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islayhawkin · 3 months

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Compliment

Jack dawkins x f!reader

1,3k words

Summery: you wake up together and spend time as he escortes you to a social gathering

Request: HIII!! I really liked your posts and if you are okay with writing how jack dawkins spends his day of with the reader I would really be happy!🫶🏻💗

A/N: thank you! This makes me so happy if I get feedback and request. I hope you like this bit of fluff with jack. I wanted to highlight his cocky personality a bit.

Fluff

It was a lazy morning for you both. It was one of the rare days that both you and jack had taken a day off.

You lay tangled together on jack's small bed. Your arm draped over his belly, your head snuggled up against his arm. He was the first awake so he gladly took the chance to observe you.

It was a weird feeling for him to see you lay snuggled up in his arms. Your warmth against his side. Of course he had been physically close with a lot of women. But he never felt someone he loved snuggle up to him in their sleep. In fact had he never really felt love. The only one he always had was fagin. And he wasn't excactly the most warm and loving person.

You introduced him to love so to say. And he was just beginning to learn what it meant. It is a unsetteling feeling to suddenly not only care about his own wellbeing but yours too. When not even more.

It made him want to pull you closer to him to protect you at all times. Wether it was because he grew up constantly living agitated in fear or every men felt this way, he didn't know.

Usually jack was a confident, if not cocky man but this feeling made him crave your care. He'd never admit this but he wanted you to fuss over him. He felt like a child in these moments and he thought himself pathetic for it. Still he loved it when you made him something to eat, pulled his clothes straight, cleaned dirt of his face, went through his hair or even helped him bathe.

He smiled at you softly. You looked adorable to him. Your mouth slightly opened, your breaths tickled his arm slightly. With every breath he took your arm moved up and down with his belly.

Jack waited in this position until you fluttered your eyelids open and groggily took in the place you were at.

"Mornin', love" he grinned at the sleepy look on your face.

"Morning" you smiled and buried your head into his chest. You sighed contently. Hugging his arm to your chest. "How long have you been staring at me for?" You giggle as you breathed in the scent of him.

"Mhm a while." He grinned.

"Creep." You giggled.

"You know you love it."

He pulled his arms around you to pull you on top of him. You laughed as you struggled to get out of his grip. But he held you thight. "You're not getting away from me." He grinned.

You huffed in defeat and let yourself slump on top of him. He let out a small 'oof' at your sudden weight resting on him but he still held his arms thighly around you. "I win?" He teased.

You pouted. "You're awfully strong for a lanky man."

"I was a soldier and a sailor darlin' " he smirked and gave you a wink. You snorted but there was a loving smile on your lips.

He rolled you both around to position himself above you before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours softly. You hummed contently as you kissed him back. Your hand pulling up to his hair.

He pecked your lips one last time before removing himself from you and standing up from the bed. He searched his room for his clothes and started to get dressed while you watched. He looked around for his waistcoat and you spotted it on the backrest of the bed, pulled it off and brought it over to him.

You held it up for him to slip in and he obliged happily. Your hand rested on his waist when you turned him around to face you. You buttoned up the waistcoat and pulled it straight, your eyes switching up to his eyes again. "This blue suits you."

His whole face lights up. "Thank you. You think it looks good?"

You absenently straighten the fabric of his trousers. "You look very handsome."

Jack grins. "Thank you love." He kisses your cheek.

You pull your clothing for the day on too and ask for his help in binding your corset.

With skilled fingers he pulled it close and made a ribbon at the end. "Does it fit well?"

"Yes. Thank you."

All set jack opened the door and held his arm out to you.

"May I escort you my lady?" You curtsied and took his arm. "Gladly mister."

He escorted you outside of the hospital while putting his hat on. The sun was shining brightly again which almost made it too warm in all the layers of clothing. Jack did have a free day but he was expected to attend a social gathering from the governor. So you were on your way to this social gathering you knew very little about, jack after asking him, knew not much more himself.

It was held in a hall as you arrived and jack greeted a lot of people politely. You curtsied and held your hand out a lot of times as you were expected as jacks companion.

"Dr Dawkins." A relatively tall man with sideburns and a mustache greeted him with obvious distaste as he shook jack's hand.

"Dr Sneed." jack gave him a nod with furrowed brows.

