growing up, Junior had had plenty of his own battles to fight in every place you had been moved around to. Just because it wasn't exactly the same circumstance as Zach's, didn't mean he couldn't relate. "I don't expect you to turn on a dime and readjust to a new life instantly. That's...that's incredibly unrealistic. Just try to keep an open mind, that's all."

“I’ll try.” Zach tries for a sheepish grin. “Pretty hardheaded sometimes.” He admits with a shrug of his shoulders. “Jarhead is a Marine nickname for a reason.”

"That's fair enough." Junior chuckles as he backs out of the parking spot. "Daniels' are hardheaded and we don't even have an excuse."

He can’t help but snort at that, having experienced it firsthand when dealing with Junior. “I guess it must be in the blood for some.” He murmurs quietly. “Are you sure your folks would be okay with me staying with them? I don’t want to put an agent out of their place. Just give me a sofa or a cot in a back room and I’ll be better than I was.”

“That guest room is sitting empty waiting to be filled,” Junior promises. “I can swear to you the original occupant isn’t coming back for it, since it used to be mine.” Jack had kept the room at the ready for his son for a long time just as a symbol, even after Junior and Janey’s house on the ranch was full of kids. “We can call ‘em from the road if you’d like? So they know to expect you?”

“Just to make sure.” The last thing Zach wants is for there to be some reason you didn’t want him there. Or couldn’t have him. It would just embarrass him even more.

Confident in his plan, the older man uses the truck’s communications panel - a Statesman must-have - to call the ranch, and grins when his father picks up. “Hey Dad,” Junior hums as he drives. “Question for ya.”

“Junior.” Jack’s voice rings out warmly in the speakers. “Shoot. you know I always have time to answer any questions you have.” Since coming back into his life, Jack has made forging and strengthening the relationship between himself and his eldest his priority. Trying to make up for missing the first half of his life.

“It’s not that serious, Pop. I promise.” The younger Jack Daniels chuckles. “Would you and Mom be alright with hosting Zach until Ginger gets his housing squared away? He starts training tomorrow morning.”

“So he accepted?” Jack chuckles, proud of his boy for finding the next wave of talent for Statesman. “Good, good. Of course, we’d be happy to have him here. Your mother needs someone to fuss over beside me.” He’s aware that Zach has to be within earshot and while he’s protective of his girls, he’s aware he can’t meddle in their affairs. You point out what a manwhore he had been when he thought you were gone. It’s not fair for him to coddle her as his last unmarried child.

“That’s what I was thinking you’d say.” Junior grins, flashing Zach a thumbs up. There’s no point in saying an ‘I told you so’ when the outcome is a good one and the concern was only polite. “We’re on our way back to the ranch now. Shouldn’t be more than a couple of days for everything to be set. You know how fast Ginger works.”

“Boy’s welcome to stay as long as he’d like.” Jack assures him, wanting to make sure the message is clear. “You know we always enjoy company and I can get a feel for how trainin’ is goin’, give him a few tips.”

“You mean give him tricks so he can get one up on Tequila?” He laughs softly at his father’s enthusiasm, glad to see that he was exactly right about how this would go. So far, at least. “We’ll see you in about ten minutes. Thanks, Dad.”

When Junior ends the call, Zach exhales audibly, relieved that he had been right. It didn’t sound like Jack was wary, and that did wonders to relieve his anxiety. After being invisible for so long, it seems almost jarring to be so in the spotlight. “So, I take it he knew what you wanted to do with me?” He asks, wondering if Junior brought home people all the time.

“Every once in a while, one of us will get a feeling about someone.” It wasn’t terribly common, meaning that whenever it happened the recruit in question tended to get a bit more attention and training, but it certainly wasn’t unheard of. “The agent in charge of training – Tequila? That’s how he came in. Guy used to be a rodeo clown back in the day.”

“A…rodeo clown…” Zach says slowly, grinning slightly at the mental image. “That’s one hell of a job. I’ve never even been to a rodeo.”

“Oh, we’ll fix that soon enough.” The grin that Junior flashes him is mischievous. “Riley loves the rodeo. I’m sure she’d take you.”

“I’m pretty much assuming everyone in your family is familiar with horses or ranch life.” Zach had been a city kid and it wasn’t like he was riding horses in Iraq and Afghanistan in the middle of a war zone.

“It’s definitely a big part of life. The cowboy thing was never something that I felt attached to before coming here, but it grows on you.” After spending a full half of his life in Louisville with Statesman, Junior had come to view it as a way of life. A set of principles to live by. And though his kids were all growing up in a modern world that seemed to move faster than light, the core of their family was always respect and freedom – two things that Statesman valued as well.

“I’ve never even been around a horse.” Zach admits. “Not unless you count a Great Dane.”

Junior laughs, smacking his hand on the steering wheel as he drives. “They’re damn near pony-sized, I’ll give you that. But horses are beautiful creatures. You should give it a try while you’re at the ranch.”

“I—okay.” Zach nods, aware that this is surreal. Nothing in his entire existence prepared him for cowboy spies, although the westerns he had seen flipping through channels as a child makes him think of a romanticized version of it. A more friendly Bond.

“You’ve been to war, Zach.” Junior shoots him an encouraging smile. “I promise you can manage a horse.”

"Somehow I think a living breathing animal is a little different from the Humvees we rode in." Zach snorts, appreciating the vote of confidence. "Although I could say that one of them did buck me when it flipped with me inside."

“See? You’re already an old pro.” It’s nice to be able to laugh with Zach now, even only hours after meeting him. Earlier today he had been understandably caged. Guarded. And of course – his everyday survival depended on self-reliance in every way. It’s good to see those barriers already cracking under the gentle touch of kindness and good faith. “You’ll be a cowboy in no time.”

“I don’t know about that.” He huffs. “I’ll settle for ‘regularly showered’ for right now.”

******

The rest of the drive passes easily enough, this time with Junior pointing out a few favourite sights and restaurants from the road, and soon enough they’re back at the big house. There’s a lot less bustling activity going on now that most people have gone home for the evening or moved on to nighttime activities, but the kitchen is still brightly lit when Junior opens the front door. “We’re back!” He calls, though the path of light in the house shows exactly where everybody is.

