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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Note

Could I request hearts for Nalu please? ❤️😊

Here you are, dearest! I hope you enjoy!

Strawberry-Lemon

Natsu’s nose twitched as a heavenly scent wafted up his nose, and, like a demon preparing to rob a baby from its cradle, he squatted on all fours in the frame of Lucy’s window, salivating shamelessly as she aroma drifted in through the entryway of her kitchen. If he had a tail, it would be wagging non-stop; whatever she was baking in the kitchen smelled absolutely delectable, and it was making him ravenous. The instant he had caught wind of it on the street, he knew he had to have it. Really, Lucy was all but inviting him in; why else would she leave the windows open and allow it to spill out into the cobblestoned streets? She would’ve known that Natsu would come pestering her on a Saturday; it was ritualistic at this point. Well, Natsu wasn’t about to refuse a downright open invitation for food, now was he?

Lithe as a jungle cat, he hopped down from the windowsill to prowl across the laminate floor of her apartment, swiping his tongue across his lower lip and taking a second to suck up some of the drool leaking from his grinning mouth. Lucy wouldn’t like it if he slobbered all over her floor like a hound dog. His stomach was twisting into knots at the anticipation; it was baying like a hound itself, and he put a hand over his belly, drawing his abs tight in a vain effort to silence its greedy howls. He had no idea what exactly she was making; he only had a clear view of the kitchen table from his perch, not the counters or oven, so he was literally vibrating in suspense. Natsu liked meat best, but sweets were a close second. Could she be making a cake? Cookies? Pastries? Ugh, he had to know and then sink his teeth into whatever it was!

His footfalls were silent as he snuck down the hallway. Just as he had arrived in the entryway, nearly panting like a dog with his pupils shrunk down in voracious desire, his belly gave a particularly adamant yowl of demand. He froze as the gurgling sound echoed in the quiet apartment, staring at Lucy as she jumped and whirled around. She was holding a plastic spatula coated with some pink batter, and it splattered across the countertop and floor with her sudden movement. Natsu’s face slowly turned the color of his hair as he gawked owlishly at her, one leg still hiked up in a tip-toe and his arms held out wide on either side to maintain his balance.

“You didn’t have to sneak in here, you know,” she said finally once she realized it was the dragon-slayer who had come calling. She jutted out a hip, resting her prim little hand on it as she puffed out her cheeks indignantly. “I left the window open for a reason! Jeez, you’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.”

A stupidly giddy smile split Natsu’s face at the fact that Lucy had indeed left the window open just for him. His foot fell down to the floor in a happy little scamper. He pranced like a baby deer up to her, green eyes alight with glee as he peeked into the bowl of pink batter she had been stirring before he startled her. His nostrils flared as he breathed in deep, his heightened senses allowing him to discern that the delicious scent he had been so enraptured with was strawberry. No wonder he had been gripped with an overwhelming need; strawberries reminded him of Lucy’s smell. Hers had a slight undertone of lemon, though, which made for an interesting combination that made Natsu’s tongue tingle a little bit every time he caught a whiff of her.

“What are you making?”

“Cupcakes!” she answered jovially with another twirl. She jabbed the spatula back into the bowl of batter to resume stirring it with gusto. “Valentine’s Day is coming up, and so I thought that I might make cupcakes for everyone at the guild.”

“That’s gonna be a lot of cupcakes,” he frowned thoughtfully as he tried to do the math in his head. It proved too daunting a task. It seemed he had arrived before any of the cupcakes were finished, so he walked over to her kitchen table to flip a chair around and straddle it, resting his crossed arms on the chair’s curved back and propping his chin down on the meat of his forearm.

“Where’s Happy?”

“He’s with Wendy and Carla. We were walkin’ and happened to run into ‘em, and they said they were going shopping, so he went with ‘em because Wendy promised to take him to the fish market.” Lucy laughed and said something along the lines of “sounds like him.” Natsu had stopped listening because he was enthralled with the way her body moved as she repeatedly swirled the thick batter around, her arms flexing with each turn. One wouldn’t think it when looking at her, but Lucy was toned; his keen green eyes flickered as he watched the tendons subtly stretch beneath the milky skin of her arms. Her hips bounced a little too as she dug into the batter, trying to eliminate any remaining chunks of powdery batter. Sexy… he thought absentmindedly.

Natsu’s face immediately blazed with a fiery blush again, and he hurriedly jerked his gaze away to the much less interesting bag of flour beside her. Natsu really didn’t know what to do when it came to Lucy. He liked Lucy, a lot; he probably even loved her. He just didn’t understand it all that well. He had never been in love before. He knew that platonic love and romantic love were supposed to be different, but he didn’t know how to act differently to express how he felt. He was handsy and made off-handed comments and such, thinking Lucy may get the hint, but so far it seemed to him that she thought they were really, really good friends. That was true, of course, but it was frustrating because Natsu wasn’t sure how to upgrade.

“There. That oughta do,” Lucy said to herself. He looked back to see her grab a nearby baking ban for heart-shaped cupcakes. With a small grunt, she hoisted the heavy bowl of batter up and began spooning it into the holes. She had clearly made double or even triple the recommended amount in order to feed the whole guild, because the bowl was nearly spilling over with the frothy pink stuff. Natsu’s eyebrows quirked as he noticed her arm begin to tremble violently with the strain of hefting it up, and she began to grow red-faced and out of breath. Wordlessly, he slung his leg over the chair to push himself up and tottered over, easily hooking his arm behind hers to push the bottom of the bowl up with the flat of his hand and reduce the strain on her. “Oh, thank you, Natsu!” she cried, throwing him a grateful, beaming smile. Natsu felt his heart constrict in his chest, and the twisting pain almost made him drop the bowl. God, he loved it when she smiled. It was so gorgeous that it was enough to make a man’s heart halt in his chest.

Lucy filled the pan and they eased the bowl back down onto the counter. Natsu had to try real hard not to stare at her behind as she walked over to the oven to slide the pan in. Natsu didn’t want to figure himself a pervert, but it was so hard when she bent over and it was just… right… there. Oh, God, now he wanted to slap it. Biting down on his knuckles hard enough to draw blood, Natsu whipped around so he wasn’t looking at her anymore, eyes shaking as he blushed hard enough to pop a blood vessel and get a nosebleed. God dammit, why did she have to be so stupidly gorgeous? If she ever got an inkling of the kinds of thoughts he had in his head, she would slap him silly.

“Natsu? You okay?” He nearly jumped a foot in the air as her innocent voice rang over his shoulder. He couldn’t look at her until his blush quieted down, so he just laughed nervously, zooming to the fridge to begin rifling through it without thinking of what he was pretending to look for.

“Yeah, um, I’m just, really thirsty!” he lied quickly as he grabbed random things that were definitely not made for drinking, like a bottle of ketchup and a jar of pickles. Lucy watched him with knitted eyebrows until he picked up a bottle of water and his frazzled brain successfully registered the fact that it was a beverage, in fact made for drinking. He slammed the fridge closed and bolted upright, laughing again before guzzling the entire bottle in about three huge gulps. “Ah, that’s better!” His voice was several octaves higher than normal due to his heightened anxiety. He tossed the bottle at the trashcan, thinking maybe he could look cool after a whole minute of looking like a freak, but it bounced off. He watched with big green eyes as it bounded across the floor only to land right back at his feet. “Goddammit,” he sighed and plucked it up to deliver it to the trashcan like a normal human. Lucy giggled, doing that thing where she held her hand up to her mouth, and Natsu thought he might die.

“Heehee, anyway, would you like to help me make the icing, Natsu?” She waited patiently with an expectant look as his fried brain struggled to process the question. “Yes,” “yes,” you want to say “yes,” Natsu, he reprimanded himself after a moment too long of consideration.

“Er, yeah, I’d love to!” he responded jovially. As she turned around, he shrunk back into himself, biting on his nails. Did he look too excited? It was just frosting, for crying out loud. Lucy didn’t say anything, so he sighed in relief, thinking that she must not be thinking anything of his excitable behavior. He walked back over to stand over her shoulder, watching with curious eyes as she piled the frosting ingredients into the bowl.

“Here! Stir this!” Natsu jumped back as she suddenly whirled around to shove the bowl and a whisk into his hands. He had been standing right behind her, close enough that his breath was puffing over her ear, and if it hadn’t been for his reflexes, the bowl would’ve tipped, and the stuff would’ve gone spilling all down his front. He grabbed the bowl in a white-knuckled grip and began whisking it, trying to keep his cheeks from turning pink again. For a second, he thought Lucy’s cheeks might be pink, too, but she spun around to go check on the rising cupcakes for him to be sure. “Mhmm, they smell so good,” she admired breathily.

“Yeah, I can’t wait to sink my teeth into ‘em,” Natsu growling in appreciation as he continued to lackadaisically swirl the frosting mixture. It was thickening rapidly into a white, gluey paste, requiring him to put a little more backbone than he would imagine putting into whisking frosting. Man, and Lucy does this a lot. This is hard work! He thought as she came over to peek into the bowl. He lowered it so she could inspect it properly.

“You’re doing good.” It was a light compliment but Natsu gushed like a teenage girl about it anyway. “By the way, you only get one! I want to make sure there’s enough for everyone,” she warned him firmly, waggling a finger in his face. He scowled slightly; one measly cupcake wasn’t enough to satiate his rapturous hunger, but he didn’t want to see Lucy upset after all the hard work she was putting in for everyone. “Promise me!”

“Yeah, yeah, I promise, sheesh,” he huffed as she took the bowl from him and set it on the counter. He poked out his lips in a childish pout. “But I’m starving, Lucyyyy…”

“I’ll make you dinner after this is done, okay?”

“Woohoo! You’re the best!” he howled in glee and threw up his arms into the air. She looked over her shoulder at him with a smile and an amused huff. By this time, the cupcakes had finished baking. Lucy removed them from the oven and set them on some potholders, allowing them to cool a bit before plucking them from the molds. They filled the pan with another batch and slipped it into the oven before returning to the next task, icing the cupcakes. Natsu kept fluttering around her, asking if they were ready yet, and she kept barking that if they didn’t cool enough the icing would melt all over the place. It was an agonizingly long time until she allowed him to pick up a butter knife and begin smoothing the creamy mixture over the rounded tops of the cupcakes. He found it a task that required more delicacy than he imagined, as he kept doing it sloppily and getting icing all over his fingers. Not that he cared, because that just meant he got to lick it off. Lucy made him wash his hands every time, though, saying that no one wanted to eat his spit.

After that she let him douse the cupcakes in pink sprinkles. Lucy showed him a neat trick where she filled a bowl with the sprinkles and dunked the cupcake into them, coating the icing evenly in sprinkles. Natsu marveled at her ingenuity, and she got all flustered when he called her a genius and lavished awe on her. After about an hour of repeating the process, Natsu was now salivating at a big red serving plate laden with their masterpieces.

“They all look so delicious… I don’t know which one I wanna eat,” he said as he crouched down so he was eye-level with the treats, inspecting each on critically with his eager fingers drumming on the table. Lucy laughed from where she was washing the dishes at the sink.

“Choose wisely, because that’s the only one you’re gonna get until tomorrow.” Natsu whined loudly at the impossible task before him. They all looked so perfect! After a few minutes of deliberation, he plucked one that looked particularly delicious and stood up, turning to her. She was just finishing, wiping her hands off on a dish towel.

“Here, Lucy. You try first!” he grinned and shoved the cupcake against her lips, smearing a little of the frosting on the underside of her nose.

“What? I thought you wanted to eat it!” she cried, voice muffled by the spongey cake smooshed against her lips.

“You worked so hard to make these! You deserve to get the first one!” he insisted. Natsu’s stomach was yowling and scratching at his insides in angry protest, but Natsu knew that was the right thing to do. Shyly, Lucy opened her mouth to take a dainty bite of the cupcake, chewing thoughtfully when she drew away.

“Yummy!” she beamed. “We make a great team!”

“What? We knew that already,” Natsu laughed and proceeded to pop the entire cupcake into his mouth. It made his cheeks bulge out like a chipmunk’s. He instantly melted into the chair he had been sitting in, the mute tang of strawberry mixing with the divine cream frosting making him ascend into blissful nirvana. “Ahhh… That’s so good,” he said as he smacked his lips and continued to work at the thick frosting coating his tongue. “Now I’m sad I only get one,” he moped with a longing look at the cupcakes.

“You should’ve savored it instead of eating it whole!”

“I was so hungry though,” he pouted, but he knew better than to test her ire by attempting to sneak another one. She enclosed the serving tray with the matching lid before picking it up and putting it on the counter to deliver to the guild the following day. He could tell she was beat by the way her shoulders sagged and she sighed every few minutes and her eyes drooped. Nonetheless, she was tying a new apron around herself and pulling out pots and pans.

“What do you want for dinner, Natsu?”

“… You don’t have to,” he refused suddenly. She looked up at him wide-eyed from her spot on the floor, half-way through pulling a skillet from her cabinet.

“What? I thought you were hungry.”

“Well, I am, but,” he scowled as he fought his ravenous belly, “you look so tired after baking all those cupcakes… All this cooking is hard work… It’s not cool of me to impose like that.”

“Oh, now you grow a conscience?” she laughed teasingly before standing up, skillet in hand. She flipped it around before plunking it down on the stove. “I don’t mind,” she told him gently, and the way her expression softened made him bolt upright in his seat. She was looking down at the empty skillet with an almost… loving expression. “Cooking for the people I care about isn’t a chore. I don’t mind at all, Natsu.” She flipped her head around, tossing her lovely blonde hair, and Natsu was hit with a wind of that lovely lemon-strawberry scent that made his nerves go wild. “You don’t have to answer. I’ve got a recipe I’ve been wanting to try out,” she chirped, turning her back to him again as she tried to reach up above the stove where her shelf of recipes sat. She pursed her lips as she accidently shoved it back, out of reach of her wiggling fingers. “Oh, dammit, let me get a chair.”

Natsu was behind her suddenly, with no recollection of even moving, reaching up to easily pluck the book she had been grasping for from the shelf. She tilted her head back to stare up at him as he lowered it into her waiting hands. “Oh… Thanks, Natsu.” She gawked at him as if expecting him to retreat. His body was caging her against the stove, his chest just barely pressing against her back, arms slowly reaching around to grip the stove on either side of her body. His nostrils were flaring as he drank in that scent of her, the tangy zest of lemon-strawberry, his nerves singing with every puff of it that wafted up his keen nose.

Natsu didn’t know what to do about Lucy, but his body did.

He was suddenly aware of how big he was compared to her when his hand slid underneath her chin, fingers stretching all the way to the undersides of her ears as he gently turned her face over her shoulder. Lucy did not resist; like a puppet to his will, her body folded for him, allowing him to maneuver her as he wished. He scanned her wide brown eyes for any sense of fear or discomfort as his face hovered over hers, only a few centimeters away. She didn’t seem scared; her eyes were blown wide, shaking, but Natsu could discern the unmistakable glimmer of excitement and anticipation brimming in the rich brown depths.

Still, he wanted to be sure.