The eyes of sneed wander to your figure. "You must be miss Y/L/N." He took your hand and gave it a kiss.

You smiled politely. "Yes. It is a honor to meet you dr sneed."

"The honor is all mine." Sneed smiled sickeningly flirtatious.

Jack pulled you closer against him while he shot daggers at sneed with his eyes. Sneed seemed to share the same feelings as his eyes glared coldly at jack.

Jack escorted you further down the gathering to get away from sneed. "I hate him. Have you seen the way he looked at you?" He whispered furiously.

You layed a hand on his chest. "I know. Relax. You don't want to get in trouble again." You whispered while a polite expression was plastered on your face.

"Easy to say. I wanna punsh him just for that look-"

"Dr dawkins!" Another voice greeted him from behind us and we turned quickly around.

Jack cleared his throat. "Governor. What a honor to be invited. It seems lovely." He smiled.

You could clearly see that this wasn't what jack was good at. He was good at snarky comments. Always saying his opinion. At surviving on the streets or on a ship. He was good at dirty jobs.He wasn't made for fancy gatherings, clean clothes and pearls and polite small talk.

You made a small curty again greeted the governor with equal politeness. After the greetings were done, music started to play and drinks were served, you stood in a rather quiet corner together with a, guess what, fancy drink in hand.

You observed the people around you and your eyes fell on the dance floor in the middle of the room. Mostly courting pairs dancing formally together. Jack seemed to have noticed your interest and stood before you, one hand outstretched to you.

"Will you honor me with your hand for a dance?" You giggled and happily took his hand. He led you to the middle of the room and took a dancing position in. You started to carry out the dance moves with him. Almost moving as one.

"Where did you learn to dance?" You asked surprised as he pulled you closer to him for this move again.

"You didn't trust me to do that?" He teased.

"Actually no."

"I'm hurt. As a sailor. There was a lot of dancing. Though we lacked the women."

You smiled at the thought. "You know you're a real gentleman if you want to." His eyebrows raised with a grin.

"Is that a compliment?"

"I compliment you all the time. Your ego is way too big already."

He cocked his head to the side. "Aww come on. I never get enough of your compliments. Or your touch. Or your care. Or you for that matter."

"You know how to get a girl don't you?" You sighed.

"I assure you." He told you slightly more serious.

"I love you too jack." You whispered as you two swayed to the music.

#jack dawkins x reader #jack dawkins #the artful dodger #fluff #victorian era #dr jack dawkins #the artful dodger fic

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 months

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Private Practicing

Fandom: The Artful Dodger Pairing: Jack/Belle Rating: E Word Count: 2566

Summary: Belle's waiting until she's married to do all the things she seems to want when she kisses him. Jack's waiting for her to admit she's not that patient.

“I also find you very prim,” Jack adds, after Belle’s climbed the stairs to the landing.

She turns abruptly and her skirt wheels ’round. Her hands are clutched together at her waist.

“Prim?” she echoes tightly. She notices her hands and drops them to her sides. Still, her neck looks rigid when she cocks her head to ask, “Why would you say that?”

“I’m telling you how I feel about you.” Leaning against the hospital’s stone wall, Jack shrugs. He’s hiding his smile like he swiped it.

“Not why now,” Belle corrects him sharply. “Why at all? Why would you call me that? I am not prim.”

“No, you’re not, not normally. It seems to be a development of the last five minutes or so.”

He squints at her, up on that landing. He doesn’t possess any of the right words to tell her how pretty she looks in blue, how the wide afternoon sky is a paltry wash above them when he has her in front of him. He’d tell her she looks like a sapphire and Belle would get the wrong idea—that he can only weigh her up against precious materials because that’s what he values most. It’s just that he doesn’t have the language to say looking at her stops the clock that ticks inside him. Her hand reaches in and stills the urgency in his chest, calms the boy who ran the streets of East London and the youth who sailed every which way on Her Majesty’s fleet. The faster this moves—cordial professionalism in the ward, frenzied kisses in the storeroom—the slower that does. And when she’s in blue, he’ll tease her to keep her longer.

“Be direct, Jack,” Belle demands, descending one step and crossing her arms.

Jack swivels and grips the railing, eyeing her shrewdly.

“You can’t tell me you want to have sex with me and then stipulate that it could only be after marriage.”

“Yes, I can.”

“No, you can’t. And let me finish.”