“In the kitchen, sweetie!” Your voice rings out, and laughter from two different people rings out almost immediately.

“They must be playing cards or a board game.” Junior tells Zach, already headed in that direction. “Riley and Mom are Scrabble fiends. Dad prefers poker.”

Nodding, Zach shrugs. “I’ve been a card player during my time in the Marines.” He had never played for anything more than fun, or beers, but he had fond memories of nights in his unit playing while pretending they weren’t in danger.

"Dad will be glad to have another vote for cards." With a clap on the back, Junior strolls into the kitchen and immediately goes to say hello to you and Jack. "Ginger's said yes," he reports with a grin. "Say hello to Statesman's newest recruit."

Jack leans back in his chair and grins at the younger man who looks like he's had his world turned upside down. Hopefully that will be the best damn thing to happen to him. "Pull up a chair, son. We'll get you a glass of whiskey and I'll tell you all about some of the missions we've run."

"Told you," Junior laughs, flashing a smirk at Zach.

"You love your stories too," you remind Junior, already hustling to pull up two more chairs at the table. "Like father, like son. Always."

"Bond in a Stetson?" Zach asks as he sits down, glancing over at the older couple.

"That's what I called him the day we found out what it was Jack had been doing." You tell him, patting the back of a chair as Riley disappears down the hallway with a grin on her face. "Cowboy James Bond. It didn't take long for Junior to follow in his father's footsteps. Statesman's been a blessing to our family in every single way."

"Were you recruited from the Navy, sir?" Zach isn't very clear on the timeline for everything, but he wonders if Statesman had been sniffing around military branches for most of their agents or if civilians like Tequila dropped into their laps in equal measure.

"You could say that." Jack's laugh is deep and amused at that, considering the circumstances. "I was recruited from the brig on the verge of a dishonorable discharge. Champ – our old director – he liked a rebel when they had a good cause. But me?" He shakes his head. "I was angry at the world for taking away my sweetheart and little boy. It wasn't a good place for a man to be in. Any man."

"I couldn't even imagine." Zach had been single when he hit rock bottom, he couldn't even fathom what it would have been like to lose a significant other. Especially when pregnant. He might not have survived that, so it speaks to how damn tough Jack Daniels Senior is.

"Junior was twenty-four when Statesman took over our case from the US Marshals." You explain, knowing that your children had already mentioned your time in WITSEC to Zach over the course of the night. "Champ got wind that we were being moved again and stepped in. He sent Jack to pick us up and relocate us here instead."

"And the rest is history." Riley reappears from around the corner with a bottle of Statesman Blue Label in hand and deposits it on the table with a stack of glasses.

"Happy ever after." Zach murmurs, unsure of what that would ever entail for him or if it was even in the cards. He's never really known what he wanted out of life, kind of aimless if he were completely honest with himself.

"Happy ever after." You hum in agreement and lean over to kiss Jack's cheek. "Which we never thought we would get, honestly."

It's probably the most relaxing evening Zach has experienced in a long fucking time. Drinking his fair share of that bottle, he grins as he leans back. His stomach is full because you had insisted that nine o'clock snacks were perfect. Laughing at another story that Jack Senior has told about a time where his ass was in a jam and Tequila, the man who was training him tomorrow, had pulled it out of the fire. "You got them though, right?"

"Statesman agents always get their man." Riley tells him proudly, chin up in the air as she tips back the last of her glass. She may be unsubtly playing on the fact that she, too, is an agent of Statesman, but mostly she's just proud of her father and brother. "Always."

"So don't fuck up." Zach chuckles, shooting you a sheepish look. "Sorry, ma'am." He offers, hating that he had cursed in front of you. You seem like a wonderful woman, but he wants to give you the impression he has manners. He's staying in your house after all.

"No need to apologize for cursing." It earns him a waved hand from you, and a smirk. "We swear up a damn storm in this house. Don't think otherwise." Though you hadn't done it while the kids were young, and generally reserved that vocabulary for when it really counted, that didn't mean you never swore.

Riley laughs and Junior sighs as he leans back. "I should get back to the house. Janey is waiting." He smirks, although it's one of those soft ones that men think that no one else notices when they've been promised sexy times.

"Gross." Riley gripes, swatting at her brother and rolling her eyes heavily even as she snorts a laugh. "Go be domestic and happy or whatever, I guess. I'll retire to my spinster's room and do something dangerous like read a book."

"Can't be readin' now." Jack winks at his daughter and shakes his head. "You're already smarter than everyone, 'cept maybe Ginger."

"Oh no." Another roll of her eyes is fully sarcastic and Riley squeezes her father's shoulder affectionately. "A smart daughter? Whatever will you do with me?"

You just laugh, shaking your head at the two of them and reaching over to pat Riley's hand on her father's shoulder. "Will you show Zach the guest room before you turn in, honey? Show him where everything is?"

"Sure, mama." She bends to hug both of her parents and affectionately nudge Junior's shoulder before turning to Zach. "You ready to turn in, cowboy?"

“I should get some sleep.” Junior had brought Zach’s bag in and told him that everything he needed was in the room. He assumes that means he had let him borrow some more clothes. “I start at eight tomorrow morning.”

"With Tequila, that means more like 8:15. He's not exactly a morning person." You smile, though, and say good night to Zach once more before he follows Riley upstairs.

“So you develop more than just tech for the distillery.” Zach hums. “I thought it was a very impressive system for just whiskey.”

"I would protect that whiskey with my life," Riley tells him with her hand on her heart. "But yes. Agent Grenadine, at your service."

“Agent Grenadine.” He likes that, it’s sweet like she seems to be. A good additive to any cocktail. “I like that.”

"Active field agents are liquors. Ground agents have slightly less pungent names." She giggles at her own joke. "Our boss? Agent Ginger Ale. She was R&D like me before taking over as director."