“Can I kiss you, Lucy?” His voice was husky, raw with months of suppressed desire. Her eyelids twitched as if she were a doll suddenly springing to life. She blinked once, twice, before looking at him in mild surprise.

“Of course you can, Natsu.” She phrased it as if he should know, which made him flush lightly in embarrassment. Who knew how long she had been waiting for him to pull a move? He squirmed uncomfortably, all the confidence he had just had in the moment dissipating like it had drained out the soles of his feet. Lucy giggled that little giggle that made his soul light on fire and reached up to thread her fingers into his cotton candy-colored tufts of hair. “Kiss me,” she demanded in a breathy whisper. Natsu felt a pleasurable shiver sing up his spine. Dammit, she was sexy, looking at him through lidded eyes and ordering him around like that. Hot damn.

He didn’t keep her waiting any longer. With a wolfish smirk, he dove down to smooth his lips over her own. He relished the way her nails scratched along his scalp as soon as he made contact, and the contented hum that vibrated against his moving lips. His thick arms encircled her waist to tug her against his body, because it felt like she simply couldn’t be close enough to him. Their noses bumped a little as he passionately kissed her; it felt like his hunger for food had morphed into a hunger for her mouth, because he couldn’t get enough, not nearly enough. His tongue kitten-licked at her lips, begging for entry, and when she parted her lips for him and he got a taste of her he nearly collapsed on the spot. Strawberry cupcakes and icing and lemon-strawberry bliss, that’s what she tasted like. It might as well have been alcohol because he was drunk on it.

They separated but only just. Natsu’s eyes flickered down to watch the string of saliva snap between their moistened mouths. Hot damn. It made him want to kiss her once more so he could see it all over again. Her fingers were lovingly threading through his messy hair, and her head fell back against her shoulder as she opened up her eyes to gaze at him with a feeling so powerful that Natsu wanted to cry. “I love you, Natsu.”

“I love you too, Lucy.” He smiled and hugged her as he nuzzled his cheek against hers. She made a happy purring sound that had his veins humming with unbridled glee. He had never heard the sound before, but dammit if he didn’t want to hear it more, every day for the rest of their lives. She allowed him to hold her for a moment before she straightened up and began grabbing random implements to cook.

“Natsu, do you want dinner or not?”

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna let go,” he said as he buried her face into the crook of her neck and breathed deep. Lemon-strawberries tickled his nose alongside the fine blonde hairs. He had spent so long wishing to hold her like this; he was gonna get his time’s worth. Lucy exhaled deeply in resignation.

“All right, all right, but I have to go to the fridge,” she said. Natsu shuffled his body along with hers like a male penguin toting about its young. After a second, a thought occurred to him.

“Hey, Lucy.”

“Hmm?”

“Next time you should make lemon frosting.”

“Like strawberry lemonade cupcakes? Now that’s an idea,” she said, pausing from the chicken was slicing against the cutting board. Natsu grinned to himself, burying his face further into the warmth of her being.

No… Like Lucy.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to perusemy Tableof Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork

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makingoutinthemojave · 4 years

Note

This is something i thought of a few days ago, but fo4 companions reacting to the sole survivor taking off their prosthetic leg/arm and hitting someone ( maybe one of the othet companions lol) with it after being annoying.

I wrote a few of these! Feel free to message me if you’d like other companions!

—

Deacon-

“All I’m saying is that if Aliens exist- then why is it so hard to believe there are microscopic robots in all of our food?”

“Ok- Tom- that’s a lot to unpack,” Tinker Tom was in one of his rants again that he would go into while everyone was trying to sleep. However, his ramblings normally got everyone up and talking. Sole always tried to argue with him, which was hilarious to Deacon. “First of all, Aliens aren’t real.”

“Hey now- that ain’t true!” Tom interrupted them, “I saw that UFO the other day!”

“And we’re supposed to believe in everything you see?” Glory takes Sole’s side, lifting her brow at Tom.

“Hey, if the man says he saw a UFO- then who are we to say he didn’t! I believe ya, Tinker.” Deacon scooted from his mattress to Tom’s, patting his back. He loved to side with Tom in these fights- mostly because he reveled in the chance to tease Sole.

“Thanks, Deeks, at least you know the truth.” Tom puts his arm around Deacon, glaring at the other, less believing crew.

“Whatever, ok, Second of all, how did you go from Aliens to microscopic robots?” Sole ignores the idiots arm-in-arm in front of them and brings up their second point.

“That’s obvious! The Aliens make the tiny robots!” Deacon declares in a dramatic voice, and Tom gasps.

“Do you think so? Maybe that’s why they’re flying over the earth- they’ve been experimenting on us!” Tom sounded like he was on the cusp of revelation- and Glory groaned.

“Come on, Tom, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m sorry that you can’t open your mind to the possibilities, Glory. I’m just trying to be safe!” Tom takes a condescending tone, and Deacon anticipates a shitshow.

“Oh, and being safe means being an idiot?” Glory snaps, and Deacon ‘ooh’s.

“Being safe means suspecting everything! And you don’t suspect enough!” Tom spits back.

“I don’t, do I? Well, Tom, I ‘suspect’ you’re about to get your ass whooped-” Glory starts getting up, and Sole grabs her arm.

“Wait, beat him with this-” Sole grabs at their hip, feeling for something.

“You’re not actually gonna beat me up, Glory-” Tom begins to nervously ask, Deacon recoiling from his friend to prevent suffering the same fate. He’s interrupted by a loud POP.

“WhAT THE FUCK-” Glory yells, jumping back from Sole. Sole then lifts their whole leg into the air.

“Get ‘em with this!” Sole offers the leg over to Glory, and she backs up.

“Woah, Woah- hold on, you can’t just hand your leg over to someone!”

“Yeah, you need to take them to dinner first- at least.” Deacon quips, making Sole laugh. He’s known about Sole’s prosthetic leg for some time and especially knows their tendency to use it as a disciplinary weapon. He’s just glad he’s not the one to receive their calf of wrath at the moment.

“What, do you not know about my leg, Glory?” Sole gestures with the leg while talking, “Damn, I knew I forgot to tell someone. Well, you can still use it to beat up Tom. Here.” They continue to hold the leg to Glory.

Glory thinks for a moment, still trying to take in what had happened. Then she nods. “Ah, fuck it, gimme the leg.” She takes the leg from Sole and turns with a vicious look towards Tom. “I’ll show you just how safe you are-”

Deacon learned a lesson that night. Don’t give a prosthetic limb to Glory when she’s angry. Also, don’t wake Desdemona up in the middle of the night. Both things produce terrible, terrible consequences.

Nick Valentine-

It ended up being a late night in the office and Nick said he’d make up for it by buying drinks for Ellie and Sole. The trio went to the Dugout inn, preceding to the bar.

“Hello, Detectives! What will I be getting for you?” Vadim greeted them in the same, loud way he always did. Nick began to fish the money out of his trench coat pocket.

“Hi, Vadim. It’s gonna be a round for these two. My treat.” Nick pulled out his caps, sliding them across the bar to Vadim.

“Oh, I see…cruising, huh, Valentine?” Vadim graciously took the money, chuckling to himself.

“Excuse me?” What is that supposed to mean? Nick sure didn’t know, but based on the way they scoffed- Sole did. Ellie started giggling as well.

“Oh, come on, Nick…I always knew you were a smooth operator. But shouldn’t you be keeping it professional with these two?” Vadim laughed, turning to grab their beers. Nick thinks he was starting to understand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bobrov.” Nick’s internal fans were working in overdrive to keep him cool, and Ellie kept laughing at his sake.

“Oh-hoh, that’s how it is! Well, good luck in your-” Vadim hoots, turning to put the beers on the counter. His remark is cut off by Sole.

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” Sole suddenly tears their right arm off, whacking Vadim on the back of the head.

Wait. They what.

Ellie squeals, jumping and standing back from the now armless Sole. It takes her and Nick one more second to register the straps and cords coming out of the detached arm.

“You have a fake arm??” Ellie declares, more in relief than anything else.

“You didn’t know?” Sole seems surprised just the same as they were.

“How would we have found out?” Nick defends, staring at them in confusion. He still wasn’t quite sure what had happened,

“That’s one way to shut him up.” Yedim chimes up, interrupting their bickering, and making Vadim laugh.

“Yes, yes, sorry for teasing you guys! Enjoy your drinks!” Vadim apologizes and pushing the beers over to the three. Sole puts their arm back on, and they and Ellie grab the drinks.

“Thank you, Vadim. And sorry about the arm.” Sole apologizes, and they walk to find their seats.

“Well, kid, good to know you’re armed at all times.” Nick quips, watching the anguish wash over Sole and Ellie’s faces.

“Oh god- was that a pun? I thought you were better than that, Nick.” Sole cringes and Nick grins victoriously.

“Okay, now you have to tell us what happened…” Ellie nudges Sole, ignoring Nick’s dad jokes.

“Fine, I lost it when…”

Paladin Danse-

“No wayyy!” Haylen shoves sole on the shoulder with her bottle hand, nudging them gently as they put their hands up in defense.

“I swear! I was out of the vault for like, less than an hour and already killing deathclaws!” Sole tries to convince their crowd, shrugging with their beer.

Sole and few other brotherhood members were drinking together on the lower levels of the prydwen, something Danse was completely unaccustomed to. He wasn’t one to do anything out of protocol and wasn’t interested in activities that could lead to said behavior. But Sole, the ever-inviting harpy they could be, convinced him the initiates would benefit from seeing a Paladin more relaxed. “Show them you’re a person like the rest of us,” they said. Sure.

“That would explain your pre-existing combat prowess, charging into that ghoul onslaught when we met.” Danse joins the conversation, taking a sip of his Gwinnett Ale. Everyone looks to him quickly, surprise in the initiate’s eyes. True, he hasn’t spoken at all yet, but they don’t need to treat it like a big deal. Danse tucked his head down a bit.

“Would you call that ‘prowess’ or ‘reckless abandon’?” Rhys, charming as always, chimes up before Sole could accept the compliment. He was always thorny towards newcomers, but he seemed especially so to this pre-war Vault dweller. Danse has handled in-team conflicts before, but when they involved Rhys, it was always more complicated.

“I would call it bravery.” Haylen says, glaring a moment at Rhys and then smiling back at Sole. She was always the compassionate one.

“What’s so brave about almost killing yourself?” Rhys continues to bicker, waving his beer in the air.

“Killing myself? I think I was doing most of the killing there!” Sole teases, always loving to mess with Rhys. Danse wishes they wouldn’t.

“Oh really? I think you ought to remember your place here.” Rhys frowned.

“Should I? Who got the instant promotion? Who’s working directly with the Elder to defeat the institute?” Sole continues to poke his buttons, making the initiates watching “ooh”.

“That’s it-” Rhys gets to his feet, and then does Sole.

“Wait a minute, Soldiers,” Danse quickly hops to his feet to stop the fight, but is interrupted by Sole swiftly yanking their arm off and wielding it like a weapon.

Haylen doesn’t hesitate to scream at the sight, and even Rhys seems spooked.

“What?? Y’all didn’t know I have a fake arm?” Sole reacts with just as much surprise, waving the arm around like it was nothing.

“We had no idea, Soldier, I-I-” Danse awkwardly stares.

“Well, I can tell you how I lost it if Rhys will just shut his mouth.” Sole glares and Rhys does the same.

“Settle down you two.” Danse crosses his arms and gets them to back down, going back to their seated positions. “So, tell us about the arm.”

“Okay, so way back before the war….”

X6-88-

X6 would probably walk in on Sole knocking one of the institute directors on the head with their prosthetic arm and instantly become over-interested. He’d start inquiring about the technical abilities of their prosthetic, what weapons it was equipped with, how it could be improved.

“It doesn’t really have any abilities, other than functioning as an arm,” Sole sheepishly responded to the questions, embarrassed by the sudden attention.

“That doesn’t do at all, Sir/M’am. You should see the Robotics branch to get an upgrade. The face of the Institute deserves the best limb enhancers.” And so, through X6’s urging, Sole would end up with a wicked arm. Robotics would hook them up with like…inspector gadget style tricks all in the prosthetic. They’d honestly look part synth, which shortly became Sole’s new favorite thing to trick wastelanders into thinking. Thanks, X6!

#fallout reacts #fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 reacts #fallout 4 reacts #Paladin Danse #x6-88 #Deacon #Nick valentine #fo4 paladin danse #fo4 deacon #fo4 nick valentine

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner One Shot: Red Lace and Roses

Intro: It’s Valentine’s day...Steve is in a panic about what to do until Katie lays down the rules because, well, it’s all a load of crap really, isn't it??

Warnings: Bad language! Smut (NSFW- no really...) NO UNDER 18s!

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark.

A/N: So this takes place Valentines Day 2014- Their first one as a couple. I wasn’t gonna post a specific One Shot as I’ve another Chapter of SSM to work on but this kind of came to me and well, here you go! Have a good one!! Enjoy, and PLZ Reblog if you like!

Something was bothering Steve. Katie could tell. He'd been a little, well, off all evening since he had arrived at her apartment. And if she hadn't already realised, the fact he was now sat at the table pushing his food around on his plate was a dead giveaway.

"Ok." Katie said, placing her cutlery down "Baby, what's the matter?" He didn't even try to deny it. He knew he was busted. Wiping his hand over his face he looked at her and gave her a small smile.

"That obvious?" "To me yeah." She smiled "Bad day?" "No, not as such..." he bit his lip before he looked at her "Baby I screwed up" "What do you mean?" she frowned "It’s Valentine's Day in a week and I forgot so I haven't booked anywhere. I've tried a few places but they're all full and..." Steve trailed off as Katie looked at him, her head cocking to one side and he let out a sigh. He'd never had a girlfriend before to be bothered about the day. And now he did, it had slipped his mind until before when he had overheard someone in the queue for a coffee talking about what he had planned. A romantic meal, a diamond bracelet... it had sent the Captain into a spiral. An expensive gift he could do but a meal or a trip...it was too late. Katie watched him as he scratched at the collar of his white T-shirt which sat underneath his blue plaid button up. He looked utterly perplexed and then, she couldn’t help it any more. A laugh burst from her mouth and he frowned at her. "What's so funny?" "You. You're adorable." She chuckled, pushing her chair back as she stood up "Look Valentines Day is all commercialised bullshit Steve." She said softly as she walked round the table to where he was sat and and gently wrapped her arms round him from behind. "You know, you make me feel loved every day, I don’t need some cheesy over the top gesture or a fancy gift baby. I mean I'll never say no to diamonds but...save em for my birthday huh?" He laughed and rubbed his hands across her arms as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I know its just well it's our first one and..." he shrugged. "You're a romantic idiot yeah I know." She said, moving so she could perch on his lap. She looked at him and then an idea popped into her head. "Ok so as it's our first let's start our own tradition." She looked at him " $20 limit for a little present and the card has to be fun..." "Define fun..." he mused, arching an eyebrow. "A little off the wall... quirky...no romantic bullshit" she clarified "And we'll get a take out, beer and snuggle." Steve smiled, he had to admit that sounded pretty good. "Alright." He smiled, "our own tradition starts here!" She grinned and gave him a soft kiss "Love you, you big idiot"

***** Thanks to the internet (so helpful) Steve was feeling pretty pleased with his card and gift. So on the morning of Valentines Day he placed the small box and card on the table and set a pot of coffee on to brew whilst Katie was in the shower. "Happy Commercial bullshit day..." she grinned at him when she walked into his kitchen, a gift bag in her hand. He chuckled and bent down to give her a soft kiss. "Back at ya doll." She handed him the bag and he gestured to where her present was and they both sat down. "Together?" Katie asked and he nodded. Steve opened the gift bag Katie had given him and reached inside, pulling out a cushion that was decorated in different coloured squares. The words "10 things I Love About You" were printed across the top and each coloured square contained something different and he felt the smile ok his face growing wider as he read the words.