“No.” They glare at each other. “Fine,” Belle concedes, rolling her eyes.

“I would understand that position,” Jack explains calmly. “I would respect it.”

“Clearly not!” she bursts out.

“Just shut it for a moment, milady.”

He advances up the stairs, stopping just below where she stands, and, miraculously, she is quiet. They’re eye to eye. Hand on the railing, he leans in.

“You kiss me,” Jack says, not loud, gaze holding hers, “and I know what you want. And, by the way, a multitude of ways to give it to you.” Belle’s cheeks change colour; he might like her even better in pink than he does in blue. “I’m not confused as to why you would deny me. I want to know why you’re denying yourself.”

Belle’s mouth opens to no effect. Then, she tries again.

“I see through your argument.” She isn’t looking at him. “You can’t fool me pretending to be some selfless, sexless—”

“Sorry,” he cuts in, “at what point did I pretend to be sexless? Remind me, Belle.”

“I’m allowed to want you,” she snaps, eyes locking with his.

Jack squeezes the railing.

“Yes, and you can show me as much when you drag me away to parts of the hospital I’ll never be able to enter again without thinking of you! You prove it when you kiss me and I can feel in the pulse at your throat and a thousand other ways that you don’t want to stop! What if marriage, really, is the fantasy you hold in your head, but congress with-with you,” he stammers, watching Belle’s dark, round eyes, “is the fantasy you just thrust into mine?”

“You’ve thought about it before.” The softest accusation. “With me.”

His heart is bounding. He shuts his eyes, trapping himself inside with the organ Belle winds to her will.

“But I didn’t know you had until you said it,” he whispers. “Now, I have to wonder what you think. Is it only when you’re near me? Is it when we’re apart, at night, thoughts you have in bed?” Jack opens his eyes. Belle’s flush has deepened. “Do the thoughts help you sleep or stop you? Do they make it a strain to keep yourself reclined when what you want to do is go to me?”

“The latter,” she confesses. “How intuitive you are.”

Jack shifts on the step and shakes his head.

“I am, but I only guessed I was describing you. I knew I was describing myself.”

Belle’s face is just before him, her gaze moving across his features—mainly from his eyes to his lips. He can see that her breathing is heavy. He remembers what that felt like under his hands, his chest at her back, instructing her to match his every drawn breath.

“The thing is,” he says glibly, “I don’t believe your devotion to a virginal life before marriage is very strong.”

“How dare you.” It’s closer to sigh than speech.

“If you’ve thought of me like I’ve thought of you”—and he’s hardening just to say it—“then you had better come to terms with the inevitability of congress, because one of these times you’re going to say go where you used to say stop and what anybody may or may not suspect will seem far less urgent than finding out how I’ll feel inside you.”

She stares at him.

“Do you disagree?” he asks because he has no idea what else to say.

“No.” Belle tilts her head so their lips almost brush. “But call it ‘sex,’ Jack.” She smirks. “‘Congress’ makes you sound slightly prim.”

—

Jack is at one end of the ward, examining the healing stumps of an apprentice carpenter’s fingers, while Belle presses the back of her hand to a fevered forehead at the other. He glances at her often. He could cross to her. He could bring the patient she’s tending a glass of water. Yes. Yes, he’ll do that.

He arrives at the end of the bed just after Hetty does. She gives him a strange look and passes the glass she’s carrying to Belle, who takes it and turns away quickly, offering her arm as the woman in bed sits up enough to drink.

“Ah,” says Jack, sweeping his gaze from Belle to Hetty, whose expression communicates both a knowing judgement and a complete lack of surprise. She takes the surplus glass out of his hand and faces him squarely, waiting for him to leave.

Just as Jack is twisting away, Belle pipes up, “A pillow!”

Jack and Hetty look at her.

“This patient needs another pillow,” Belle goes on. “I should get one. From the storeroom.”

She bustles around the edge of the bed, passing between Hetty and Jack, eyes firm and meaningful on Jack’s.

Jack slides his gaze cautiously to Hetty’s face as Belle’s brisk steps retreat.

“I should go too,” he says. “In case she needs help… carrying it.”

“Carrying the pillow,” Hetty confirms flatly, giving him a look.

He pats her on the arm.

“You have everything in order here.”

“I’m surprised you noticed.”

“What?” Jack blurts. He was watching Belle disappear through the door.