“Smart. Easy to identify.” Zach absorbs that information. “So that means my trainer is still a field agent?” He asks, wanting to know what to expect tomorrow.

“Tequila still works in the field from time to time, but he mostly trains now.” At the top of the stairs, Riley turned right into a large bathroom with two sinks built into the counter and a bath/shower combo big enough to fit three if the need ever arose. “He’s a good guy. Sense of humor, pretty positive outlook considering the man is a secret agent,” she smirks about that. “He was my brother’s partner for a long time. Sam and I called him Uncle Tequila for years.”

“Sounds like he worked with your dad too.” If he has any questions of why she is bringing him into a bathroom, he doesn’t ask. Just quickly and discreetly ducks his head to sniff himself. It’s been a while since he’s had that shower on the jet, but he should still be okay.

“Towels in the closet, soaps and stuff under the sink.” She says casually before ducking out of the room again and heading down the hall. “Yeah, Dad helped train him. They’re thick as thieves.”

Ahhhh, he’s getting a quick tour. He follows her quickly and chuckles. “So I can expect him to get a progress report on my training.”

“Especially since you’re staying here.” The grin that Riley flashes him is playful, and she stops in front of a bedroom with the door wide open and fresh sheets in the bed. “This is you,” she tells him. “My parents and Sam’s room are on the other side of the landing. But I’m right next door if you need anything.”

“I thought Sam lived off property?” He doesn’t care who is here, it’s not his house, but he just didn’t want to run into anyone on the way to the bathroom or something.

“She does, but she only moved out about two years ago and Dad has a thing about leaving our rooms set up. Jay’s was in tact until I left for college and he hasn’t lived in the big house since he and Janey got married.” Pointing out the window, they can make out the top of the cabin over the tree line across the main property. “The cabin was their wedding present.”

“Wow.” Zach is definitely impressed. “Did he build Sam and her wife a cabin too?”

"Sam moved into Vanessa's house when they got engaged." Riley steps into the room, giving them time to talk some more if they want it. "Their wedding present was their honeymoon...and while they were away he had their backyard redone for them and a pool put in along with fixing up Vanessa's work shed. Dad...tends to go overboard."

Zach lifts a brow and looks around the room that was very obviously set up for a boy in a gorgeous shade of green. “You mean building a house as a tribute isn’t what most people do?”

"I don't know about most people, but it is if you're Jack Daniels." Riley looks out over the property, fidgeting with her hands shoved in her jeans pockets. It's always been the dream – at least for her. To grow up and have her own little cabin with her own partner on the ranch where her tight knit family has grown and prospered. Maybe it's old fashioned, but sometimes old fashioned really isn't a bad thing. The city just wasn't for her. She had tried it and found out that she's just a country girl at heart.

“It’s touching.” Zach doesn’t want her to think he’s insulting the idea. “This is— hell, I’ve not ever been able to dream about a life like this for a long time, but back when I enlisted?” He shrugs and shakes his head, his own eyes finding the same view Riley is looking out at. “All I wanted was to find love and make a family.”

"It's kind of the dream around here." And it's not even something that she is going to be self-conscious about. It's her dream and it's a good one - just because it's not for everyone doesn't make it any less worthy for her. "Definitely what I want. But it's kind of hard when you have to be cagey about what you do for a living."

“Are you not allowed to tell a spouse?” He could see where that would cause issues. It might be a special set of circumstances for you since you had been protected by Statesman.

"We can tell our spouses. There's a clearance level for that." She shrugs slightly. "But it makes dating a little...awkward. Having to lie to someone right off the bat isn't really a great foundation for a relationship."

“I get that.” Zach feels bad for her. “You’ll find someone. You’re way too—” he bites his lip, hating that he had almost said that.

"Too...?" There was almost a compliment there, she's sure of it, and one eyebrow raises at Zach in question.

Zach rolls his eyes at himself. “Pick one. Pretty, smart, funny, loyal, kind.” He almost grumbles it. Sore that he’s meeting a woman he one thousand percent would be interested in when he is at his lowest and receiving a hand out from her family.

Riley flusters, biting her lip to hold back the fairly enormous smile threatening to overtake her face. "You too," she hums, leaning against the windowsill. "Pick one. Any of them. Except maybe sub out handsome for pretty."

Warmth spreads through his stomach and makes it flip pleasantly. “Look, I know—” he breaks off and shakes his head. “You should know your brother literally picked me up off the streets.” He admits quietly. “Yesterday I slept in a fucking park with a metal pipe for protection.”

"I'm sorry to hear that." It makes her swallow a little, not out of fear or concern but out of sympathy. Homelessness is a hell of an issue and she's not blind to how lucky she is to have a comfortable place to live and a well-paying job. "I know that's a big issue for vets coming back from combat, and..." Riley shakes her head slightly. "It doesn't make me think less of you, for the record. I mean, you served your country and you didn't deserve to be dropped on your ass when you came home."

He had a feeling she would pity him, but he shakes his head. “I don’t – I know that you aren’t trying to pity me, but I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, or whatever.” He’s so fucking bad at this. His hand slides out of his jeans to rub the back of his neck. “Just because I think you’re pretty doesn’t mean you have to think anything about me.”

"If you knew what I thought about you, you'd probably kick me out of the room." She admits with a slight cringe. "I'm sorry. I'm really fucking bad at this too, and I always have been. Why do you think I'm the only Daniels still single in a family full of people who tend to find romance very young?"

“Because you deserve better?” Zach shrugs, curiosity piqued now. “What do you think about me?” The worst thing she could think about him that he’s not already thought?

Riley huffs, caught between hoping he wouldn't ask and wondering what he would say if she actually told him. Her eyes drift down to her boots and the rug, not letting herself be so bold as to actually look him in the eyes in this moment. "I think you're about the most handsome man I've ever seen in my life," she admits, shoulders rounding in on themselves. "And it's...it's embarrassing to admit that I feel like I already know you somehow. Like you just feel familiar to me and I don't know why. But Sam said that's how meeting Vanessa felt to her and I can't get it out of my head."