Your eyes. They way we can talk for hours and never run out if things to say. Your bear hugs that make everything. Your Ass. Netflix and chill. How you make me feel simply by looking at me. Your smile. Nose kisses. The laughter. The fact you're just a kid from Brooklyn. "Honey..." he looked at her and she glanced up from where she had been examining her gift with a soft smile "this is awesome!" He held up the cushion and she smiled. "So is this..." she grinned, holding up her gift. It was a Keyring. Silver Metal with a 3D rectangle just over an inch long, engraved with letters and numbers. And the minute she had realised they were coordinates, she knew they could really only be for one place. "The boxing gym." she smiled, it was more a statement than a question. He nodded, blushing slightly " Check the other side." She did and let out an laugh as she read the words out loud "trouble sleeping?" The first place they had met, and the first words either of them had spoken to one another. He grinned and she beamed at him "Steve,I love it!!" Placing it down she picked up her card and opened that, giving another loud splitter of a giggle. It was plain quite with red writing in the front that read "You suck less than most people" “Good to know” she laughed. So is this... Steve said, arching an eyebrow at hers to him. It was a gold card with black writing on the front that read "I love you for your personality, your charisma and your good looks...but that dick sure is a bonus" They looked at one another before they both burst out laughing and Steve had to admit, their little tradition was one he knew he was going to enjoy going forward. **** Katie finished her call to the team in DC and leant back in her chair, mulling over the proposal her editor had tabled. Before she had much chance to think about it, the buzzer to her apartment went and she picked up the phone. "I have a delivery for Miss Stark?" "Ok thanks...I'll be down in a sec." She said, pushing the button to let him in the building. She made her way down in the elevator and rolled her eyes with a soft smile as she saw what it was. A dozen red roses. She signed for them and took the card. "At least let me have one stupid, romantic bullshit moment" it read "love you baby girl" As she placed them in a vase she had a sudden idea, and with a grin she grabbed her keys and headed out. Steve was feeling pretty smug with himself. Katie had messaged him earlier thanking him for the roses. Yup, he was pleased he had managed to surprise her, even if it wasn't much. He was also looking forward to the evening too. First he had a session with Rumlow about a potential new drill for the new recruits. Just as they were about to run through it in the Training Room, his phone went again. He looked down at the message, and seeing it was from Katie he expecting it to be a question about what takeout he fancied. Instead, when he opened it, the photo that he saw instantly made his mouth go dry and his pants grow tighter round the crotch area.

There were no words with the photo, not that it needed any.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

“You alright Cap?” Rumlow looked at him. He swallowed and put the phone back in his pocket and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, fine...sorry, where were we?”

***** Katie heard the elevator door open and with a smirk she walked out of the bedroom, sweats and a T-shirt covering the Lingerie she had sent him a photo of before. She stopped in the lounge area as he looked at her, arms folded, face dark.

“I suppose you think sending me that photo was clever.” he said, his voice low.

Well damned...Cap was coming out to play.

Biting her lip she shrugged “Yeah, actually...” “Well it wasn’t.” he said, “I was with Rumlow.” “Oh, did he like the view?” she smirked. His eyes flashed dangerously as he took a step towards her “That’s really not funny.” “No?” she asked coyly

“No...” he said, stopping in front of her, his hands gripping her hips. “know what else isn’t funny?” “Enlighten me...” she said, looking up at him from under her lids.

“Me getting my ass handed to me in training because I’m distracted.” he said, his grip growing tighter as he pulled her to him, harshly, her body flush to his and she could feel him hard through his jeans. “It’s dangerous. I need to be focussed.” “Well you really should learn to avoid distractions...” she said, her hands smoothing up his chest. He grabbed her wrists and looked down at her.

“And you should learn how to behave.” “That so?” “Yes.” “And you’re gonna teach me?” “Someone needs to...” he said, before his lips crashed onto hers, hungrily. He let go of her wrists and his hands moved to her hips, sliding up her sides underneath her top and as his fingers brushed the lace underneath he let out a little groan before he stepped back and raising an eyebrow.

“Strip.” he looked at her, folding his arms.

Ok, so this was new...

With a slight smirk she stepped back, pulling the T-shirt over her head leaving her in the bralette before she locked eyes with him and slid her fingers into the top of her sweats, sliding them down over her legs, stepping out of them. He motioned with his finger for her to turn around, so she did, biting her lip as she did so.

“Does it meet with your approval Captain?” she asked coyly and he gave a smirk.

“Very much so...” he nodded “But you’re not getting away with it that easily.”

He reached out for her again, this time his hands sliding down to cup her ass as he hauled her up, his fingers tangling in the lace of the briefs she was wearing as she hooked her legs round his middle. He strode into the bedroom, depositing her on the soft bed and crawled over the top of her, gripping her chin in his thumb and forefinger. He looked at her for a second, before he kissed her again, tongue tangling with hers easily and she let out a soft groan. But then he pulled back and she pouted slightly at the loss of contact.

Steve bit back the laugh that was threatening to bubble from his throat at the look on his face. Instead, he arched an eyebrow and looked at her “Stop being an impatient brat.” he instructed before he sat up, and unbuckled his belt. He hesitate for a second, this was unchartered territory for him now. Before he had chance to chicken out he gently took her hands and placed them above her head, looping the belt around the slats in her headboard, then around both her wrists. Katie watched his face intently as he avoided looking at her, a faint pink flush evident on his cheeks as he concentrated on securing her hands in place. When he was satisfied with his work, he looked down at her, and the stern expression on his face faltered for a moment.

“That ok?” he asked, slipping from Captain to Steve and she had to smile at the concern on his face. She gave him a soft nod.

“Yeah...”

He took a deep breath and then grinned as his nose nudged her jaw up so he could nip at her neck. She gave a soft sigh as his mouth trailed hot kisses up and down her throat before he moved across her collar bone and down to the swell of her chest. She gave an involuntary shudder, her wrists pulling slightly against the belt and he stopped, looking up at her.

“Stop moving.” he said, and she looked down at him, arching her eyebrow. When he was satisfied she’d gotten the message he continued, pulling down one side of the bra, his mouth teasing the sensitive skin as her nipple pebbled at his touch. He gently sucked, teeth grazing in the way he knew she liked and she let out a loud moan as his hand slid up underneath the materiel on the other side, fingers working deftly.

“Like that?” he asked, and she gave a low hum in response, and he could tell she was trying desperately to keep still. He gave a sharper nip with his teeth and this time she squirmed under him, her hips bucking up seeking some form of friction.

“I said, stop moving.” he said, and she let out a moan of frustration. “its not nice is it?” he quipped “This is how you’ve made me feel all day.” She moaned again and he chuckled. “Say you’re sorry...”

“Fuck you.” she shot back, looking down at him.

“Such a fucking brat...” he shook his head and turned his attention back to her chest. He upped the ante, sucking, tweaking, biting until she really was groaning underneath him, trembling, her arms pulling against her restraint, and then she felt the white hot pokers of pleasure lancing through the pit of her stomach and she gave a loud cry.

“Shit...Captain...” she bucked underneath him and gave a shudder as she came, the sensation shocking the pair of them as he paused and looked down at her flushed cheeks and she glanced at him, her eyes wide and the flush in her face deepened. He grinned as she shut her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t believe you just...”

“Made you come by playing with your tits?” he offered, his lips moving back to her neck and she laughed softly. “Trust me doll that wasn’t part of the plan.”

“No?”

He shook his head “Good to know I can though...” “God Captain America is such an ass hole.” she mumbled and he gave a low growl, nipping at her neck.

“Behave.” he said, his hands sliding down to her briefs and he shimmied down he bed, removing them, leaving her bare underneath him. Standing up he stripped off his clothes and knelt back on the bed, taking her right leg in his hands. He kissed at her ankle and then trailed his lips up her soft skin, nipping at the inside of her thigh causing her to whimper again as his mouth continued, giving one long lick over her slit and she arched her back again as he grinned, his mouth continuing up her body.

His lips crashed onto hers as he slid into her easily causing her to gasp as he bottomed out, his hands either side of her had as he supported himself.

“You came without me telling you that you could...” he said, pulling back and thrusting deeply in as she threw her head back on the pillow biting her lip. Another thrust and she groaned loudly, and again, and again.

“Sorry...” she muttered, her voice cracking “I’m sorry Captain...” “Yeah?” he asked, another thrust, his pace torturously slow

“Yeah...” she nodded

“Sorry for being a cock tease?” She nodded giving a loud cry as he pushed into her hard again, his hips picking up the pace slightly.

“Say it...” he said, and she swallowed thickly as his hand moved and gripped her jaw.

“Sorry for being a cock tease Captain…” she said and he gave a low groan and moved slightly faster, almost involuntarily, he was losing his self control slightly now

“Good girl...” he said, his thrusts becoming faster. She keened underneath him, her hands pulling against the belt which held in in place.

“Wanna touch you...” she moaned, “Please Captain...” “Seeing as you asked nicely...” he mumbled, pausing slightly to reach up and unbuckle the belt. He freed her arms and she slid them round his back, her hands gently skating the muscles and he gave a soft groan at her touch as her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his head down to kiss her.

“God I love you...” he said softly, his voice now completely devoid of any of the Captain authority it had held moments before. Steve was back and she grinned into his mouth.

“Love you too Stevie...” she said and he gave a low groan as he picked up the pace again, reaching down to hook her leg over his hip. He drove in and out, digging at that spot inside of her with his cock over and over until she gave another gasp and bucked her hips up towards him.

“Come on baby...” he encouraged, knowing he wasn’t going to last much longer himself. “I got you...” “Stevie, fuck...” she gave a loud cry and tensed around him, her eyes fluttering shut, mouth dropping open as she groaned and he felt her leg tense over his hip. The feel of her tightening around him was enough to tip him over the edge and as his hips snapped forward he gave a loud groan of his own, falling forwards, burying his head into her neck as he thrust through both their orgasms before stuttering to a stop with a soft sigh.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, Katie’s hands running through his hair before he pushed himself up and looked at her, his nose brushing against hers.

“Fuck...” was all he could bring himself to say as he caught his voice and she gave a giggle.

“That was amazing.” she said softly. He hummed and pressed his forehead to hers smirking slightly. He was always slightly smug at how he could undo her in such a way, but he’d never tried anything like that with her before. Their sex life wasn’t boring, far from it, and he had on more than one occasion thrown her around the room a little, but neither of them had really broached the subject of restraints. Steve had enjoyed it, and so had she. That was clear to see. Turns out Captain America, the control freak, had a submission kink.

Who knew?

“Cap says you’re welcome.” he chuckled and she gave a laugh as he propped himself up with one arm and reached with the other to gently take hold of her hand. He pulled it round to the front and glanced at her wrist. It as slightly red but nothing that would mark. He placed a soft kiss over her wrist and she smiled at him, cupping his cheek in her palm.

“I’ll have to send you naughty pics more often.” she teased and he gave a loud groan.

“Seriously, I’ve had a semi hard on all afternoon. I was half tempted to go and jack off in the changing rooms.”

“So you don’t want me to send you anymore?” she asked, biting her lip.

He looked at her, with a grin. Who was he kidding?

“I didn’t say that...” he dropped a kiss to her lips before he grinned a her “Happy Commercial Bullshit day Baby girl.”

@the-omni-princess @momobaby227 @geekofmanythings16 @angelofhell-666 @thewackywriter @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @asgardlover75 @jennmurawski13 @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie @navispalace @patzammit @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @icanfeelastormbrewing @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @disneylovingal @madzmilllz @sgtjaamesbaarnes @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers #captain america #smut #valentines #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #avengers #avengers fanfiction

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need-a-new-hobby · 4 years

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Demonology

note: this is my first emily centred fic, i hope i’ve done it justice \\ emily’s such a badass, i just imaging piper looking up to her and being so heartbroken to see her so sad \\ warnings: attempted depiction of loss and grief \\ apologies in advance if i have misrepresented grief, please do tell me if i have

“No way. Inigo every single time.” Piper shook her head at Garcia as she tossed a popcorn kernel in her mouth.

“But Westley became a freaking bandit for Buttercup!”

“Yeah, and Inigo spends the rest of his childhood and young adulthood mastering the sword for his father,” Piper argued. “How is that not attractive?”

“Because Westley is cuter.” Garcia stomped and Piper was about to launch her popcorn kernel at Garcia’s eye when she spotted a dripping Emily in the elevator. “Hey, Em! Who’s your favourite from the Princess Bride, Inigo or Westley?” But Garcia garnered no response as Emily staggered towards her, slightly shivering.

“Did you get that file for Tommy Vee like I asked?” Emily’s voice tumbled out, shaking and shivering, and Piper instinctively pulled off her own knee-length coat, holding it out to Emily. But she ignored it, reaching for the file instead. Piper faltered, tucking her coat over her arm. “Is Hotch still here?”

“I’m pretty sure he lives here…” Penelope trailed off as Emily pushed past between them. “What’s up with her?”

“Dunno. Guess she doesn’t want to talk about it yet,” Piper commented as Penelope pushed forward to the elevator. Piper stared at the door Emily went through until Penelope called out her name. “JJ’s coming back tomorrow right?”

“Yep. I’m thinking lasagne to celebrate her first day back.”

“Great idea.” The elevator doors closed as Emily tumbled her way to Hotch’s office, numb to the bone. But that wasn’t because of the rain.

“I just found out that... An old friend of mine died.” Emily fought the tears threatening to spill over the brink of her eyelashes.

“I'm sorry. Do you need to take some time?”

“Um... There's a chance that he could have been murdered, and there might be a second case.”

“What do you need?”

“Just some leeway to check it out.”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Thank you,”

“Emily, if you want to take a few days and let us look into it...” Hotch offered, taking a step towards his battered agent.

“Matthew was...incredibly messed up, and I hadn't seen him in a long time, but he was important to me,” Emily explained, though there was no need.

“At least let us help.” Emily nodded as she sniffled and left the office after thanking him.

Somehow, she managed to stumble home, eyes fluttering closed as her head hit the pillow. She woke up early later that morning, dragging herself into the shower. As the water pounded her skin, she closed her eyes and there he was, bright as day. Before the drugs. Before the alcohol. Holding hands high, glee-stricken faces. Hot water melded with tears as they streamed down Emily’s face.

Emily thought she’d be the first one at the office, except she saw Piper doing paperwork at her desk. “Piper, it’s 7 am.” Without looking up or halting her pen, Piper gave her some excuse that Emily saw right through.