“I apologize, Doctor,” Hetty says sarcastically. “Don’t let me distract you from administering lifesaving care, one pillow at a time.”

He hesitates over how to respond to that, but he doesn’t have to; Hetty shoos him towards the door.

“I’ll have you fired.” An entirely empty threat.

“Try,” Hetty counters. “No one here listens to you.”

Which is almost but not absolutely true: Belle seemed quite open to his perspective when they spoke outside. With how they left it—with how they’ve stolen glances at each other since—Jack believes his trainee surgeon wants to do more than talk and choose a pillow in the storeroom. Which is why he hurries.

—

He’d accuse her of yanking him through the storeroom door, but she’d probably find some way of arguing the point, and that would require talking. How dull. Far less desirable than kissing, immediately and frenziedly. Pure luck that Jack finds the edge of the door with his palm and shoves it closed. They execute an ungainly scramble down the stairs and he crowds Belle up against the shelves of supplies for the second time today.

“You aren’t worried?” he checks, against the advice of the internal angel whispering, Let her make her own choices, and the devil who says, You’ll get further with her if you don’t interrupt.

Belle kisses him again before replying, “About what?”

Yes, Jack, about what? he thinks, sidetracked by her lips, dark pink from the pressure and pull of his.

“Your reputation,” Jack recalls, but his hands are on her waist. “My… history.” But he’s already bowing towards her mouth.

“Amazingly, no.”

As they kiss, her fingers hook into the scarf wound around his collar and he makes a giddy noise into her mouth as he realizes she’s not holding it, not tugging it, she’s undoing it.

“Belle,” he pants. “Belle. We’re in a cupboard.”

“Despite what your numerous encounters may make you believe of your irresistibility, I actually hadn’t lost awareness of my surroundings, thank you.”

She still sounds a little put out about his sexual past, which makes this situation very confusing. Especially since she also sounds short of breath, and she’s, well, undressing him.

“Standing up isn’t really… Are you sure? For the first time you do this—”

Belle jerks her head back into a stack of pillows and stares at him.

“We are not about to have sex. Did you think we were?”

“Obviously not,” Jack says reflexively. “I’m not an idiot.”

“I… I just…” Belle fingers his loosened scarf and he drops his chin to watch her hand. “I thought I might learn a little more before I absolutely decided to wait until after I’m married.”

“That sounds”—Jack clears his throat—“very sensible.”

“In a way,” she swallows, not meeting his eye, playing with the scarf, “it’s not unlike our work in the surgery. I need a place to practice. The learning must be hands-on, and I just don’t have the equipment.”

Now Jack leans back.

“That’s a bit clinical.”

“We are in a hospital.” Kinder, she adds, “I ask with no benefit to myself… except the satisfaction of knowing at least one of the thoughts that will rob you of sleep.”

They exchange sly smiles.

“I’ll trust in your quick learning,” Jack says with a subtle nod. Gently, he wraps his hand around the back of hers, ending her fiddling with his scarf.

“And I in your…” Belle swallows as he guides their hands down his front, over the vest lapels that lay and fold like the demure hands on the laps of the women Belle isn’t. “…quick fingers.”

He stops them at the hem of his vest, searches her eyes. But Belle stretches her fingers and—in the supreme quiet of the storeroom, surrounded by lumpy pillows, the one thing the hospital still seems to have in abundance—he hears the soft scratch of her fingernails against the wool waistband of his trousers. Jack loosens his grip and can’t be sure which of them guides the other to the fastening, which of them surges toward the other for a kiss as their hands brush wool, linen, skin. He kisses Belle first as a shield for any embarrassment she may be feeling, as a stopgap for himself in case she hates this and him and the idea of this with him, married (because it was nice to even be considered, a sticky-fingered sawbones and the governor’s daughter). Then he feels her tongue in his mouth, her warm touch on his warmer shaft. Jack’s wrist flexes as he moves their hands as one hand. To the base, to the head, a catch in his throat when her fingers slip through wetness and lubricate him while she murmurs, her lips a knife’s-edge from his, “Like this?”