“Are you sure you just don’t want to feel that way?” He won’t dismiss anyone’s feelings but he’s not ever been looked at like that before. “I’ll admit that you’re the first woman I’ve been— that I’ve just wondered about since I got back stateside really.”

"I thought she was bullshitting me." Riley confesses, looking up now even though it's tentative. "How can you know somebody before you've even met them, ya know? But then...I walked up to you and Jay tonight and it felt like the universe was kicking me in the teeth for doubting her. You just..." She sighs, finally looking up all the way to find his eyes. "This is going to sound so ridiculous. But I know that if I hugged you it would feel like coming home."

“It’s— it’s been a long damn time since I’ve had a hug.” Zach admits, pulling his other hand out of his pocket and opening his arms slightly as if to give her permission. “Only one way to find out if I suck at giving them.”

There's only a second of hesitation on her part as Riley tries to figure out if he's teasing her or not, but the look in his eyes is full of sincerity. She stands up straight up, pushing off from the wall to step forward the three strides it takes to reach him. Their arms fold around each other neatly and Riley inhales a ragged breath of surprise that couldn't be faked even by the more award-winning actor. It knocks the wind right out of her, how perfectly they fit together, and with him being several inches taller than her there is such a feeling of comfort and rightness that she could just break right down and cry. Goddamnit. Sam was telling the truth after all. Sometimes you just feel it.

Zach tilts his head, leaning his cheek on the top of her head and closing his eyes with a small sigh. The gesture is just perfect. Comforting and warm, making him relax more than anyone and anything else had tonight.

"You definitely don't suck at hugging," Riley finds herself chuckling softly even at her own reaction, tightening her arms around him just a little bit more.

“That’s good.” He murmurs softly. “I was worried about that.”

"No need to worry." Lifting her head is almost reluctant, but she readjusts against him to just barely look up and ends up nuzzled into his neck with this slight shift of their positions. It's more comfortable than she could have ever possibly thought as she sighs again without thinking.

Zach leans into it again, hesitant to break this wonderfully comforting embrace. Needing it more than he ever realized. A damn earthquake couldn't make her let go now, and Riley stays right where she is happily. Zach is a solid wall of comfort even with everything he's been through, and if she makes him feel half as relaxed as he is making her feel, then it was worth taking this leap of faith.

******

Zach groans, opening the door and shuffling inside. The biometric locks have been updated to include his thumbprint so he can come and go as he pleases, but Zach tries to be considerate. Sore and desperately needing a shower, he feels good about the progress and his footing here at Statesman.

The house is quiet. Only one car was in the driveway when he pulled up in the beat-up sedan that he'd bought off of a repair man's lot with part of his second paycheck. It didn't do much but get from Point A to Point B, but at least it did that. The only car in the driveway besides his right now is Riley's, which points to the elder Daniels' being out for the night. Friday nights are still their date nights after several decades of being together.

“Ri?” Zach closes the door to the house and looks around to see if she is downstairs.

"Down here!" The clacking of billiards balls can be heard and quiet music from the radio float up from the basement games room with the door open. "I've got cold beer!" She offers a second later, as if he needed more incentive to say hello.

“I’m gonna shower and I’ll be right down.” The grin that breaks out is purely in anticipation, he rushes towards the stairs so he can get into the bathroom to clean up. A Friday with Riley, some cold beer and billiards sounds like a perfect beginning to the weekend.

"Okay!" She calls back, not even knowing if he heard her or not. She's got the only pizza place that delivers out to the ranch on speed dial and two different six packs in the cellar refrigerator. If she had maybe known that staying home meant she'd have some time alone with Zach, she isn't trying to make it too obvious.

Being a Marine, he had showering down to less than five minutes. Throwing on some clean jeans and a t-shirt that seems to look better on him than it had on the hanger when he had picked up some new clothes. Smirking slightly as he starts down the stairs. “Need anything from up here?”

"Just some company." There's a smile in Riley's voice when she calls back to him. They've been moving towards things slowly. Small touches, lots of laughter and long talks. Star gazing in the fields, cuddling together watching movies in the living room. Holding hands like preteens. It's been sweet and innocent, and Riley is so deliriously smitten that she can't stop smiling anytime he's around.

“That I can do.” He promises, quickly bouncing down the stairs and smiling when he sees her. It’s been so fucking good. “Although I’m sore as shit.”

"Tequila's been running you pretty hard lately." She goes to the fridge to grab a beer for him and pops the cap off, dropping it into the jar nearby before handing the bottle over. "But that's good. It means he thinks you can take it."

Lifting the bottle in thanks, Zach takes a long swallow. “Yeah I can, but the man is like a machine.” He might be older than Zach, but Tequila can run circles around the former Marine when he wants to. “Said to look at fighting like a dance. Right before he kicked my ass.”

Riley snorts, starting to reset the pool table. "Bet he didn't tell you that he has awards from dance competitions, did he? He's such a fuckin' show off."

“That explains how he flipped me over and managed to not throw my ass on the ground.” Zach grumbles under his breath.

"Rodeo clown and..." This time when Riley laughs, she waggles her eyebrows. "Exotic dancer. Or so the legend says."

“I’d believe it.” He snorts and takes another sip of his beer. “He moves like he’s rolled his hips a few times.”

"Taking notice of his hips, were you?" It just makes her laugh, making even more suggestive faces at him as he pulls a pool cue off the wall.

“Best way to see how he’s going to attack.” Zach rolls his eyes at her playfully. “People who say watch the feet don’t understand you can’t faint where your core rotates.”

“See, this is why I’m not a field agent,” she laughs as she sips her own beer. “You’re talking combat and I just want to make dirty jokes.”

“Nothing wrong with a dirty joke.” The only reason he doesn’t feed into them is because he knows he will be thinking about that with Riley and she’s given zero indication she’s wanting something like that.

“I have never met a man less inclined to a dirty joke.” And it’s kind of a shame, from her point of view at least. These couple of weeks have been very sweet between them but she definitely has a raunchier sense of humor that she keeps in check around him. Originally it was just so that he wouldn’t feel like she was coming on to him constantly, but then it seemed like he just didn’t like dirty jokes at all.