“Fine. I was worried about you.”

“I—” Before Emily could respond, Hotch appeared from his office, telling Emily the M.E. was ready to see her and Piper grabbed her grey winter coat, wrapping it around the pale turtleneck she was already wearing as well as her bike keys.

“C’mon. You can explain when we get there. I don’t have a spare helmet though.” Piper’s bike was liberating as it weaved through traffic, wind whipping Emily’s charcoal hair into a frenzy. They skidded to a stop outside the morgue and Emily unhooked her leg from around the bike.

“Now I get how you’re the first at scenes,” Emily joked weakly as Piper shook out her hair.

“Trust me, helmet hair is not fun.” Piper said as she hooked an arm around Emily’s, striding into the morgue with her. As the examiner revealed Matthew Benton’s pale body, Emily choked, and Piper answered her cell. “Got it.”

“Is it possible someone could have induced the heart attack?” Emily managed to ask.

“The easiest way to stop the heart is an injection of potassium. I would have found traces.”

“There's no other way?”

“I suppose it's possible he could have been injected with epinephrine. It wouldn't register, because clinically, it's identical to the natural adrenalin in the body.”

“Did he have a medical history of cardiac problems?”

“No. The attack was induced by his prolonged abuse of drugs and methamphetamines.”

“Was he tied?” Emily lifted Matthew’s wrists gently, stomach sick.

“The wounds are superficial.”

“Anything else out of the ordinary?”

“He bled heavily from his nose, but with the damage to his septum, my guess is that it was prolonged abuse of cocaine or methamphetamine.”

“And what about the other autopsy,” Piper asked. “Thomas Valentine?” The ME nodded, turning to the next body.

“He died of dehydration. There were traces of prescription antipsychotics in his system. I understand from his family he had a history of mental illness.”

“So, his death was induced by the antipsychotics too?” The doctor nodded

“Piper.” Emily held up Thomas’s wrist.

“Considering the self-inflicted wounds and the history of mental illness, the police didn't suspect foul play.”

“So, you have 2 bodies with ligature marks – each superficial. But you just dismiss them?” Emily confronted the examiner

“There's no medical reason to connect these deaths,” the ME defended herself. Nervous by Emily’s undiplomatic outbursts, Piper excused them, and they walked out into the rain. Before Emily could hook her leg around the bike, Piper tugged at her arm.

“Hey, we’ll find out who did this.” Emily’s shoulder sagged.

“You believe me?” Piper’s stomach dropped at the desperation in Emily’s voice as rain dripped down her coat.

“Always.” Piper shot Emily a soft smile as she donned her helmet and they drove back to the office.

While JJ fixed Piper and Emily a hot cup of coffee, the others filed in, filling in Piper, Emily and JJ. Thomas Valentine was a schizophrenic who was married but lived alone. Spencer and Derek described how his wife took the kids away to protect them and how he was cursing God. Rossi and Hotch filled them in on Mrs Benton’s firm belief that Matthew was possessed, and Emily scoffed at that.

“Matthew had a thing about challenging the church. He could push it. When we were in high school, his mom and dad consulted a priest because they were afraid that he was possessed.” Derek pointed out that Mrs Valentine had suggested the same thing and both houses had scuff marks under the beds.

“Well, drug addiction and schizophrenia are the most common conditions to be misconceived as possession.” Piper spoke rationally, trying to fit things together. “Plus, both had conditions that could induce their deaths what with both having consistent levels of drugs in their system. Could the unsub have known these conditions?” The question wasn’t directed towards anyone in particular and Penelope’s rush into the room pushed it to the side.

“So, both Thomas Valentine and Matthew Benton were in Galicia, Spain over the same week 4 months ago.”

“That mean anything to you?”

“Yeah.” Piper stood up. “Galicia is one of the biggest Christian pilgrimage sites in the world and the cathedral is absolutely breathtaking.” Spencer noticed the gleam in Piper’s eyes. “Actually, it’s been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since the 90’s.” Derek threw his hands up and took a seat.

“So what, we think these are exorcisms?”

“It could be.” Piper leaned on the mahogany table, challenging Derek.

“Look, I know the Bible just as well as anyone, but I also know there's nothing more open to behavioural interpretation than religion.”

“Meaning what?”

“I think it's dangerous for us to wanna find a connection between these deaths.” Piper nodded slowly and straightened.

“Spencer, to the best of your knowledge, what are the main causes of heart attacks?”

“Complete or partial blockage of the coronary artery, age, high blood pressure, high triglyceride levels, obesity, diabetes, metabolic syndrome, family history of heart attacks, lack of physical activity, stress, illicit drug use, a history of preeclampsia, an autoimmune condition…”

“And apart from drugs, how many of those apply to both our victims?”

“Well, really it’s just drugs and stress.”

“Right, Emily?” Emily hummed as she sipped her coffee. “How long had Matthew been using?”

“Since we were about 16. Why?”

“Right, so if Matthew is almost 30, he’s been using for at most 15 years, wouldn’t there have been a sign before now?” They were all silent, staring at her, then Derek. “Guys, my math skills aren’t that bad.” Spencer shrugged, muttering that calling them skills was a bit of a stretch. She resisted the urge to slap him with a hardcover, mainly because the only thing in her hand was a cup of coffee. “What about silent killers, things you can’t see in a medical exam?”

“Chronic stress, maybe,” Reid suggested.

“Guys, don’t you think this is a stretch? I mean seriously, stress?”

“When stress is excessive, it can contribute to everything from hypertension, to ulcers to irritable bowel syndrome,” Spencer said.

“What could the guy be that stressed about?” Tired from Derek’s negativity, Emily slammed down two pictures of Thomas and Matthew’s wrists.

“Maybe he was stressed about a guy holding him down, trying to banish the devil out of him.” Emily stared him down until JJ squeezed her arm and soothed her back into her seat.

“Guys, look, I'm willing to say that we might have an unsub who ritualises killings as if they were exorcisms, maybe, but right now, we don't even know if we have a crime yet.” But before Piper or Emily could retaliate, Rossi intervened.

“Derek’s right. We need to step back. Let me talk to someone before I have us all telling ghost stories.” Piper downed the last dregs of her coffee while Rossi left to brave the pounding rain outside. Emily stormed out quietly, refusing to make eye contact with the team. Piper and Spencer tramped downstairs to their desks.

“You really think this is a serial killer?”

“I don’t know, Spence. All I know is that if it is, there’s someone out there who’s gonna kill again. I don’t want to take that chance.”

^-^

Rossi pulled up in front of his church, the largest congregation in his area, and closed the door behind him before he took the marble steps two at a time, careful not to slip. He shoved open the large double doors to the church, walking across to catch a familiar priest cleaning the altar.

“Hey, stranger,” the priest greeted Dave.

“I know. It's been too long.”

“So maybe after we speak, you'll let me take your confession?”

“Gonna strong-arm me?” The priest laughed.

“You bet. So, how can I help you?”

“What do you know about exorcisms?” Jimmy raised an eyebrow as he sat down in the first pew to answer the question.

“Well, they're, uh- they're controversial. The Vatican issued a new exorcism rite in 1999, so nobody speaks out against it, but if pressed, not every priest believes in demonic possessions.”

“Do you?”

“Let me put it this way. You believe that evil exists.”

“I've seen it.”

“So, if children are born innocent, at what point does evil enter them?”

“How common are exorcisms?”

“Conservatively, I’d say 400 or 500 a year.”

“Has anyone died in one?”

“What's this about, Davey?”

“I'm looking into the deaths of 2 men. Both were troubled. Each recently had made the same pilgrimage to Galicia, Spain. Each died within the last 2 weeks.”

“And why do you suspect exorcism?”

“Well, it's just a theory. One of our agents knew one of the men. She was afraid there might be some foul play.”

“You agree?”

“Would you know if one took place here in DC?”

“If it's sanctioned, probably.”

“If not?”

“Well, then it's not a true exorcism.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.” As Rossi turned his back, the priest raised his arm, first to God, then to the Father and finally the Holy Spirit, praying for his friend’s soul.

As Rossi returned from his trip, Piper jumped up to retrieve him. “Garcia got a call, 38-year-old white male found dead in his bed by his fiancée,” she told him as they rushed up to Hotch’s cabin. “Patrick Cavanaugh was in Galicia, Spain at the same time as Thomas and Matthew.” Rossi opened the door to Hotch’s office as Piper finished. “Reid, Prentiss and Morgan already left to see the scene.” Piper returned to her desk, resuming her leftover paperwork.

^-^

Derek walked behind Emily and Spencer as they trudged through the brief respite from the rain up to the Cavanaugh household. They flashed their badges to the officer standing guard outside the house. “What can you tell us?”

“Uh, white male, been dead for hours. Medics think it was a brain aneurysm.”

“You mind if we take a look at the scene?”

“Knock yourselves out.” The three agents walked into the room and Spencer noticed the scratches under the bedposts.

“This is kind of starting to freak me out a little bit.”

“Let's figure out if we have a crime before we start freaking out.”

“Obviously we have a crime.”

“Prentiss, how does an unsub induce an aneurysm?”

“Uh, could be caused by stress,” Spencer intervened.

“Yeah, like if you were restrained on a bed while someone tried to banish the devil from their body.”

“All I’m saying is I think we should go easy,” Derek spoke as Mrs Cavanaugh entered the room.

“Can I help you?” Her voice was meek and yet reverberated around the room. Being the closest to her, Derek held out his badge. “FBI? What are you doing here?”

“We’re investigating a series of unexpected deaths,” Reid provided from the back of the room.

“I don’t understand.” Sidelining any empathy that she could have held for the recent widow, Emily started interrogating her.

“Was Patrick acting erratically recently?”

“He had a brain condition. He was getting headaches, wasn't acting like himself.”

“Were you aware of a trip he took recently to Galicia, Spain? Uh, there's a church there called Santiago de Compostela we think he may have visited.” Emily stepped closer to the young widow.

“My fiancé travelled a lot for work. I don't know everywhere he went.”

“With all due respect, ma'am, I don't think you're telling us the truth.”

“Excuse me?”

“Did you believe Patrick was possessed?”

“I'd like some privacy, please?”

“Was someone trying to rid him of demons? Is that how he died?”

“No.”

“You really believe he had a brain condition?” Derek stepped in between, urging Emily to stop and motioning for her to leave before apologising to the young lady for Emily’s behaviour. But apparently, Hotch had already heard about the incident as the three found him waiting in front of the elevators.

“What happened?”

“I think there may be a third victim,” Emily maintained as professionally as possible.

“Is that what you think?” Hotch turned to Derek who glanced at Emily quickly before inputting.

“I don't know.”

“Uh, we have ligature marks, the Spain connection, and scuff marks under the bed.” Emily attempted to salvage the case as it fell apart at the seams.

“Hotch, it's weird, definitely, but there's no way to physically connect dehydration, a heart attack, and an aneurism.” Hotch sighed and Derek asked him if everything was okay.

“We've had a complaint. JJ 's trying to smooth it over with the DC police, but we haven't been invited in on the case.” Hotch uncrossed his arms, face neutral as always and Spencer followed his boss into the bullpen. Derek made to follow too, stopped only by Emily’s voice.

“Hey, that's how you have my back?”

“Prentiss, I'm trying to protect you.” Derek held his hands up.

“I don't need protection,” she spat.

“Hotch just said he got a complaint, and he didn't come down on you. You realize that? You just dodged a bullet. We have to approach this just like we do any other case.”

“Meaning what?” She narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to continue.

“Grief can make us wanna believe there's a reason for things when there's not.”

“That woman couldn't even use Patrick's name. She could only say, "my fiancé," because she's convinced something else died in that room that night.” She pushed past him, deliberately digging her shoulder against him, as she walked into the bullpen. As she poured coffee, Spencer recounted the earlier events to Piper.

“Yikes. Is Em okay?”

“I don’t know. She’s convinced there’s an unsub.”

“You don’t think so.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Spencer said as he sat at his desk. “It’s out of my hands.”

“Yeah, I heard there was a complaint.” Piper unclipped her hair, scooping it into a ponytail as she watched Emily glare at Derek over her cup. “Also, Garcia found something.” Piper rolled her chair closer to Spencer, leaning in as she spoke. “Turns out there was a blog posting by Matthew to create a support group for people who felt betrayed by their faith.”

“That explains how they all met.”

“That’s what I said. But it gets better.” Piper slurped at her tea. “And by better, I mean worse. The week the 3 of them were in Spain, the services at Santiago de Compostela were cancelled when the priest there died of, and get this, a heart attack. And,” she emphasised. “If you listen to the conspiracy chatter, there is a strong belief he was killed to interrupt services during the height of the pilgrimage. Their best guess is some kind of gas, sarin or VX, something that wouldn't show up in an autopsy. But it could be anything that would induce stress, cause a heart attack.”

“Then we have a motive. And a potential MO, An eye for an eye.”

“That’s what I said.” Piper’s eyes widened. “But Hotch can’t authorise an investigation.” She leaned back in her chair.

“Wait, but why’d you say that so secretively? Everyone knows, right?”

“Yeah. I’ve just always wanted to do that.” Piper beamed, spinning her chair before skidding over to her own desk. After a few minutes, Emily walked over, shrugging off her coat and getting down to get some work done. Piper looked up to see an attractive man walk up to Emily’s desk and she embraced him quickly. She couldn’t quite make out their hushed conversation but saw Rossi approach them and the two agents left to ‘grab coffee’.

^-^

“You know, there are nicer places to take a girl to coffee.” Emily stood outside the ruins of a burnt down house and Rossi snorted.

“You ever watch The Exorcist?”

“Yeah. Piper hated it.” Rossi nodded.

“The real case started right here. The fire department actually burned down the house themselves. The authorities referred to the boy as Robbie Doe. He's still in the DC area today.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Whole lot of effort went into destroying the house of a kid who probably had onset schizophrenia or Tourette’s syndrome.”

“I'm not following you.”

“You're sure he was murdered. So, what's the story?” Emily sighed. “If you, uh, don't wanna explain, that's fine, but if you do, I'm all in.”

“Matthew knew the Bible inside and out, and he started to question everything.”

“Why?”

“We moved around a lot when I was a kid, 'cause of my mom's postings,” Emily said, pawing at the ground with her foot. “It was hard to get accepted, and when you're 15, that's all you want. You'll do almost anything.”

“You got pregnant,” Rossi inferred, and Emily nodded. “Was Matthew the—”

“No. I couldn’t tell my mom and I didn’t know what to do.” Emily’s voice cracked. “Matthew suggested I go see a priest. He said that if I had an abortion, I wasn't welcome in his congregation.”

“What’d you do?”

“Matthew found a doctor. He took me there. He stayed with me. That Sunday when we got back to Rome, he held my hand and walked me into the church. Father Gamino actually stopped his sermon, but Matthew told me to hold my head up, and we walked to the front pew.”

“What happened?”

“He and Matthew just stared at each other. It was like a battle of wills, and-- and then suddenly Father Gamino went back to his sermon. Matthew saved my life. He made me feel like i was worthy of... Love and friendship. But that's when his anger and questioning started. Then the drugs. His parents saw it all and assumed he was possessed by something evil.” Emily exhaled, looking at the overcast sky to avoid eye contact with Rossi. “It’s my fault…that Matthew’s life unravelled. Rossi watched her blink away tears before he continued.