He would take back full control if she’d left any for him, but it’s flipping away from him like a tossed coin, and he’s pliant when she presses her other hand to his chest, nudges him around to lean against the shelves himself. His hand is still down his pants, with hers, and their fingers running between each other’s as they work feels more shockingly intimate than bending her over the operating table possibly could (he’d be a fool to ever decline the opportunity to test that comparison). With the sensation of the bones in Belle’s hand shifting under his palm, Jack’s drunk on her competency.

Jack cups the back of Belle’s neck, the poke of her nose beneath his jaw as she kisses his throat. Their stroking hands stutter, but he doesn’t mind, because his scarf hangs untied and Belle licks the skin exposed by his slack collar.

“At all what you thought?” he manages, panted.

“Harder,” she says, adjusting her hold. “Hotter.” Her exhale curls inside his collar and makes him shudder.

“Your hands are so much softer than mine.”

As if this is not a simple compliment but a hint to draw attention to the uneven rhythm below, Belle rubs him in earnest. Jack grunts in pleasure, head flicking back into the pillows. He could tell her to be less vigorous; she essentially asked for instruction. Only, why shouldn’t he enjoy this testament to the fact that she’s never put her hands on anyone else like this? He wouldn’t care if she had, but she hasn’t, and now, improbably, it’s him. He caresses her hand as it moves. Though he can’t be any stiffer than he was a moment ago, he’d swear the blood is pumping with vital fervour to the place their hands grasp. It’s like Belle’s cut him open and thrust a hand in amongst his organs, fixing what instruments can’t—hands, wrists, sleeves painted the colour he is on the inside.

“And will you think about this?” he huffs, unstitching her concentration with light fingers that trail through the wisps of hair framing her face, those freed by her labour in the ward.

“In bed, when I’m asleep?” Her smile is knowing.

“When you can’t sleep,” Jack amends.

He’s teaching her now, and she’s letting him, her fingers wrapping his length the way he wants, a tightening and loosening of her grip the way he wants, his hand compelling her willing one. He’s so close and she’s so close to him, though he can feel the distant stricture of the rules that say, you must not, and the more present stricture of the undisturbed layers of Belle’s skirt that say, you could, but it would not be convenient. But Jack’s been taking things all his life, and her touch (her trust) in the storeroom, weakly concealed by a single door and an impressively poor excuse? He’ll certainly take this.

“Yes,” she says, kiss sliding off his mouth when he gasps because he did have some control after all and he’s losing it, forcing her to jerk him faster. She presses her forehead to his shoulder. His fingers are desperate in the back of her hair. “Yes, though I shouldn’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“Because, knowing that I’d want to go to you, you might come to my bedroom instead. And you know the way in.”

Jack grins as his eyes clamp shut. There’s only feeling, only Belle.

#my writing #The Artful Dodger #The Artful Dodger spoilers #TAD s1e7 #Dr. Jack Dawkins #Lady Belle Fox #Jack x Belle #The Artful Dodger fic #dodgerfox #dodgerfox fic

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bobsfic · 3 months

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Summary: A missing moment between episodes 7 and 8.

Word Count: 2,862

------

Her eyes meet his, shiny with tears, bottom lip trembling as she lets out a shaky breath, like she’s relieved that her secret has been set free. And she’s the strongest person he knows, will stand up for what she believes is right, has told him off in all manner of ways, and she isn't afraid to get her hands dirty. But this—this isn’t something that she can fight or scheme or talk her way out of.

He doesn’t ever recall being so overcome with emotions before, unable to stop tears from blurring his vision. And then she says words that he knows he can’t ever erase. Words that he’ll hear in the depths of his worst nightmares, the memory of her small hands on his cheeks, her tears dripping onto his fingers, a whooshing in his ears.

“I’m dying, aren’t I?”

Read more on ao3!

#my writing #my fic #dodgerfox #dodgerfox fic #the artful dodger #the artful dodger fic #jack x belle #belle x jack #jack dawkins #belle fox #artful dodger #dodgerfox fanfic #the artful dodger fanfic

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ice23hot · 4 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Artful Dodger (TV 2023) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jack "Artful Dodger" Dawkins/Belle Fox Characters: Norbert Fagin, Jack "Artful Dodger" Dawkins, Belle Fox Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Slight AU where Jack doesn't get arrested after surgery, Pregnancy, Marriage Summary:

Belle wore his ring, she had his name, and her heartbeat was sure and strong. Two months ago, she made an offhand remark about their baby. Jack choked on his pudding. Belle laughed and told him to cancel any Christmas plans he might have had, as they were going to be rather preoccupied come the new year.