Zach’s brow wings up and he pins her with a confused look. “What makes you say that?” He asks, slightly insulted by that idea. He had a twisted sense of humor, he’s just been trying to be respectful, still aware of stereotypes of people who were homeless.

"Well...I don't know..." she mumbles, suddenly feeling sheepish. "I normally have a pretty decent sense of humor but you never responded to any dirty joke in the beginning so I just stopped going for them. It seemed...less awkward? Although now it's very awkward."

“I’ve been trying not to make you—” Zach huffs at himself. “I didn’t want to push if you weren’t— if it wasn’t to that point yet.” His own tone is sheepish. “Wanted you to know I have manners and know how to treat a lady.”

The way she huffs at both of them and shakes her head, it's clear that she's trying not to laugh at the irony. They were both trying so hard not to make each other uncomfortable that it led to an awkward conversation instead. "The first night you were here," Riley leans back against the pool table and sighs in resignation. "You let me in just a little bit. To hug you? That was already the third time I wanted to kiss you."

There hasn’t been a night where he hadn’t wanted to kiss her, but he had always felt like Riley should make that move. “I wanted— I didn’t deserve to— but I wanted to kiss you too. I want to kiss you now. Hell—” he chuckles and shakes his head. “I want to do a lot more than kiss you.”

When Riley laughs this time it's almost pained, like the irony of the situation is just a knife in her side by now. "Do you know how many times I've had to stop myself from coincidentally being in the shower or changing with my door half open or any other horny bullshit on Friday nights when it's just us at home? Just to give you the opening?"

“I wouldn’t have taken it.” Zach can admit that to her, to himself. “Because I don’t want you to believe I don’t respect you. Or just want to get off.”

"What about now?" Now that he knows she wants him, surely that changes things? Or at least she desperately hopes that it does, because she's been aching to do more than hold his hand for weeks.

He sets the cue stick down and steps towards Riley, his eyes fixed on hers. “That depends on what you want.” He murmurs, edging closer again. “All depends on you.”

"Me?" The smirk growing across her face belies the way she squirms, backed up against the table as he takes a step closer and moves into her space. If he only knew how many times she had imagined this. "I respect the hell out of you." Riley swallows a laugh. "But I also want to know what you look like when you cum."

“Probably a mess.” Zach chuckles, cock twitching at the idea. “Sweaty and satisfied, nearly weak from cumming so hard.” He shrugs one shoulder. “It’s been a while since I’ve had something other than my hand.”

"You're not making it sound less appealing, ya know." If anything, he's making that weeks-old ache between her thighs even worse. Riley has seen him sweaty and disheveled from training a dozen times or more and each time has ended up with her hand between her thighs in bed that night.

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought of you while I was showering?” He confesses, reaching out and brushing his fingers over her hip before settling his hand there. Still moving slow, but his gaze is hungry, his voice lust rough.

"About half as many times as I've thought about you with my fingers buried in my pussy?" With no real reason to be subtle about it, and her pulse going about a thousand miles an hour, Riley throws caution to the wind and tangles her hand in Zach's shirt before leading him into the space between her legs. Letting him get as close as possible with clothes on but not going all the way to kissing him. Letting him decide whether or not he's ready to cross that physical barrier.

Zach lets out a cross between a groan and a growl, lunging forward and capturing her lips with his. The other hand not on her waist wraps around her back and tugs her close even as he presses her against the table behind her. For all the hundreds of daydreams she has had about this moment leading up to it, Riley can’t pick a single one of them that stands up to what actually kissing him feels like. A month of working out daily and eating right has made his entire frame broad and strong again, and he envelopes her with every inch of himself as she scrambles to wrap her arms around him in turn. There is no hesitation in the kiss, just fierce hunger, and she moans into it with a need that makes her whole body shiver.

The slide of his tongue into her mouth is natural, almost like breathing. Slowly and sensually exploring the contours of her mouth like it’s a wonder of the world. Riley was already hanging on by a bare thread before Zach deepened the kiss, now she’s one hundred percent certain that she doesn’t have a ghost of a prayer at retaining her self-control. She whimpers this time, one hand finding the curls at the base of Zach’s neck, tugging on them insistently while her other hand starts to map the contours of his waist and chest over his clothes.

He groans, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure as he knows that she feels the hardening of his cock against her stomach. There’s no way she couldn’t. The way her back has bowed slightly from being pressed up against the table means that some things are even more pronounced, and Riley tilts her hips forward to get more of that gorgeous pressure from his length against her torso. If he’s half as hard as she is wet they’ll be an even match, but she can’t resist taking another step forward. Capturing one of his hands in her own, Riley slides Zach’s fingers under the hem of the t-shirt she threw on when she got home from work. The invitation to explore is unmistakable, and she moans at how hot his skin feels against hers. It’s like being granted permission to go to heaven. Zach groans into her mouth and his hand closes around her breast, squeezing gently and massaging as he deepens the kiss even more.

Tossing off her bra with her work clothes was the best decision she ever could have made, and Riley presses into his touch as eagerly as possible. His hands are huge, calloused and clever, and his thumb is running circles around her nipple in just under two seconds which makes her gasp and break their kiss for the first time since it began.

“Baby…” Zach blushes slightly, realizing he’s used an endearment. “Can I—” he glances down at her chest and then back up to her eyes. “I want to—”

“I want you to, too. Trust me.” Untangling herself from him is only necessary for as long as it takes him to slip her shirt off, and the cold air of the cellar feels like a wake up call with how overheated she’s become in the last few minutes.

Zach kisses her lips and the starts a gradual trail down her jaw and neck. Not wanting to rush while he cups both breasts and makes his way to take one nipple in his mouth. It draws the most sinful moan from her throat, and Riley’s hands find his bulk again to keep him close as she arches her back into him. His slow and steady tendencies might drive her crazy - in more than one way - but it’s as reverent as it is needy as he closes his lips around the pebbled bud. “Fuck, baby…” her head tips back with a groan. “I knew your mouth was going to be amazing.”