“Garcia uncovered some information. It's possible Matthew and the others killed someone in Spain.”

“No. I don't believe that.”

“I'm just saying if we keep pushing, you have to be prepared for what we might discover.”

“I need Matthew to rest in peace. I owe him that.”

“Then let's go give a profile.” Rossi moved towards the SUV they rolled in.

“The-the police haven't invited us in.”

“The police aren't gonna do us any good on this one, anyway.”

^-^

Piper was perched on the podium, tightening her small ponytail over her dark cardigan as she watched the group of priests. Spencer stood in an adjacent corner, leaning his back against the wall as Rossi delivered the profile in front of their audience. “We are not here to examine your beliefs in demonology or exorcism, but we are operating on the theory that the person responsible for these deaths does believe. We believe the inciting incident was the death of Father Raul del Toro in Galicia, Spain, 4 months ago.”

“Th-there's an element who believes that the death was actually a murder.” Emily shoved her hands in her pockets.

“The man we’re looking for is probably a priest with a psychotic break,” Piper continued. “He may be under the delusion that he is working for God, would be obsessed with the event in Galicia.”

“He believes he's fighting evil and may very well have followed these men here to Washington,” Spencer finished Piper’s sentence. “We believe that one of the exorcisms took place over enough days for the victim to die of dehydration.”

“Uh, if I may,” David’s priest raised his hand, saying, “An exorcism is like a prize fight. It's completely draining, both physically and spiritually. Now, if this man truly performed 3 rituals within the last few weeks, he would need medical care.”

“Is there somewhere he would go to convalesce?”

“Um, anything less than a working hospital would be too dangerous.” Spencer met Piper’s eyes and she jumped off her perch, following him outside as he dialled Garcia.

“Garcia, it's Reid.”

“Speak, boy wonder.”

“I need you to run Catholic hospital records. Look for any admissions for exhaustion immediately following Patrick Cavanaugh's death. You got it?”

“You know I do.”

“Alright, now run the same search for the days immediately following the first 2 deaths.”

“Oh, I sense a cross-check in my future.”

“Do you have anything?”

“One hit- Father Paul Silvano. Currently at St. Agatha's hospital on 214.” Piper’s forehead unwrinkled and she sprinted down the halls of the church to Rossi, flinging the door open, announcing 3 magical words.

“We got him.”

^-^

“What do you mean he has diplomatic immunity?” Emily slammed a hand on Hotch’s desk.

“Exactly that. Emily, he’s protected by the Italian government. My hands are tied."

“Hotch, he killed three people.”

“There’s no proof.”

“He admitted he was there at each crime scene, that he performed an exorcism on him.” As the fight continued, Spencer gazed intently into the window from his desk.

“What do you think is happening?”

“Auntie Em and Dad are fighting again,” Piper answered as she scribbled the last word on her file, finally completing the week’s paperwork.

“I can see that. I mean, what do you think is gonna happen?”

“The regular. Hotch doesn’t listen to anyone except Rossi so hopefully he can sort this one out. Emily will storm out in 3… 2… 1…” Spencer watched her slam the door behind her as Rossi continued the argument with Hotch, sighing. JJ walked over, leaning her back on Emily’s desk.

“Can we deport him?”

“I doubt it,” Spencer sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“It's crazy. Diplomatic immunity wasn't intended to shield people from murder charges,” Piper complained as she stacked her finished paperwork.

“So Hotch bypasses the state department,” JJ suggested, “goes straight to the Italian Consulate.”

“And loses his career,” Spencer snorted. “The state department won't risk the potential embarrassment. They'll shut us all down.”

“Well, there's some realpolitik for you,” Piper puffed. “So, what do we do now?”

“Did you check his papers with ICE?” Spencer turned to JJ.

“Yeah. His diplomatic status runs till the end of the month.” Piper stood up, starting to pace.

“Okay, let’s go back to the profile. He's a believer.” Piper juggled a stress ball in her hands. “He deals in certainties. In his mind, he has a job to do. Which doesn't end until the end of the month.” Spencer stood up.

“There's another victim on his list.” As the realisation dawned on her, Piper jumped up onto Spencer’s desk before leaping over the partition, sprinting up to Hotch’s office. Spencer just blinked at where Piper had stood merely seconds ago. “That’s starting to get annoying.” Rossi then stormed out to catch Emily by the elevator and they went for another ‘drive.’

They drove to the Benton household where Mrs Benton recognised Emily perfectly, greeting her snidely. “We know Matthew died during an exorcism by Father Paul Silvano. He's performed 3 in the last few weeks. Each subject has died. We believe he's planning another one.”

“That's none of our business.”

“Matthew's gone. You've accepted that. At least let us warn the last family so they know what kind of choice they're facing.” Emily’s pleading met silence. “This isn't about me. This is about other families and the people they love.” Mrs Benton just sighed and walked back inside, leaving the door open for them to come in.

“Father Paul didn't kill Matthew.” Mr Benton was perched next to his wife on the arm of her chair.

“Why are you so willing to accept that? I- I'm just trying to find the truth about how your son died,” Emily pleaded with them from the opposite chair.

“Then listen to me. Father Paul never laid a hand on Matthew.”

‘How do you know that?”

“Because it was me.” He looked ashamed as he stared at his worn leather shoes. “I held him down, I sanctioned the exorcism.”

“I was there.”

“You stood there and watched Matthew die?”

“He wasn't the person you knew.”

“Because Father Paul said that?”

“Something horrible happened on that trip to Spain.”

“You believe that because Father Paul said it. You can't think for yourself?”

“Young lady, do not speak to me like that.”

“How could you allow him to perform a ritual over Matthew?”

“I loved my son.”

“Then you knew how Matthew was. You knew how paranoid he could be.”

“I was trying to save his life.” Emily stood up in frustration at Mr Benton.

“That priest must have done something. Matthew's heart wouldn't have just given out.”

“That thing killed Matthew! It was inside him for years. I know you know that's true.”

“No. Matthew was a sweet boy. He was just troubled.”

“He was never troubled until he met you,” Mrs Benton murmured loud enough for Emily to hear and she recoiled.

“Look, Father Paul explained that Matthew was a conduit. If you opened yourself up to him, you were putting yourself in danger of being taken over.”

“Was anyone with him in Spain or in DC?”

“No-one. He didn’t see anyone when he came back,” Matthew’s father explained.

“No, that's not true. I - I know for a fact he saw our friend John Cooley. His parents worked with my mother at the embassy in Rome. You called him to tell him Matthew had died.”

“I haven't spoken with John Cooley in over 20 years, not since you were kids in Italy.”

^-^

While Rossi went to smooth things over with Hotch, Emily went to John’s apartment, meeting Derek there. Derek flanked Emily as they stormed the apartment. Emily raised her gun, rushing to protect John as Derek dragged Father Paul away. Once outside, Emily freed John while Derek cuffed Paul. Carefully, Emily guided her old friend to the ambulance though his complaints of being fine. Before he left, he murmured something to Emily. “I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. In Italy.” Emily just smiled, rubbing his arm gently before pushing him gently to the ambulance. She rubbed her own arm as the ambulance doors closed and drove away. Piper stood next to Emily.

“You saved him.” Emily nodded. “If you want to crash over at my place, we can watch old movies together,” Piper offered as Hotch approached. She squeezed Emily’s shoulder gently before leaving them.

“If you want my gun and badge, I understand.”

“There’s no need. The Vatican intervened.” Morgan dragged Father Paul over to them. “There's a plane ticket in your name to Rome. Agent Morgan and I will drive you to the airport. Any of your belongings can be shipped to you.”

“You have no right to deport me.”

“The Italian government has rescinded your diplomatic status. They'll do with you as they see fit when you're back in their jurisdiction.” Hotch motioned for the SUV. But as they left, the father called over his shoulder.

“You’ve made the world a more dangerous place. May God’s love be with you.”

“And with you,” she spat back. Rossi, Piper and Spencer joined her and Derek

“I saw that guy up there. He was certain he was fighting against some kind of evil,” Derek murmured to the group as the snow glistened on his shoulders.

“We all have to be certain,” Rossi remarked as he watched the priest leave with Hotch.

“Rossi, don't tell me you believe in evil.”

“Don't tell me you do this job and you don't.”

“I believe there are evil acts, but those are choices, brain chemistry,” Derek explained. “What do you think, Pipes?”

“There’s no evil in the world. Every feeling, every emotion has its justification. For him, it was his beliefs. I think it’s easy for us to dismiss someone or something as evil.” Piper puffed; her breath smoky. Morgan nodded thoughtfully before Hotch called him. One by one, they all left to their own SUVs. Piper looked over to Emily, who stared thoughtfully into the snow, one tear rolling down her cheek. Piper draped an arm over her shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get you home.” Piper drove Emily carefully to her own apartment, letting her in gently. Emily couldn’t help smiling as Penelope held a hot bowl of soup.

“It’s chicken noodle.” Garcia beamed at Emily who took it, smiling softly at the soup. “Also, the movie choices are Sweet Home Alabama, Pretty Woman or Titanic.”

“I don’t know, I should—”

“How about just a quiet night in? Tell me you still made that lasagne.” Emily sat on Piper’s maroon couch, slurping at her chicken noodle soup as Piper and Penelope fought over how to cut lasagne.

“It’s not pie, Piper! You don’t cut it into triangles.”

“But it’s fun!” Emily giggled despite herself and Piper glanced over, smiling softly as she walked over, wrapping Emily in a throw when the doorbell rang. Piper opened the door for JJ who carried little Henry in one arm and a bottle of champagne in the other. Piper held Henry in her arms as JJ walked over to Penelope. The four girls sat on the floor, slurping soup, drinking champagne and eating lasagne. Emily smiled, finally feeling at home.

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ballumsecretvalentine · 4 years

Text

A Little Bit of Spice

For @benthighway! I loved reading your angst and AU’s so I am thrilled to gift you a Restaurant AU! Hope you enjoy and Happy Valentine’s Day!!!

“Hiya. Is Shirley around?”

“Who’s askin’?”

Ben fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m Ben, the new host.”

“Oh, yeah.” The woman’s entire demeanor changed. “Sorry ‘bout that. Sometimes some shady folk come ‘round looking for Shirl. Gotta man the door, y’know?”

Ben smiled with a nod, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

“Well, anyway, I’m Whitney.” She offered her hand and a surprisingly firm handshake. “I run the front of the house here, so we’ll be working together a lot. You got a tour on your interview?”

Ben nodded again, taking off his coat and straightening his tie. When Shirley had told him a uniform would be required, he almost walked out. When he saw one of the waiters in the uniform looking hotter than Hades, he figured he could give it a go.

With Whitney giving him an obvious once over, he knew he fit the bill.

“I’ll show ya the break room. You get a locker an’ all that, then you can meet everyone quick. You’ll be shadowing me tonight. Gotta learn from the best an’ all.”

Ben laughed and followed her to the back. She seemed harmless enough, pretty girl but trying way too hard. He’d make his preferences clear in due time.

After hanging up his coat in a locker and going through the process of punching in and out for a shift, Whitney led the way into the kitchen, a swarm of hustling bodies and loud voices.

No competition for her, though.

“Hey, arseholes!”

The entire kitchen stilled and looked to them. Ben was immediately impressed. She commanded the room like the captain of ship. Only she did it with fake nails and four-inch heels.

“This ‘ere is Ben. New host. Be nice, introduce yourselves and don’t bloody drop anything tonight.” Whitney glared at a skinny, blonde guy who made a face and turned right around, getting back to work.

With that, the action returned, and Ben was practically chasing Whitney as she went back out front.

He was grateful when two hours later the doors opened, and the customers flooded in. He could only take so much talk of napkins and cutlery before he’d wanted to chop off his ear with a salad fork.

Most of the customers were lovely, sopping up his charm like sponges, but there were always those dining who thought they knew better than everyone else.

“This isn’t medium rare. It’s medium.”

Ben smiled even though it hurt his face to do so. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of that for you.”

Practically stomping into the kitchen, teeth clenched tight with curses sliding through, he tossed the plate down in front of the nearest chef and said, “Gordon Ramsey out there says this isn’t medium rare.”

“Oh, alright. Not really Gordon Ramsey though, right? Think I’d piss myself if it was.”

Ben looked up and found himself speechless, a feat he didn’t think possible. The kindest smile and the most gentle set of eyes met his.

He cleared his throat and tried to get a grip. “Nah, mate. Not tonight.”

The other man laughed, prepping another steak. Without looking up from his workstation he asked, “are you the new guy Whit was yelling about?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Ben. Mitchell.”

“Callum Highway. I’d shake your hand but,” he held up a filthy, gloved hand.

Ben laughed and shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ben. Here ya go.” He slid a new steak across the counter. “May Gordon be kind.”

Ben’s heart raced as a blush crossed his cheeks against his will. “We can only hope.”

The rest of the evening went by without a hitch. The customers seemed to enjoy him, and he could tell Whitney was impressed with how quickly he fell into his new role. The few times Ben had to return to the kitchen, he went out of his way to catch a glimpse of Callum.

The man was tall, an immediate yes in Ben’s book, with those bright eyes and that wide smile. His shoulders were broad, and Ben’s thoughts had wandered to the nasty, wondering if that sturdy frame could hold his in those big paws he had.

Everyone seemed to like him, giving him pats on the shoulder and sharing jokes, so it was clear the man really was as nice as he seemed.

Determined to learn more about the cook, Ben said his goodbyes to Whitney and the other front-end staff and collected his stuff from the back. He popped into the kitchen, hoping to catch Callum before he left for the night but, stood at his station, Callum was laughing, with Whitney wiping something off his cheek, head tilted and smile full of flirtation.

Dammit, Ben thought. The radar must be broken.

******

The next night went much the same, Ben working on memorizing some of the menu items as well as the variety of wines the restaurant was trying to push. There was a noticeable lack of miserable customers which was wonderful, of course, except it meant he had no good reason to go into the kitchen. The pull to see Callum, to chat with him again, was something Ben wasn’t used to. It had been years since he’d felt more than just a surface attraction to another bloke.

This felt different.

And Callum was straight.

“Hey, Mitchell!”

Ben spun round at his name to a beaming Whitney. “Excellent job tonight. You’re catching on quick.”

He pulled on his coat and smiled in return. “Thanks. So far so good.”

“Listen, a bunch of us are goin’ for drinks. You interested?”

Ben thought about it, knew he needed to make some new mates here in Walford, but then he caught an eyeful of Callum, waiting patiently by the door, twiddling a hat between his hands. The idea of watching the two of them all over each other all night while the drinks flowed made him queasy.

With a sigh he said, “nah, I’m knackered. Next time though, yeah?”

Whitney nodded. “Suit yourself. Have a good night, then.”

He watched her leave, getting a small wave from Callum before the two of them headed out the door, Callum throwing his arm around Whitney’s shoulders as they left. Bopping his head lightly against his locker, he closed his eyes and groaned. First time attracted to someone again and it’s gotta be at work and with a bloke who don’t fancy men.