(In which Jack feels guilty.)

#the artful dodger #the artful dodger fic #dodgerfox #ao3 #ice23hot

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eveningechoes · 3 months

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hc that when jack is somehow sprung from prison and finally gets to be with belle he’ll always keep her pulse in his hands at night. fingers on her wrist or neck. hand on her chest. even just feeling her breath on his skin or the rise and fall of her body as she breathes is an anchor that she’s still there. she’s breathing and she’s with him, fully.

#the artful dodger #jack dawkins #belle fox #jack x belle #dodgerfox #the fact im contemplating writing a fic for the first time in years bc of them and the pulse point……..#she’s cooking!!!#i may have an idea central to this very thought #i may have already taken a few notes #idk mayhaps

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muchcelebrated · 1 month

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I just know if Belle ever joined in on a heist Jack would be equal parts worried and attracted.

#dodgerfox #the artful dodger #the artful dodger disney plus #the artful dodger hulu #artful dodger #my post #hc #fic

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itsajollyjester · 26 days

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Which one of you put that Artful Dodger gifset on my dash WHICH ONE

I stayed up until 2 AM binging it (and another 2 hours drawing)

#Also I didn't know how little I knew Oliver Twist #I didn't realize until the literal Oliver Twist showed up and said “I want some more” that it was a weird sequel #and from me briefly spark noting Jack #This is a WILD fan fic #the artful dodger #jack x belle #belle x jack #jack dawkins #belle fox #artful dodger #the artful dodger fanart #digital art #clip studio paint #fanart #digital artist #jolly art

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reviewdiaries · 1 month

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Knives, and other forms of courtship

Jack buys Belle some new knives for surgery. It's not romantic, it's practical, no matter what Fagin says. The kissing when he gives them to her, that might be romantic though...

Rating: Mature Word count: 2,548 Ship: Jack/Belle

You can read the fic on AO3 here!

#the artful dodger #jack x belle #jack dawkins #belle fox #dodgerfox #my fic #my writing #fan fic

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hgracieeees · 3 months

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There's a ship sailing into Port Victory. For a man who lived many years at sea, Jack Dawkins has never dreaded the coming of a ship so much, for this ship brings his wife with it. gif by @loisfreakinglane

this work is currently in early planning stages, chapter 1 expected in the first week of feb, 2024. written as a continuation from the end of season 1 of the artful dodger. title from 'bird on a wire' by sarah blasko (plays at the end of S1E1).

PREMISE: jack dawkins is a free man. with no evidence of his crimes since the mysterious death of captain gaines, and the position of head surgeon a shoe-in since his miraculous resurrection of the governor's daughter, he should have little more to want in life. but jack is not free to have the one thing he does want - lady belle fox. under the guise of kindliness for his new head surgeon, and surely under the heavy influence of his wife, the governor reveals that some old family friends in london have a favour to ask - their young daughter is coming to port victory in search of a husband. the governor, ever one to help those who help him (or rather, save his daughter's life), supplies jack as the ideal groom. how can jack and belle maintain a relationship that is not only secret from her parents, but also from his wife, and how can they ever have a future while he is legally bound to another? luckily for them, there may be more to martha young than meets the eye...

#the artful dodger #dodgerfox #dodgerfox fanfic #lady belle fox #jack dawkins #fanfiction #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #dodgerfox fic #jack x belle #belle x jack #jack and belle #lady belle #belle and jack #belle fox #i'm just throwing hashtags at the wall and hoping someone sees this

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malewifedaemon · 4 months

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I finally wrote my first DodgerFox fanfic!

Post-canon events, Jack gets out of the prison and his story with Belle is definitely not over yet. What happens next?

A part is inspired by @ladybelledawkins post

#the artful dodger disney plus #the artful dodger hulu #artful dodger #the artful dodger #jack dawkins #jack x belle #jack dawkins x belle fox #lady belle fox #lady belle #belle fox #dodgerfox #dodgerfox fic #dodgerfox fanfic #jack x belle fic #jack x belle fanfic

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mybrainisalibrary · 3 months

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Fagin to Jack, the moment he arrives in the colony:

#I'm rewatching #I don't have the time or energy for a fic rn but I can offer memes #the artful dodger

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 months

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Long Leaving

Fandom: The Artful Dodger Pairing: Lady Belle Fox/Dr. Jack Dawkins Rating: M Word Count: 1618

Summary: For Belle, studying the human body usually comes before intoxication, so this is new.