His tongue flicks over the tip harshly, then more gently as the pressure of his teeth increases. He hums against her breast, aware that she is whining so beautifully that he wants to hear more.

“Shit—” Without even really being under him she’s still squirming and panting, letting him explore at his own rate and not interrupting him no matter how desperately she wants to get her hands wrapped around what she’s certain is a beautiful cock. “‘Sall yours, baby,” she promises, gulping down a ragged breath. “Every inch of me.”

He suckles, bites and soothes like he hasn’t done in a long time. Having spent hours thinking about her tits, what he would do to them, to her, if he was ever allowed to touch her. Now that he’s given permission, he wants to make her burn, crave his touch. Needing it like he had needed this place, and her.

Those first touches are intoxicating, letting Zach graze his hands, lips, and tongue across her flesh any way he wants until she’s begging him for more. “Fuck—I—please, baby,” she moans, feeling the ache in every part of her body. Her focus, though, is on getting him to move south. To the point where she’s fumbling blindly to get her own jeans off for him.

He pulls off her tit with a pop and reaches for her hands. “Baby, do you—” he doesn’t know if she wants to do this here or upstairs, but he wants her to be comfortable.

“I don’t even care,” she admits sheepishly, though this time when she leans in to kiss him it’s gentle. “I don’t care where, I just care that it’s you.”

He grins, kissing you again. “You wanna risk your daddy comin’ down here?” He asks.

“They’ll be out for hours,” Riley grins. “He took Mom for a fancy dinner and dancing.” Even thinking about it for a few seconds, her grin turns evil. “And the basement’s soundproof.”

“There’s a couch, right there.” Zach groans, grabbing her and dragging her over to the sofa so he can lay her down. The giggle that rises out of her at his enthusiasm is so light and so free it’s like air. This is all she’s wanted since the day he walked into her life and she just feels how right it is in her bones.

“Shit—” Zach hisses, squeezing his eyes shut as he rests on top of her. “I— I don’t have a fucking condom.” It’s not like there’s been a lot of opportunity for Zach to have sex in the past few years.

“I’m on the pill.” All Statesman agents - field or otherwise - have periodic physicals done so she knows she’s clean, too. “As long as you passed your physical, we’re good.”

“I passed it.” He promises, bobbling his head up and down. “Are you sure?” He asks softly, not wanting her to feel like he’s pushing for raw sex. As it is, a condom might be a good thing.

"Hey." Riley sits up, both of her hands on Zach's cheeks. "If you want to be extra safe, we can go upstairs. I have condoms in my dresser and we'll have a bed. I don't...want you to regret any of this."

Zach shakes his head. “No. I— fuck, I want to feel you.” He admits quietly. “So fucking badly.”

"Then get these things off me." That mischievous giggle returns and he slips one of his hand down to the apex of her thighs where the extra fabric grinds against her dripping slit deliciously.

Shedding clothes turns into a series of giggles and curses when a piece of clothing is being difficult. Until Zach is finally pushing his boxer briefs down and revealing his aching and nearly purple cock. "Fuuuuck." The groan that tears out of Riley's chest is deep and needy as she reaches for him, letting the fingers of one hand wrap around the base of his cock with a slight squeeze. "I knew you'd have the best dick."

He huffs in embarrassment and arousal, rocking his hips forward into her grip. “Shit.” He hisses, throbbing as a lovely little spurt of precum dribbles out and down her knuckles.

They both whine, different pitches and different levels of desperation, but when Riley leans forward to lick the precum off her fingers, she voices such obvious enjoyment that she leans forward further and flicks her tongue across the tip of his cock for more. "You even taste good," she praises, looking up at him through hooded eyes. "Next time I promise I'll suck you dry, baby. But this time I need to feel you."

“If I— if I don’t last—” Zach moans as she guides him towards her core. Nearly pulling him as she doesn’t let up on her grip but it’s probably the only thing keeping him from cumming, so he loves it. “I promise I’ll make you cum on my tongue.”

"I'm not worried." If anything, she's fairly certain that she's so worked up that she might still cum first, but Riley shakes her head and presses a kiss to Zach's lips. "This isn't going to be the only time we do this."

“It’s not.” He promises, shuffling closer and letting her slide him through her folds. “God, you’re so fucking sexy.”

"Want you so fucking badly." Never having been one to disguise her wants before, she's felt like she was going to implode for weeks. Now, as he sinks into her, Riley can't tear her eyes away. Watching inch after inch of his cock disappear into her pussy is so hypnotizing she doesn't even hear the way she keens at being filled so completely.

The tight clutch of her surrounds him, squeezing him in a way that nearly makes him breathless. “Fuuuuuuuuuck.” He manages to lean down and press his forehead to hers as he finally grinds deep and bottoms out inside Riley.

"Fu—fuuuck—you feel so incredible. Holy shit." Her legs wrap around his waist, keeping him buried inside her while they both adjust to the perfect way they fit together.

His body is primed, right on the edge of toppling over. Inhaling and exhaling slowly as he throbs inside her. Hissing when she clenches down around him and makes him rock his hips forward slightly.

"Take your time." Riley has no plans on rushing this, needing a moment of her own to adjust to the way his thickness is splitting her open. It has her chest heaving under him even as she trails kisses down the long line of his jaw and throat.

“So fucking perfect.” Zach groans. “Jesus, you feel— it’s perfect. Like coming home.”

In the last month they really have spent nearly all of their free time together, and this moment that they're in now is the place she was absolutely certain that they were going to end up. Maybe not this couch specifically but intertwined together with intimacy at the core of their connection. "You're so fucking incredible." It really is on the tip of her tongue, to say what she's been feeling for weeks, but saying it for the first time with him buried inside her would either be cheesy or seem insincere. And since she doesn't want it to be either of those thing, she pours herself into kissing him instead.

When she says it like that, Zach believes it. Wondering what things would have been like if he had known her before being discharged. With his mouth occupied, he can’t voice anything more than a groan as he slides his arms under her and burrows in closer before he starts to move.