You pick ‘em well, Ben.

******

A few weeks later, after a few particularly boring days off, Ben found himself at the local, a nice little place everyone called the Vic. He was propping up the bar, feeling a bit sorry for himself, a damn bit lonely, too, when another pint appeared in front of him.

“I didn’t order another yet, mate.”

“S’alright,” the barkeep smiled. “From that one over there.” He tilted his head to the side and Ben melted where he sat when Callum lifted his glass.

Taking a deep breath, Ben stood with his fresh pint in hand and met Callum at one of the tables.

“Cheers for this.”

Callum shrugged. “No problem. It’s tough bein’ new ‘ere. Everyone already knows each other. Kinda tough to break the ice.”

Ben nodded, taking a sip and licking the foam off his lip. “You sound like you can relate.”

“Yeah, I only moved ‘ere ‘bout a year ago. My brother lives ‘ere and thought I’d like it.”

Ben took another drink, ignoring the heat choking him under his collar. Just being near Callum, listening to his voice and seeing the way his eyes sparkled up close was doing his head in.

“How’d you start cooking?”

Another big smile. “The army. I wasn’t in long, but I cooked quite a bit there; learned a lot.”

Eyebrows raised in surprise, Ben double checked. “Army?”

Callum had pride smeared across his mouth. “Yep. Not as soft as I look, y’know.”

Ben coughed on his drink, Callum giving him a few pats on the back in concern, missing what Ben felt was an obvious inuendo.

The rest of the evening was spent sharing stories and a few more drinks. Turned out they both came from fathers they’d prefer not to see again and mothers who tried their hardest but never seemed to get it right.

When Ben’s vision started getting blurry around the edges, the conversation shifted into talk of relationships. Callum seemed to shrug it off. “I’ve got, like, no experience, mate.”

Ben gave his shoulder a gentle shove. “Aw, c’mon. All them sights you seen in the army, never picked up a date or a shag?”

Callum laughed again, mouth open wide and so pure, Ben stared in awe. If Callum was being honest, which he seemed damn near incapable of being anything but, it just didn’t make sense. Why would no one pick him up? He was bloody gorgeous and sweet, tall and strong, and those hands—

“I can’t just hook up with someone. Not my style.”

Ben couldn’t help but wonder why Callum wasn’t telling him about Whitney. Objectively, even though he certainly wasn’t interested, she was sharp and beautiful, a good catch for any bloke.

“No one catching your eye at work, then?”

Callum’s head snapped with what Ben thought looked a bit like fear on his face. “I dunno what you mean.”

Ben shrugged, taking a drink and trying to steady his hands. He’s usually much smoother than this, easily chatting up any bloke he fancied, not afraid of an honest conversation.

But, fuck, Callum made him nervous.

He cleared his throat and put on his best teasing face. “Mate, everyone’s got a thing for someone they work with. That what it is? One of the waitresses catch your eye?”

He winked dramatically, trying desperately to downplay his nerves. It was like ripping off a plaster, right? Hearing Callum talking about Whitney directly would be better than drawing it out. That way he’d get over this ridiculous crush and move on.

“Nah. Most of them’s married, you know.”

With a roll of his eyes, Ben mumbled, “wouldn’t ‘ave stopped me.”

The look of judgement that was thrown his way made Ben want to disappear into the floor. He didn’t know why he said that, he’d never been with a married man before, and he could actually see Callum losing respect for him by the second.

“Is that your deal, Ben? Mess around with whoever you like? Don’t matter if they’ve got someone waiting at home?”

Scoffing, Ben finished his pint. “Yep. I like ‘em tall, dark and silent, Callum. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

It was definitely the booze brandishing some liquid courage, but Ben was fuming. He made one stupid, off handed comment and that was all it took to be judged once again. And why the hell wouldn’t Callum mention Whitney? What was the big bloody deal? He’d been at the restaurant less than a week and could name a handful of people screwing around. What made them special?

He threw a bunch of cash on the table, not bothering to count it, and headed out into the cold January night. All he’d wanted was a quiet drink. A mate or two. A job. A fresh start.

But then Callum bloody Highway had to muck it all up.

******

When the hangover started fading the next day, Ben seriously debated calling in. He wasn’t a coward; he’d always faced up to his shit in the past. Callum, though, made him feel…vulnerable.

He hated it.

Ultimately, his brain voted in favor of a paycheck so he forced his body up, took the longest, hottest shower he could handle. Feeling close to human again, he got himself dressed and picked a pair of too tight trousers to go with his uniform. He’d be worried about ripping ‘em all night but he’d look damn good doing it.

Feigning confidence and nonchalance, he moved through his shift like a man with no worries, no concerns. But all night he kept an eye on Callum and could have sworn Callum was watching him in return.

As the last of the customers were finishing up, Ben used the quiet to debate his next move. Something was sitting uncomfortably in his gut, churning and tossing with the idea of Callum thinking less of him, especially over some nonsense comment. He could try pretending it never happened, picking up a conversation like they never stopped speaking. Or, and this would be horribly unpleasant, he could just be honest.

I’ve got a crush and it made me word vomit absolute bullshit and I’m sorry.

Shockingly, he decided the truth was the only safe way to go. They’d worked together for a bit now and, if Callum was weird after the confession, they didn’t have to see each other that often anyway. Plus, Ben reasoned, Callum was too nice to be that petty. He pictured the chef now, smiling and shaking his head at Ben’s stupidity, laughing it off.

Decision made, Ben headed into the kitchen, ready to confess.

Regretting it instantly, Ben stood frozen with his hand holding open the swinging door as he watched Callum holding Whitney close to his chest, lips on hers and eyes closed tight.

Feeling lightheaded, he put too much weight on the door, making it bang into the wall behind it. Whitney and Callum jumped apart, both with surprise on their faces. Ben scoffed, confused as to why two people going at it in the wide open would be shocked when someone walked in.

“Ben, it’s not what it looks like, okay?” Whitney wiped the back of her mouth with her perfectly manicured hand and moved away from Callum who looked about a minute away from passing out.

Ben just shook his head and headed to the break room, thoughts of the Albert and a warm body for a distraction running through his head. He stared at Callum, looking small and blushing the color of a rose, when he said, “don’t worry about it. Everyone’s got a thing for someone they work with, right?”

He bit his lip, willing the embarrassment and disappointment away. He threw on his coat and called a cab. There were plenty of fish in the damn sea.

******

As soon as he sat down with a pint, it was like moths to a flame. One after another, blokes of all shapes and sizes came to chat him up. It definitely helped build the ego back up, but he cursed himself as each one did nothing to light that spark.

They were all too short or way too tall. Too arrogant or too quiet. They tried too hard to make him laugh or put on moves that had him grimacing into his drink.

A few hours later, he was well drunk and thinking about his bed. He felt old and ridiculous then, sat in a bar with music blaring and lights flashing, blokes throwing themselves at him left, right and center, but he’s daydreaming about sweatpants and warm blankets and soft pillows.

Oh, and of course the man with the most genuine laugh, and thoughtful eyes, most stunning smile.

Ben rubbed his face, willing images of Callum away with the pressure, and signaled to the bartender for the tab.

“Leaving already?”

He tensed, concerned he’d had so much to drink he was hallucinating that voice in a gay bar.

Even in the dim light, Callum was beautiful.

Ben let out a breath and stared blankly behind the bar, trying and failing to sober up. “What are you doing here?”

He saw Callum’s shoulders rise and fall from the corner of his eye. “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Smiling at the bartender, Ben signed for his bill and turned in his seat. “Don’t bullshit me. I’m not gonna say anything about you and Whitney, alright? What you do is your business.”

Callum shook his head but Ben was out of his seat and calling a taxi before he could say anything. Outside, his breath moved in a cloud in front of his face and he buttoned up his coat. He would freeze in this weather but there was no way he could sit next to Callum for another second.

“Hey.”

Ben groaned, frustration overcoming his buzz.

“What, Callum? What?”

“You got it wrong, okay? What you saw today, at work, it-it wasn’t what it looked like.”

Ben made a face. “Yeah, Whitney already said that. I’m sure I just got confused. I mean, that’s how I say goodbye to folks. With my tongue.”

Callum threw his head back with a sound that came out like a growl. “That’s not what I mean! God, Ben, what is your problem?”

“I liked ya!”

Ben’s confession hung in the air, stuck between the two of them. His chest felt tight and his eyes stung, a sensation he refused to allow to win.

He turned, looking up the street and praying to the universe for his cab to suddenly appear. He’d give it just another minute or so before he’d be walking home. Maybe he’d get lucky and the bloody cab would just run him over.

“I-I don’t understand.”

Laughing, Ben met Callum’s eye. “I’m gay, Callum. And I like ya. Sorry I’m not interested in seeing you with other people.”

Huffing, he started to move, feet going numb and hands burning from the cold. Ben turned his collar up and dug his hands deep into his pockets.

He heard feet on the pavement jogging to catch up. “But, the other night. You were talking about—”

“Jesus, Callum!” He spun around so quickly Callum stumbled over his own feet, giving Ben a wide berth. “I just wanted you to keep talking. And we were drinking. And you make me bloody stupid! I’ve never been with a married man before, it just came out. But you shut down, judging me, making me feel—”

“I wasn’t judging!”

Ben scoffed and started walking again.

“Ben, wait!”

“I’ll see ya at work, Callum.” He turned back, walking backwards up the street. “And, no worries. Your secret’s safe with me!”

If he spent that night shivering alone in his bed, holding a pillow tight and feeling completely empty, it was no one’s business.

******

Ben woke the next day with puffy eyes and a sore throat to discover, in horror, that it was Valentine’s Day. He’d barely slept at all, embarrassment and regret running through his mind all night. He downed a glass of water with a slice of dry toast while planning the phone call to play hooky from work when the bell rang.

On the other side of the door sat the largest stuffed bear Ben had ever seen holding a single red rose. He looked up and down the street, forgetting in his confusion he was in nothing but his underwear, searching for whoever dropped the stupid thing off at the wrong address. When no one was in sight, he groaned and mumbled to himself about inept delivery drivers as he hauled the brown bear into his flat.

With the distraction of the bear, Ben had lost track of time and found it was too late to call out of his shift. He showered quickly and threw on what he hoped were some clean clothes. As he headed out the door, a tag hanging from the bear’s big ear caught his eye; he hadn’t seen it earlier. Flipping it over he read:

Ben,

I hope this is a Valentine’s Day you won’t forget.

Your Secret Admirer

He froze, excitement and nerves churning in his gut. Was this real? Was someone messing with him? Who the hell would take the time to send something like this? And to him, no less.

Yanking the tag off the animal, Ben read it once more before shoving it in his pocket. He’d worry about it all later.

******

The restaurant was absolutely slammed that night, the holiday filling their patrons with romance and generosity. Ben found himself forgetting about the tag in his pocket and focusing on the money filling them instead.

On his break, he popped into his locker and almost got knocked out when something shiny, covered in cellophane fell out. He stared at the offending object, a red, heart shaped box, and looked around the room, starting to get worried he was being pranked.

Carefully, he picked it up and peeled away the wrapper. Inside, were a handful of fancy and, he learned later, delicious chocolate truffles. Inside the cover of the box was a scribbled note.

Ben,

A little pre-dinner snack. Don’t work too hard tonight.

Your Secret Admirer

His heart raced and his cheeks flushed. Pre-dinner snack? Like, a date? Or was it just that this person knew he’d be opening the gift before he ate?

Again, he looked around the space. The bear could have been ignored but now he was definitely getting curious. As he went back onto the floor, he looked at each of his co-workers in a different light. He realized he hadn’t made his preferences known to everyone so there was a good chance he might actually be hurting someone’s feelings tonight and a disaster would ensue.

No one seemed to be looking at him any differently, though. Lee gave him a polite nod and Mick asked if he had any plans for the night of romance. He knew Whitney and Callum were out of the running and annoyed himself briefly with visions of their sexy Valentine’s night. The rest of the kitchen and wait staff were nice but no one stuck out; no one had blatantly flirted.

With a sigh, Ben decided he was just being pranked, give the new guy a hard time kind of thing. No one knew him well enough to like him let alone admirer him. He’d grab his stuff as soon as his shift was over, stop and get a bottle of something nice for himself and then head home. Maybe watch a slasher film or something.

The night finally came to an end, the love in the air eventually becoming too overwhelming for Ben to stomach. He stuck to his plan, making a beeline for his coat and heading out the back door. What greeted him outside stopped him dead in his tracks.

Callum stood in front of him, nervous smile on his face and a large bouquet of flowers in his hands. Exhausted and so disappointed, Ben could only offer a nod. “Have a good night, mate. She’ll love ‘em.”

Before he could walk away, a large hand turned him around and roses were being shoved under his nose. “For you, Ben.”

In slow motion, with a pitiful expression on his face, Ben took hold of the flowers and looked at Callum. “I don’t get it.”

Callum laughed and shook his head. “We have to start over, Ben. I’ve messed this up since day one but it’s Valentine’s, so I figured I’d just go for it.”

With a shake of his head Ben asked, “go for what?”

“You can be so thick. You, ya idiot.”

In his confusion, Ben tried giving the flowers back. “But you’re with Whitney.”

Callum stepped forward, gently pushing the flowers back into Ben’s chest. “You saw me panic, Ben. Whitney and Lee have been dating for months now.”

“Okay, remember when you called me thick?”

With a laugh that sent a shiver through Ben, he explained. “I’ve been thinking that I’m, well, not exactly straight, for a while now but no one was catching my eye enough to test that theory, ya know? Then you walked in the kitchen on your first night and it was like a switch went off. Yep, I’m gay.”

They both laughed and Ben found himself relaxing, allowing himself to hope this was all real. “But that scared me. And then you were so, I dunno, bold? When we had drinks that night, remember? And I just felt unsure. So the next day, Whit was talking to me and being real nice, she’s one of my best friends, and I kissed her like the moron I am. You just ‘appened to walk in before she could give me a slap.”

“You know I got blasted that night at the Vic ‘cause I convinced myself you two were together.”

“What?”

Ben bit his lip and nodded. “Yeah. I figured you two were together and I didn’t stand a chance, so I drank too much and the muck started fallin’ outta my mouth.”

They stood together in the dark alley sharing breath and laughs for a few minutes. Eventually Ben looked at his hands, clenched tightly around the first flowers he’d ever received, and wondered what was next.

“Ben?”

He looked up and met Callum’s beautiful, blue eyes.

“Hmm?”

“I’m gay.”

Ben laughed again. “Okay.”

“And I like ya.”

Wrapping his arms around Callum’s waist, Ben moved in and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, still in complete disbelief this was actually happening. With foreheads resting against one another and lips turned up in matching grins, Ben whispered, “I like ya, too.”

With a satisfied sigh, Callum stood tall and offered his hand to Ben. “I thought I’d be crazy and made us reservations at that Italian place around the corner.”

“Whoa, big man. Very bold of ya,” Ben teased with eyebrow raised.

Callum leaned down and kissed Ben once again, gentle and soft and filled with the promise of so much more.

“C’mon, let’s get this date started.”