Once, Belle and Fanny hosted a tea party for their porcelain dolls. It was hardly Belle’s idea, but a necessary concession after her game of diagnosing those same dolls with dreadful diseases was not a success.

“Oh dear,” Belle trilled. “I fear Miss Abigail is afflicted with cirrhosis of the liver.”

“She is not,” Fanny protested, her skirts rustling against the carpet as she scooted closer in a protective fashion, frantically petting the patient’s chestnut hair.

“She is too. I don’t at all like her colour.”

Fanny’s chin wobbled.

“It’s called ‘jaundice,’” Belle offered helpfully, prepared to magnanimously distribute her medical knowledge. “J-A-U—”

It was then that Fanny released an ungodly wail and attempted to stumble to her feet, doubtlessly bound for their mother. Belle grabbed at her, shushed her, and made her negotiation: she would engage in Fanny’s preferred game of tea party for a full twenty minutes.

“Twenty-five,” Fanny sniffled wetly.

Belle rolled her eyes but patted her sister’s shoulder, surrendering. Fanny recovered rapidly, dropping happily to the floor so that her dress puffed like a round loaf of bread and gathering the dolls Belle had placed in quarantine (cholera) back into the center of their play space.

Belle hesitated.

Fanny usually went to Mother to request the tea, which would be delivered by a maid once cool. If Belle went to her for the favour of tea-party libations, she would raise Mother’s suspicions in an instant, never mind that she did not have the patience to wait for the tea to cool. They could make-believe the tea, but goodness, Belle needed some measure of realism. She pinched her chin in thought, then brightened.

“Just a moment,” she told her sister, striding from the room. She had spotted a bottle containing a liquid of strikingly tea-like hue only yesterday evening sitting atop Father’s desk.

And that was how, sipping from doll-sized China cups painted with pale violets, Belle got herself and her five-year-old sister tumble-down drunk on cognac.

This, now, exceeds that, then.

Lightheaded, overwarm, and unbalanced, Belle may be seriously intoxicated. Which is silly, she thinks, hand slipping between Jack’s vest and his shirt, so silly, when she had no more than a swallow from his tankard. The rest comes from the taste of his tongue. She steps on his boot trying to get her foot back into her slipper without severing the kiss and he huffs a laugh across her lips.

“How did you get here?” he inquires, sweeping loose curls behind her ear.

“Carriage,” Belle exhales, and grips Jack’s chin, tilting it to bring his mouth back to hers.

He lets her kiss him, clearly amused, but when her fingers part the front of his shirt and stroke a sliver of his chest, he drags her nearer by her cloak and clutches at her waist.

“You’re not wearing a—” he mumbles against her lips.

“Corset,” she finishes. “No.”

And it isn’t the first time, because there was the time in her father’s office—Jack eating soup, Belle at the bookcase—and of course, the time he examined her in her bedroom, cold stethoscope trailing under her camisole. But he wasn’t touching her like this then. He hasn’t touched her like this ever, like he needs her, like there are things that he wants to take for his own and not all of them are ruby necklaces.

She can feel the heat of his hand through her shift, feel it twitch higher. She can feel the stiffness in his trousers and see his throat bob when she adds in explanation, “I came straight here from my bedroom.” Her eyes dart between his.

“And it’s probably best,” Jack says slowly, angling her away, “that we get you back there.”

His nod is loose and heavy and she wants to shake his head from side to side instead. But she has him pressed against a wall on a street corner peered into by warm-lighted tavern windows, and Jack is drunk, and Belle is dressed for bed.

“That we get me back there so…?” she tries.

“So you can sleep.”

“Sleep.”

“Sleep,” he confirms.

Belle steps back, sliding her hands down his forearms.

“The only problem is,” she says, “I don’t have a carriage now.”

“Ah. Well… we’ll walk?” Jack glances down at her feet before raising skeptical eyes to hers. She lifts her chin defensively.

“I’m perfectly capable.”

“Good,” he says, pushing off from the wall and reaching for her shoulder as he staggers, “because you might have to keep me on my feet as well. Let’s go.”