Knowing that they’re completely alone and in the only soundproof room in the house, Riley doesn’t hold back. The moans that cross her lips are salacious and encouraging, rising up through the air to practically float around them. To make them float somehow.

Every thrust feels like he’s being ripped apart. Torn at the seams and reforged in the extreme pleasure that only she can bring. No one has ever felt so good, not even the first girl he slept with. “Fuck, I— Jesus.”

“So fucking good.” The praise seems to be on repeat for her, punctuated with curses and cries that carry his name but break halfway through as another tremor of pleasure tears through her. Other encounters might have been more carefully planned or had more of some element or other, but none has ever felt this right.

Rocking into her steadily, Zach groans his own agreement. Three little words, ridiculous and not appropriate right now, are begging to fall from his lips. Making him kiss her again to not voice them.

Riley shifts under him, angling her hips to take each thrust deeper and letting out a muffled cry when his perfect cock strikes home at her g-spot at just the right time. She’s so close that she’s shaking with it, trembling on the verge of her peak and clinging to him with every stroke.

“Shit— shit, you need to cum. I need you to cum.” He can feel his control unraveling, surprised that he’s lasted this long. Only brief changes in pace have saved him to this point.

“Just like that,” she promises him, feeling the tension coil in her spine, knowing that she’s so close to the edge that if he changes anything she’ll lose it. Four more strokes is all it takes and she’s gasping for air, moaning Zach’s name into the heavy air as she comes apart for him.

“Riley.” Zach moans, unable to do anything other than follow her over the edge, pushing deep and gasping as he cums. Spilling hot ropes of cum into her womb as he seemingly cums forever.

“Holy fuck.” Head dropping back against the cushions, Riley pants for air and giggles wildly with the giddiness of such an intense first encounter. The words dance in her head but she’s able to push them aside for now, not willing to sacrifice the chance of a repeat encounter to her hummingbird heart.

“Holy shit, I’m dead.” Zach collapses against her and pants, smiling goofily as he tries to catch his breath. “Tell me it was good.”

“Baby,” she frowns slightly at the mere idea that it wouldn’t have been mind-blowing, but her fingers card through Zach’s damp hair. “It was so good I’m tempted to try to keep you all to myself,” Riley admits, maybe a little too softly.

“You can.” Zach mumbles, unsure of what she meant by that, but he had no intention of doing something with someone else. He’s never been that type of man.

“I didn’t want to assume.” The slightly nervous look on her face dissipates and she leans up to kiss him slowly. “Maybe you had your eye on someone else, too. Or maybe you’re not a relationship guy. We’ve never…never really talked about that.”

“Not a chance.” Zach grunts, shaking his head and huffing slightly. “I don’t deserve you, no way I’m going to think that I should just fuck you.”

"I just..." she blows out a breath, finding herself gazing into his eyes with a nearly dopey expression. "I really like you. And I think we could have something special. That's...insanely sappy. But at least it's true."

“I love you.” Zach’s eyes widen, even as he blurts out the confession. Cursing himself for not keeping his mouth shut.

For a second the moment is frozen. Riley doesn't dare to breathe or speak until she sees the regret in his eyes. "Please don't take it back." Both of her hands find his face again, cupping his cheeks and smoothing the anxious creases from his features before pressing a firm, earnest kiss to his lips. "I love you, too. I just – I guess I was really off base worrying that you didn't feel the same way about me."

“You are amazing.” Zach huffs. “Fucking amazing.” Relaxing in her embrace as she admits her own feelings. “I— I was worried that I would come on too strong, or someone thinking I’m trying to get in good with your family.”

“You might get a good questioning from my daddy now that we’re together, but that’s about it.” She actually laughs at the idea of it, already having seen firsthand the way her father doted on the trainee agent under his roof. He had taken a personal interest in Zach’s training as well, giving him a few tips in the way of lasso and whip technique. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m an all or nothing kind of girl and I swear I’m all in.”

“Your dad has already spoken to me.” Zach admits, shaking his head and grinning at her shocked expression. “Wanted to know if you wanted more than friendship, what would I do.”

Riley laughs when she finally shakes her head, shaking with it and grinning at him. "Was the answer fuck me into the basement sofa? Because that's a pretty fucking excellent answer."

He snorts and shakes his head. “Hell no.” He moans. “Do you think I wanted to die? He had the electric whip in his hands.”

"I appreciate a man with instincts for self-preservation." She's still grinning when she nudges her nose against his. Still lying wrapped up in him on the sofa is an amazing place to be, but her stomach rumbling gives her away. "I was waiting for you to come home so we could have dinner together," she admits with a slightly guilty expression. "Maybe we can clean up and order a pizza? I kinda want to just snuggle up and relax with you."

“That sounds good, but I’m paying.” The Daniels have been more than generous, letting him stay for free, feeding him, helping him more than he could ever repay. Buying the woman he loves a pizza seems small, but a month ago, he couldn’t do that.

"If you insist." It isn't something she would ever expect from him, knowing how he saves and cherishes every penny in every paycheck, but she also won't push back against his pride. Instead, she just kisses him again, enjoying the lingering moment of affection, and looks back out over the room as they stretch and stand up again. There are truly clothes everywhere and every single cushion on that couch is in disarray.

“It’s a good damn thing your daddy told me that he had disabled the camera system in the basement.” Zach groans as he pulls back with a grin. “Don’t want him to see this.”

"I would not be the first one of his children that he walked in on." Riley snickers, tracking down her panties about four feet away where they landing when Zach threw them. "Jay has that distinction. And Janey was mortified."

“I’m sure it’s a lot different than walking in on your baby girl.” He had heard the nickname one night when Riley and Jack had been talking in his home office and the older man had hugged her and told her how proud of her he was. It was a moment that made Zach ache for a family like she had.

"Younger by a whole two minutes and forever the baby because of it." There's nothing wrong with that, but Riley just shrugs as they get dressed. Once things are back in place, she slips her hand into Zach's and squeezes. "We should just be up front with them. There's no keeping secrets in this family, for better or worse."