Ben smiled, pulling Callum in close by the waist and melting into the strong arm thrown over his shoulders, flowers swinging happily by his side.

“Let’s.”

#bvd20 #ben x callum #ballum secret valentine #ballum #eastenders #fanfic

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yesloverboy · 5 years

Text

Neighborly (mgk!Tommy Lee x Reader) Part 6

SUMMARY: After a full day of trying to win your affections back, you finally agree to let Tommy take you on a date. With Tommy planning the whole thing, you can’t help but feel a little nervous. Can Tommy actually convince you he’s in love, or is it all just for show?

word count: 6,556

[Warnings: swearing, body image, little bit of angst, a lot of cavity-inducing fluff, language, drug and alcohol mention/usage.]

NOTE: It’s finally here! As an apology for such a long wait, this chapter is extra long and should have plenty of first date fluff to get you by until Part 7. If y’all have any ideas for shenanigans that reader and the boys can get into, please share them with me! I have a tentative plan for the next portion (which you all can probably guess hehehe), but some inspo would be great appreciated. Love you crazy kids!

P.S. feedback is greatly appreciated, so please let me know what you think!

tags: @kwyloz, @scarecrowmax, @lavendersoundbarrier, @stevenandsam, @totallynotkaibiased, @rogertaylur, @fatheadtheroger, @secretly-a-groupie, @kickstart-myheart-sixx, @abbysdogcollar, @dirtysixxers, @black-tights-black-heart, @valentines-in-london, @colsonbakersnoseringmain, @hxllywood-whxre, @ccidk, @sharon6713, @myshakespeareandarling, @moon-beame, @carmineharry, @2dead2function, @lauravic, @amusicalprostituttee, @lululovesgwtw

permanent tags: @colsonbakersnoseringmain, @kingbouji3, @lululovesgwtw

When tomorrow finally rolls around, you have a difficult time taming the butterflies fluttering around inside your stomach. Tommy will be coming to pick you up any minute now, and you still had no idea what to wear or what to expect.

In all honesty, you can’t remember the last time you went on a proper date. Dates were all about impressing people and getting them to like you, but everything about yours and Tommy’s budding relationship seemed to be working backwards.

Rushing around the apartment, you leave a trail of abandoned garments and makeup in your wake. No part of you is willing to admit how much you actually like Tommy, but your frantic movements tell a different story. Even though you have a way of making Tommy nervous, too, nothing seems to compare to the way he makes you squirm with excitement and self-doubt. You have to do something to even the playing field.

Digging through the bottom drawer of your dresser, you come across an obnoxious, leopard print bikini that you bought on dare back home. It’s definitely more revealing than anything you’d normally wear, but something tells you it would do just the trick. You bite your lip and scan the room nervously, suddenly afraid the walls might have eyes. Seeing Tommy’s jacket lingering in a heap on the floor, an idea suddenly pops into your head.

Against your comfortability, you decide to go for the tiny bikini, knowing full well that Tommy is going to be tripping all over himself when he sees you. Feeling adventurous, you decide to wear it with just a pair of cut-off shorts and slip Tommy’s baggy, leather jacket over your shoulders. For good luck, you apply a layer of bright red lipstick. The taste reminds you of the night Tommy kissed you at your dining table. Perfect.

Sure, it might be hot in L.A.– but you are determined to look even hotter.

You’re completely engrossed in teasing your hair when Tommy knocks at the door. Before you can even put down the comb and invite him in, he’s already halfway across the threshold. You roll your eyes, wondering how in the hell he got so comfortable barging in.

Oh, right– because you let him.

“Hey, Y/N! Ready to get out of here?”

Running your hands through your hair, you step out of your room to meet Tommy. He turns his head at the sound of your footsteps, jaw nearly falling off the hinges when he catches sight of you. You wait for him to say something but he just stares, blue eyes wide and unblinking.

“Yeah, uh, let me just grab my sunglasses,” you say awkwardly, pushing past him to retrieve them from the dining table. As you move, you can practically feel Tommy’s stunned gaze boring into your back. A wry smile tugs at your lips.

You turn to look at him, “What’s the matter, drummer boy? Do I have something on my face?”

A blush immediately colors his cheeks as he averts his eyes in embarrassment, trying to focus on anything in the room that isn’t you. “No! I, uh, you just– you just look really good is all.”

“I know,” you wink, nudging your shoulder against his arm playfully, “and you’re definitely not getting this jacket back.”

“Wouldn’t dream of asking,” he grins.

Instinctively, you go to grab your truck keys off their hook by the door, figuring it would just be easier if you drove. Tommy catches your wrist before you can reach them and shakes his head.

“Nah, baby, that won’t be necessary,” Tommy digs in the pocket of his denim shorts and pulls out a set of car keys, dangling them in front of your face triumphantly. “Mick’s working on some songs with Nikki today so he lent me his car.”

“Mick lent you his car?”

Tommy just shrugs, “Why is it so hard to believe? He’s my friend...uh, I think.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips, and jump up to ruffle the drummer’s hair playfully. He tries to push you away and fails, instead grabbing you by the waist to drag you over the threshold and out of the door.

“Hand ‘em over, Lee. I’m still driving,” you laugh, not wanting to let him off the hook that easily.

Tommy looks at you defiantly, “Race you for them.”

Without any hesitation, you shove past Tommy and head straight for the car. The two of you bound down the stairs, giggling breathlessly in a race to see who can get there first. Tommy wins, of course. His long limbs allow him to go at least twice as fast as you’re able– but you don’t mind. The only thing that matters is that he doesn’t just let you win. You don’t want him to. Not now, and not ever.

When you finally catch up to Tommy, you find yourself too dizzy and giddy with laughter to even pretend to be upset that he’d beaten you.

“Ready to hit the bricks, baby girl?” Tommy grins, ducking into the driver’s side of Mick’s beat up car.

“I’m ready when you are, drummer boy,” you say. Unlike your truck, you’re thankful to find that Mick’s car has working air conditioning. However, that doesn’t stop you old habit of fastening your seatbelt and cranking down the passenger side window, inevitably letting in the warm summer air.

The California sunshine bathes your legs in rays of golden heat, drawing you attention back to the fact that Tommy still hasn’t told you where he’s taking you. While your bathing suit and the summer sun should be a dead giveaway– you decide not to spoil all the fun.

“So Tommy,” you smile, poking his arm gently as he pulls out of the drive, “where exactly is this mystery date, hmmm?”

“Isn’t it obvious? We’re going to the beach dude!” Tommy accelerates out of the parking lot and onto the open road, tires screaming into a cloud of dust behind the car. There’s not a single doubt in your mind that Mick will recognize the tire marks streaking the pavement later. You snicker as Tommy tries to conceal the cringe on his face.

“Oooh,” you taunt, “someone’s going to be in trouble.”

“Am not,” Tommy says defensively. He slides his sunglasses down over his eyes, allowing his mop of wavy hair to fall in his face once again. A single, chain earring catches the light in the midst of Tommy’s hair, the cross charm at the end glittering and sparkling as it moves in the breeze.

“Are, too.”

As you and Tommy cruise through the streets of Los Angeles, you can’t help but become mesmerized by him once again. He grips the steering wheel with a single hand, the muscles of his long arms rippling beneath his tanned skin. Everything about Tommy radiates warmth, and the longer you exist in his natural glow, the more you feel like you feel like you’re dreaming.

Eventually the silence is too much for Tommy’s hyperactive brain and he turns on the radio, eyes briefly meeting yours over the top of his sunglasses.

“What are you looking at, pretty girl?” he smirks.

You blush at the pet name, suddenly feeling as though you never want to hear another voice call you pretty again if it isn’t his. More than anything, you want to come back with something clever. Something that won’t let Tommy know that he’s becoming a weak point for you.

“You,” you reply, the single word falling from your lips before you can stop yourself.

So much for subtlety.

A broad smile breaks across Tommy’s face, and for a moment it seems that he might be blushing even more than you are. With his free hand, he reaches into your lap and weaves his fingers through yours. His thumb rubs small circles over your own, making the physical connection between the two of you feel as if it were meant to happen all along. Although Tommy’s hands are calloused from years of playing the drums, his touch is soft and gentle.

“Just you wait,” Tommy says smugly, eyes fixed on the palm-lined streets in front of him, “I’ll make you mine before you know it.”

...

When you and Tommy finally arrive at the beach, you’re surprised to find that he has pretty much planned everything down to the last detail. Nestled in the back of Mick’s trunk is a beach blanket, towels, a cooler, and a large umbrella. Try as you may to help Tommy unload the car, he only allows you to carry the beach towels– and even that had been a fight.

The two of you eventually stake out a spot off the beaten path, far away from the droves of obnoxious tourists and screaming children. As you get to work laying out the towel and staking the umbrella, you can’t help but become a little distracted by how beautiful of a day it is. The sky is bluer than you’ve ever seen it, and the crash of the waves in the distance is something you’ve been longing to hear since you planned your move to California.

As soon as you’re content with yours and Tommy’s set up, you shed your shorts and leather jacket, allowing them to fall in a heap on the corner of the blanket. You hum and stretch as your skin soaks in the glorious rays of sunshine, reveling in the salty air around you. The sound of Tommy shuffling over with the cooler breaks your relaxed trance and you turn to look at him.

Tommy’s staring at you again, eyes wide and mouth agape. You’re confused at first, but soon recall your choice to wear the tiniest bikini you own. For the first time since you met Tommy, you don’t blush. You’ve got him right where you want him.

“Beautiful,” he sighs, appearing as though even the slightest breeze would knock him to the ground. He has the same dreamy expression on his face now as he did the night he first uttered the word to you. Then, he had been pumped full of alcohol and soaked in blood– but now, he seems more sincere than ever.

“The weather?” you ask, feigning innocence, “It is beautiful isn’t it?”

“Uh–yeah. Yeah! The weather, it is, um, beautiful,” Tommy stammers, “the weather, the day–all of it. Sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“Thank you,” you interrupt, giving him another small peck on the cheek. If you aren’t careful, pretty soon giving Tommy little kisses here and there will become a force of habit.

Fuck it, you think, why the hell shouldn’t it?

Leaving the drummer speechless, you pull your sunglasses down over your eyes and recline lazily on the blanket. Eventually, Tommy snaps out of his trance and begins noisily digging around through the cooler again.

“What’s in there?” you ask, eyebrow raised.

Tommy reaches in and pulls out a beer. Holding it by the bottle’s neck he points it in your direction, gesturing for you to take it. “Beer! Oh and some snacks, too.”

You accept Tommy’s offering and take a look inside the cooler for yourself. Among the ice and beer bottles, a pastel pink tupperware container sticks out to you. Of all the things you had seen in the Crüe apartment, a cutesy set of tupperware surely wasn’t on the list.

“ And this?” You look over at Tommy for an answer, but he’s busy prying off the beer bottle cap with his teeth.

The cap tears off the bottle with a loud pop as Tommy casually spits its remains onto the sand by your feet. “Oh that?” Tommy replies, smiling sheepishly, “actually my mom made that.”

“Your mom?” you ask, feeling your heart melt ever so slightly, “When did you see your mom?”

“Yesterday,” Tommy smiles sweetly, his eyes drifting off in the direction of the ocean waves lapping at the shore. “The moment I thought you might give me another chance after–well, you know–I had to ask her how to fix it.”

Even though thinking back on that night still leaves a bad taste in your mouth, you can feel your heart swell at the thought that Tommy would ask his family about how to make it all better. Maybe you are important to him after all.

“Does your family live around here?”

“Kinda. They live out in the ‘burbs, which can feel like forever away,” Tommy replies, “Remember when I called you? I was actually waiting for my ride back to the city.”

Deciding not to pry anymore, you pick up the container and try to see if you can get a read on what might be in it. “You still haven’t answered my question, drummer boy,” you smile, “What’s inside?”

Tommy gently pulls it from your grasp and pops open the lid. Inside are two triangle shaped pastries, both of which are golden brown and glistening with a layer of honey.

“It’s baklava,” Tommy grins, “My mom’s from Greece so she thinks that food can fix everything.”

“You’ll have to thank her for me,” you say, feeling pleasantly overwhelmed by the kind gesture of a woman you hadn’t even met. Tommy’s constant displays of affection and generosity didn’t seem to be as much of a mystery now.

Tommy tips his beer back and takes a swig. “Don’t worry,” he says, “I’m sure you’ll get to tell her yourself.”

As the summer sun starts to slowly dip into the horizon, you and Tommy decide to pack up the car and take a walk along the beach. A comfortable silence sits between the two of you as you walk, your hands almost close enough to touch. After a day of sunbathing and chatting, it’s nice to just exist among each other. The more time you spend around Tommy, the more you find yourself feeling completely at home when he’s around.

While Tommy has a lot of energy for partying and playing music, he also uses that energy to listen to you talk about the things you love. He’s the only person you’ve ever met that actually listens to what you’re saying, rather than just waiting for their turn to talk. It’s almost as if he wants to study everything about you and commit it to memory. Even now, with conversation being replaced by the lapping of the waves, you could feel Tommy’s eyes on you as you shift forward through the sand.

As the beach becomes bathed in a dreamy purple and orange glow, the pier that you and Tommy have been meandering towards starts to glitter with artificial light. The closer you get, sounds of laughter and carousel music can be heard over the shriek of the gulls circling overhead. A ferris wheel spins lazily against the sky, and your stomach flutters at the thought of being up so high. It’s not the fear of heights that makes you uneasy, it’s the fear of falling.

“What’s going on over there?” you ask, turning to Tommy with childlike wonder sparkling in your eyes.

“That’s the pier, dude! It’s got all kinds of games and rides– wanna go?” Tommy flashes you a boyish grin, and holds out his hand.

When you look at Tommy, it’s as if time stops and the only thing in motion is the both of you. Nothing else matters when you take a dip into his ocean eyes, and you find yourself wondering:

Is this love?

The thought tears through all the layers of caution tape you had been stringing up in your mind. After all of the weird things Tommy had brought crashing into your life, you were supposed to be guarding your heart– but all you find yourself wanting to do is hand it over to the boy in front of you. Even if it bleeds.

Taking Tommy’s hand, you allow a goofy smile to take over your face. While a single date doesn’t mean that you and Tommy will be together forever, for just a minute you want to let yourself believe that it’s possible. All you ever wanted in life was to be in control, and somehow Tommy makes you forget that tomorrow is even something worth worrying about. Tommy brings out the carefree side of you, and you wouldn’t mind if she came out to play more often. Before you know it, you’re smiling like you won the lottery.

With a newfound energy, you and Tommy race from the dusky shoreline and up towards the pier. Much like your race to the car early that afternoon, you and Tommy are enveloped in a breathless fit of giggles as soon as you reach the top. Passersby gawk as Tommy picks you up and spins you around, the carnival lights melting into the emerging stars above.

Tommy sets you back down on your feet, careful to keep his hands hovering over your waist to steady your balance. “Where to first, sweet thing?”