Jack raises the hood on her cloak before they depart, looking awkward as he reasons that she won’t want to be seen with him, more awkward after she vehemently argues that she isn’t ashamed to be seen with him and he has to clarify that, walking the streets with a disheveled man after dark, she could be taken for a different kind of woman. Belle’s cheeks feel solar, but not from the modesty he probably assumes as they leave the corner. She’s imagining she is that other self who Jack describes, accompanying him on a walk they would both acknowledge at the outset leads to her bed. She peeks around her hood at him and his gaze, already on her, melts into hers.

They cut through untamed copses and the loops of Jack’s undone scarf catch in a tree. They wade through lush lowlands, Belle’s slippers in her hands, and the long grasses brush against them like water. For a stretch, they don’t speak, and the birds of late evening make their wild calls.

Though her feet are tired and dirty, the sight of her family’s estate is a disappointment. Jack and Belle pause in the shadows at the edge of the property. Standing at her side with his hands in his pockets, he drops his head onto his shoulder and looks at her with eyebrows raised. He’s still a bit drunk.

“Big house,” he observes.

“Estate.”

“Who d’you think lives here?” He’s teasing her, but Belle feels the tug of a wry smile on her face.

“Oh, no one very interesting.”

Jack frowns.

“Don’t say that. You could be the future sister-in-law of the esteemed Dr. Sneed.”

Belle gasps and gives his arm a shove.

“The spinster sister-in-law of Dr. Sneed if you behave like that!” he amends.

“You would have me with behaviour worse than this,” she counters.

They hold each other’s eyes in the dim dark blue, language brought up short as they realize what’s been said. They won’t speak of this conversation the next time they meet. Jack gives her a small smile and Belle’s heart thumps endlessly, endlessly.

They creep for the house—estate—like, well, thieves in the night. His hand is snug around hers until she lets him go ahead of her up the stairs he’s scaled before. He opens the glass door for her with a gallant incline of his head and she steps through into her bedroom where no candles burn without her. The space is flocked with darkness and suddenly Jack is very close, and they are very much alone. It’s different from being alone outside, with witnesses or possible ones. Here are her books, her beakers, her bed. Here is Jack’s throat that she traced with her fingertips. Here is his hair falling down on his forehead, begging for her to brush it back. Belle swallows. Her hands go to the ribbon fastening her cloak.

“Please don’t.” Even Jack’s whisper is loud when they haven’t spoken. Not in words. His hand covers hers.

“Tell me why not,” Belle demands, just as soft.

His gaze descends to her hand on the ribbon, lower, up to her face. His expression opens like a sunrise, inevitable and warm, utter helplessness in his eyes.

“Because I won’t be able to leave.”

He wants her mercy, but with Jack’s confession, Belle moves into him, cupping his cheek and resting hers on his chest, eyes shut. She can smell the tavern on him, but also the night. How would he smell out of these clothes? If too much desperation can be tender, this is—she can feel his tension even as he holds her to him in return.

“Leave,” she murmurs into his shirt.

“Glad to,” he lies.

His fingers skim up the back of her neck. Goosebumps. She shudders in his arms and for a second, a second, she reads in his body the instinct to jerk her towards him. It’s the deep breath he takes that promises sudden action, but he releases it and they shift apart.

Jack swaggers backwards with his hands in his pockets, wearing a pleased smirk until he collides with her desk. She winces as much at the noise of her equipment rattling as at the way he reaches back to rub his buttocks.

He frowns down at the surface of the offending desk and taps the drawing Belle has yet to relocate. The one with the… trees.

“That,” he announces authoritatively, tapping the page again for emphasis, “is a member.”

Well, yes, Belle would agree. I don’t only read the medical texts; I look at the pictures, just like you.

But Jack’s final pronouncement seems meant to be unreturnable as he makes his stately exit. A flourish of his hand, nearly nimble on his feet until he catches one on the threshold and trips out the door. Belle waits a moment to perform a self-assessment. Yes, the urge to mash her mouth against his until her lungs are empty of oxygen is still there. Hopeless. She rushes forward to bring him back inside. He can sleep in her chair and leave at first light.

#my writing #The Artful Dodger #The Artful Dodger spoilers #Dr. Jack Dawkins #Lady Belle Fox #Lady Fanny Fox #Jack x Belle #The Artful Dodger fic #dodgerfox fic

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