“Hopefully they don’t hate the idea too badly.” There’s still the issues with socialization, feeling inferior. He had been working on it, but there was nothing but time that would help that.

"Are you kidding?" They head upstairs together hand in hand. "Mom figured out which coffee mug you like best and won't let anyone else use it now. That's family shit. You're fine, babe. I promise."

“Is that why she’s always got it set out no matter how early I try to get up to make coffee?” He asks with a laugh, overjoyed by the thought and it makes him grin.

"Oh yeah. That's Zach's mug. It gets set out on the counter every night before she goes to bed along with everybody else's." When the house was busy and bustling and full to the gills, it helped to have specific things like dishes associated with each member of the family. It persisted after the house was just down to the three of you and now that there are four again it seemed like a nice thing to also give Zach that little bit of familial normality.

“I like that.” He admits, blushing slightly. “That makes me feel like I’m one of you. Like I belong here.”

"You do, honey." It might be a little rude to surprise the kids by just sitting at the kitchen table like you are, but you didn't plan on it. Date night got cut short by the place you normally go dancing being closed for a private event, so you and Jack had stopped for a pint of ice cream to share and planned on playing a board game. From both of the kids' disheveled appearance, it would seem you weren't the only one having a date night.

"Fucking shit, Mom!" Riley jumps three feet in the air, clutching Zach's hand in surprise and all but clutching her chest with her free hand when she whirls around to find you and her father sitting at the table. "Shi—I—sorry. Just...what the hell are you doing home?"

Jack chuckles, trying not to scowl at the very obvious evidence of what his baby girl and Zach had been up to down in his basement. He had been correct in turning off the damn cameras. “Nowhere to dance in this town tonight.” Jack grunts. “Least not to music I can handle.”

“We were going to order pizza.” Riley blurts out, suddenly nervous at nearly being caught, but she doesn’t let go of Zach’s hand. “Did you—uh…did you eat yet?”

“Not yet.” Jack hums, pulling out his phone so he can pull up the website for the only pizza place that delivers to the ranch. “What’s everyone want?”

“Pepperoni.” Riley answers immediately before looking back at Zach. “And banana peppers. Thanks, Dad.”

“Come and sit.” Honestly, you just want to bundle them up in a tight hug and tell them how glad you are that they stopped tiptoeing around each other, but you don’t know how Zach will react to that very maternal response. “How was everyone’s day at work?”

“I’d like your permission to date your daughter.” Zach blurts out, flushing again at how his mouth runs off without his brain around. Riley. “I mean— I understand that I am a man you haven’t known for long, but I will do whatever it takes to make sure your daughter is loved and respected.” He rallies and looks between you and Jack. He knows that he doesn’t need to ask you anything, but he wants to. He respects you both.

The mutual smile that breaks out across yours and Jack’s face is partially quiet amusement and partially the fact that you’re touched he would even approach it in such an old-fashioned way. “Come on and sit down, kids,” you insist, patting the tabletop even as you get up to fetch a pitcher of sweet tea and four glasses. Serious discussions usually go easier if you have something in your hands to fidget with.

Zach throws Riley a look and dutifully sits down. Wondering if he had misstepped. He had thought the parents of the woman he loves wound want him to be serious.

“First off,” Jack sits up straight in his chair after hanging up the phone and gives you a nod of thanks for putting a drink in front of him. “Ri usually lives by the motto that it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission, so I appreciate you being straight forward.” He shakes his head in his baby girl’s direction, but this is really for the young man directly in front of him.

“I’ve figured that out.” Zach chuckles, looking over at Riley with nothing short of adoration in his gaze. “But I am a guest in your house, and feel like you’ve taken me into your family. I don’t want to insult your sense of propriety after you have been so wonderful.” It’s about respect for him. He’s had the last three years of being looked down on, taken for the worst and not once has this family done this to him. Not even when the chip on his shoulder got in the way.

"And I appreciate that." He won't pretend otherwise. Good manners matter to Jack when it comes to his family and they always have. These are the most important people on the planet to him. "Which brings me to my second point," he looks between the two of them - young adults even older than you and he were the first time you got married. "Y'all be respectful of each other and the shared parts of this house."

Riley tips her head, brow furrowing with interest at her father. "That's it? Just 'be good and don't have sex in the kitchen'?"

Jack closes his eyes briefly, ignoring the way you stifle an amused snort. “Do you want me to pull the ‘not under my roof’ bullshit you would just ignore anyway?” He asks, wondering why, of all his children, his youngest was most like him. Jack Jr. might look like his younger copy, and Sam might have his tenacity, but Riley had always had his fighting spirit, his need to buck the system. It had caused some headaches through her teenage years, but he’s trying to respect the fact that they are grown.

"Hell no," Riley shakes her head, reaching for Zach's hand under the table and lacing their fingers together. "I guess I expected the same 'what are your intentions' speech you gave Vanessa, though." Of course - Zach had said that he and her father had already spoken about her a little. That might be the reason for no speech. But that didn't stop her from being surprised.

“I already know the boy is in love with you.” Jack snorts, rolling his eyes. “He’s the type to want to marry you and have babies.” He shoots a very red-faced Zach a grin. “Am I wrong?”

Trying to save him the embarrassment, Riley puts up her other hand in defeat. "Okay, so no intentions speech. And I'm not upset about that fact, for the record. Just surprised."

"We told your brother and your sister the same thing," you remind her, sitting back in your seat with both hands around your cold glass of tea. "As long as you're happy, we're happy."

“I think your dad understood I have good intentions.” That vote of confidence has Zach straightening up in his chair. Feeling a burst of pride through the embarrassment.

"One of us should," Riley jokes, knowing full well that she is viewed as the most mischievous Daniels child.

Snorting, Zach looks to her father, expecting Jack to say something. The older man just shrugs. “That’s your problem now, son.” He jokes with a chuckle. “That’s alllllll you. Your second chance is here. Grab on and hope to hell like you don’t fall off.”

Zach grins at the advice and nods. “I won’t sir. I’m on this ride for the long haul.”

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