After a view short spurts of vertigo, you’re able to take a look around. With all the flashing lights and colorful displays, it’s hard for you to focus on just one thing at a time. Across the way, you catch sight of an old-fashioned shooting gallery complete with red targets and bee-bee gun rifles. All along the booth’s back wall and upper perimeter are clusters of teddy bears in an assortment of shapes and sizes. You eyes widen as they land on a fluffy pink teddy, its head lolling to the side to reveal a glossy pair of black, buttoned eyes.

“Come on, drummer,” you giggle, tugging on his hand, “this way!”

Tommy complies, allowing you to pull him along with the love-stricken smile never leaving his face. At the counter, he fishes two quarters out of his pocket and tosses them at the timid preteen manning the station. The kid plucks a rifle off of the back wall and instinctively gives it to Tommy, who is more than eager to take it.

“So which one am I shooting for?” Tommy asks, carelessly swiveling the rifle around the booth and gesturing at the bears hanging overhead. The young carnival worker all but ducks for cover as the gun points in his direction, his braces shining through the nervous grimace on his face.

You reach across the counter to place your hand on the rifle’s barrel, gently nudging its nose towards the ground. Tommy, finally realizing the implications of his actions mutters a soft, “sorry dude” in the kid’s general direction.

“Who said I wanted you to shoot for me?” you challenge, hand still firmly resting on the end of the bee bee gun.

“Oh come on,” Tommy whines, “I’ve always wanted to shoot one of these but my parents would never let me.”

“Gee, I can’t imagine why,” you chuckle. Tommy is barely out of his teens, and you have no doubt in your mind that his reckless nature is still very much an extension of his adolescence.

“Please, Y/N?” Tommy’s begging is all too familiar, his pout mirroring all the times he hung defeated in your doorframe over the past few weeks.

You roll your eyes, unable to conceal your soft spot for Tommy’s adorable pout. As you tilt your head upwards, the plush, pink teddy bear catches your attention once again. An idea flickers into your head and you turn to Tommy with a broad smile.

“Fine,” you relent, “but I bet you can’t get that one.”

Tommy looks up at the pink bear suspended above your head, his eyes bright with competitive spirit. Judging by the size and quality of the bear compared to the ones around it, there is no doubt in either of your minds that it’s a top prize.

“Oh yeah? And what do I get if I do, huh?” Tommy takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours as he towers above you. An unignorable electric current runs between the two of you, and for a moment all you can think about is how much you’re itching to close the space.

“Depends on what you want,” you shrug, trying the ignore the way your heart is frantically pounding against your ribcage. You know that letting Tommy ask for whatever he wants is a gamble, but you’re a good enough shot to hope that it wouldn’t matter.

Tommy grins confidently, “Another date, duh.” Your heart softens like candy in the sun, and the sincerity in Tommy’s eyes is just as sweet. From what you knew of the guys back home, any of them would have used your bet as an opportunity to be gross. Yet here Tommy is, simply asking to just have more of your time.

I was in love with you from the moment I saw you.

Tommy’s words replay in your head like a cassette tape burning from the inside out. You ignore the pesky memories of Tommy shotgunning smoke into a groupie’s mouth in favor of the first time you caught sight of him, smoking and waving on the balcony.

“Unbelievable,” you find yourself chuckling under your breath, knowing full well it won’t be the last time. “You sure that’s what you wanna shoot for, pretty boy?”

Tommy nearly lets the rifle slip through his grip as the pet name graces his ears, face turning red hot. “F-fine,” he stammers, trying to regain control of the situation, “I guess I’ll take the bear, too.”

You feign a gasp of astonishment, hand flying up to clutch your breastbone. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Tommy winks, “There’s two things I don’t turn down, baby. Bets and dares.”

“Whatever,” you smirk, “but I keep the bear and you take me on the ferris wheel.”

“Ladies first,” Tommy replies, stepping aside so that you have a full view of the gallery. Tommy tosses two more quarters at the kid, who eagerly scrambles to shove a second rifle into your hands. You take it confidently, its weight reminding you of all those summer days back home where there was nothing to do but shoot cans off of the back porch.

Filled with determination, you take a step back and situate the rifle’s stock in the divet of your shoulder. Closing one eye, you align the sight with one of the bright red targets ahead, your finger curling around the trigger in anticipation. All it takes is three bullseyes to win, and you already know Tommy has signed himself up for a losing bet.

With one last look at Tommy, you pull the trigger and fire three shots. Each bee bee connects with the center of the targets in quick succession, and land with a hollow thud to the floor.

Tommy and the boy behind the counter stare at you, mouths completely unhinged with disbelief.

“You can still take the shot if you want,” you comment as you set the rifle down on the counter, “but I believe the bear is mine.”

Tommy should be sinking with defeat, but instead he swells with pride and adoration. His rifle hits the counter noisily as he gestures for the kid to go and retrieve the pink bear. The timid boy hands it over, most likely thankful to be free of your antics for the night.

Tommy holds the bear out to you and pulls one of its arms forward, making it look as though the bear wants to go in for a firm handshake.

“Joint custody?” Tommy asks behind the fuzzy wall of pink fur.

You take the teddy bear’s arm in your hand and give it a good shake, all the while laughing at the outrageousness of it all.

“For being such a good sport? You bet,” you smile, “Now how about that ferris wheel?”

...

The two of you never make it to the ferris wheel, but you don’t mind. There is way too much to do and see, and Tommy can’t help but be pulled toward anything with flashing lights– which just so happens to be everything. First, Tommy drags you through the haunted funhouse, the two of you giggling and screeching with the giant, pink teddy bear sandwiched in the middle. Next is an impromptu skee-ball tournament that ends with Tommy nearly knocking himself out with stray ball, but winning regardless.

As a reward, you show Tommy the secret, feminine art of batting your eyelashes to get favors and free stuff. Tommy observes in amazement as, after minutes of flirting with the guy behind the counter, you return with two fluffy clouds of blue cotton candy on striped, paper cones.

“You’re amazing,” he gapes, and you do what you can to hide your red face behind the orb of spun sugar. Tommy notices your bashfulness, but elects not to tease you about it. He just plucks at his cotton candy and stares off into space with a smirk that just won’t quit.

After a brief sugar high and a few rounds of Galaga and Ms. Pac Man at the arcade, a massive yawn involuntarily swallows your face.

“You ready to hit the road, sleepyhead?”

You nod in response, allowing your body to lean comfortably against the side of Tommy’s. He seems surprised by your sudden display of casual affection, but happily slings an arm around your shoulders anyway.

Trekking back to Mick’s car, you remain glued to Tommy. Despite being firmly wrapped in his jacket, the breeze is cool against your bare legs as it drifts off the ocean, making you shiver. He smiles into your hair, teddy bear dangling from his free hand. You hate to admit it, but even if you were victorious in the bet earlier– Tommy is still winning.

You finally reach the car, thankful to finally sit down and rest your legs. Pulling your knees up, you rest your feet on the dash and giggle as leftover sand sprinkles the floorboards. Mick is sure to kill Tommy later.

“What’s got you all giddy?” Tommy asks, his body twisted towards you as he backs out of the beach parking lot.

You sigh, loving the way that the orange street lights caress the shadow beneath Tommy’s sloping cheekbone. His skin a toasty bronze color from a full day in the sun, but the shine in his baby blue eyes makes you feel like it never set.

“Just–thank you, Tommy.”

He flashes a smile, eyes darting in your direction. “For what?”

“Everything.”

Tommy turns his head, looking at you as if you’d hung the moon and the stars in the sky. You’re just about to tell him to cut it out, when you attention is caught by the flash of headlights shining through the windshield.

“Fuck, Tommy! Watch the road!”

Swerving abruptly to the right, Tommy barely dodges the vehicle hurtling forward in the opposite lane. Regaining control of the car, Tommy clutches the wheel with white knuckles. The both of you are panting, unable to believe that you aren’t just splatters against the pavement. After a few more moments of anxiety and relief coursing through your veins, you lock eyes with Tommy for a brief moment again, this time erupting into a fit of hysterical laughter.

Tommy swipes tears of mirth away from his eyes with a free hand while you sputter out a few more giggles, clutching your aching stomach.

“Dude we almost fucking died,” you wheeze, still grinning so hard it felt like your face might split.

“But we didn’t,” Tommy argues playfully, “Although, if we wreck Mick’s car, the accident better kill me. I don’t even want to know what he’d do to me if I lived.”

“Oh please, even if you did die Mick would just use his alien powers to bring you back and kill you again.”

You kick your feet back up on the dashboard and recline in the passenger’s seat, finally feeling that it’s safe to relax. All the while Tommy shivers at the thought of Mick finding ways to torture him for all eternity.

“What happened to you back there, anyway?” you ask, recalling the way that Tommy seemed to become completely entranced by you just moments before unconsciously drifting into oncoming traffic.

Tommy shrugs, suddenly looking bashful under the moonlight as it flits in and out of view. “I froze up,” he says honestly, sounding as though he doesn’t fully understand it himself.

“What can I say?” he continues, eyes never leaving the road, “it’s what you do to me.”

Your heart jumps in your chest at Tommy’s admission and you suddenly feel as though you’re staring up at the ferris wheel again, bringing you to a painful realization:

You’re falling in love.

...

When you and Tommy finally get back to the apartment building, he insists on walking you up to your door like a “true gentleman”. You try to argue against it– saying that it’s only a short walk up– but he’s persistent as always.

With feet firmly planted on the welcome mat, you stare up at Tommy, fighting the urge to kiss him right then and there. You know he most definitely wouldn’t object, but this was technically yours and Tommy’s first date. You never kiss on the first date, even if you had kissed him only days ago.

Just as you turn to unlock the door, Tommy catches your arm gently. “Can I see you again?”

“I’ll allow it,” you smirk, secretly hoping he comes back to invade your space sooner rather than later. It is Tommy, after all, you know he won’t be able to stay away for long.

You duck into your musty old apartment, feeling much more content than the last time you left Tommy out in the darkness on your doorstep. After splashing some water on your face and giving your teeth a good scrub, you settle into bed. Your skin is still warm from soaking in the sunshine, and you end up falling asleep before your head even gets the chance to hit the pillow.

Your peaceful slumber doesn’t last for long, though. A few hours in, you start to stir, the sound of something pecking at your window intruding your muddied dreams and shaking you awake.

What the fuck?

The tapping continues, and as you become more conscious you realize it sounds like something hitting your window. Just as you’re about to get up and investigate, a rock comes soaring through the glass, shattering the window into a thousand jagged pieces. You bolt upright, your groggy mind unsure of how to process the the lone rock sitting at the edge of your bed in a pile of sparkling glass.

“Goddamnit,” a familiar voice hisses from outside.

Throwing the covers haphazardly off your body, you stumble over to the window, tiptoeing in an effort to avoid all the glass littering the floor. Sticking your head out of the busted window, you see Tommy standing outside next to Mick’s car. His hands are knotted through his hair with panic and it suddenly dawns on you that he’s the culprit.

“Tommy?” you ask stupidly, “Did you just bust my fucking window?”

“Uh, would you be mad if I said yes?” he calls up to you, cringing with embarrassment.

“I can tell you that I’ll be furious if you lie to me, how does that sound?”

You don’t have to be near him to know he’s swallowing the knot in his throat. After such a successful date, you actually thought you and Tommy might reach a point of steady normalcy– and now this.

Flaring with anger at his lack of explanation, you pluck the rock up off the floor and launch it in his general direction. Thankfully, you miss, but the action is enough to effectively get his attention.

“Whatever,” you spit, eye practically twitching with agitation, “I’m going to bed and you are fixing this tomorrow.”

As soon as you duck your head back inside, Tommy calls to you from the ground. “Wait! Don’t go yet– I can explain!”

Reluctantly, you face him again with one eyebrow raised in doubt. “Okay, this oughta be good.”

“I just–” he starts, voice so quiet you have to strain to hear him, “I just wanted to see you again, okay? I read this book–Romeo and Julia, or whatever–and the guy threw rocks at his girl’s window to get her attention, so I thought it might be cool to do for you…”

Tommy is kicking pebbles across the dirt, unable to meet your stare for fear of what you might say. Little does he know that there’s a fire burning in your chest, but it’s the farthest thing from anger.

“You’re insane!” you shout, undoubtedly waking the whole neighborhood, “and I’m not your girl.” You try to make your voice sound firm, but Tommy can see the smile threatening to tear your face wide open.

Tommy takes a step forward, regaining some of his confidence. “Not insane, just romantic,” he fidgets with a rock in his hand as he stares up at you, eyes glimmering with hope.

“Oh is that what we’re calling now?” you know that any normal person would have either gone back to bed or called the cops by now, but you can’t seem to pull yourself away from Tommy’s adoring smile. “You know they die at the end right? Romeo and Juliet?”

“Will you please just let me inside so we can talk about it?”

You huff and rub the sleep from your eyes, “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“How could I sleep when you’re all I think about?” Tommy’s hands clutch at his chest as he speaks, pouring his heart out like a true Romeo. “I’m going out of my mind, Y/N. You make me wanna howl at the fucking moon!”

You have to hold you face in your hands to keep the dorky grin from taking over your face. Tommy’s right– he is out of his mind.

“Okay fine! I believe you!” you laugh, unsure if the situation is actually amusing or if the lack of sleep is taking over. “Now stop being a clown and get inside.”

“For real?”

You roll your eyes, “Who else is going to clean up all this glass?”

Unsurprisingly, Tommy bounds up the stairs anyway. At this point, you could probably tell Tommy the whole building is on fire and he would still be just as eager to come up and see you. It’s as endearing as it is frustrating, but there’s something about the whole situation that’s just so Tommy.

You barely have time to move away from the window before you hear Tommy pounding excitedly on the door. Side-stepping around the pool of broken glass in the center of your floor, you pad across the hall and over to the front door.

When you open up, Tommy pushes in past you, giving you no time to be embarrassed about the fact that your only pajamas are a large t-shirt and a pair of frilly underwear. Deep down, you know you must look like a mess with your dark circles and hair tangled together with sand and surf, but you’re too sleepy to care.

“Wanna see the damage?” you ask, nodding your head in the general direction of your bedroom.

Tommy waltzes into your room, but is quickly halted by the sound of broken glass crunching against the soles of his Chuck Taylor’s. Tommy looks up at you, baring his teeth apologetically.

“Fuck, dude. I’m so sorry.”

Silently, you grab the broom and dustpan from the kitchen and toss them towards Tommy. To your relief he catches both with unsteady hands and a triumphant smile.

“Then prove it,” you say, flopping onto your bed. The old springs squeak and bounce beneath your weight, making it feel as though the ocean waves are shoving against you once again. “I will be getting my security deposit back. Over Romeo and Juliet’s dead bodies.”

Tommy can’t help but laugh as he sweeps all the shards littered about your room into a heap. You roll your eyes for the umpteenth time that hour, appalled that he would be so amused by your sour mood.

After accumulating nearly all of your broken window’s remains into the dustpan, Tommy leaves to go dump it out in the kitchen trash. When Tommy left the room he had a dustpan full of glass and a smile on his face, but, as he returns, all you can see are empty hands and a furrowed brow.

You sit up immediately, patting the space next to you so Tommy will sit down. He complies and takes a seat next to you, the mattress dipping downward at the sudden change in weight.

“What’s the matter?” you ask, wondering what could have possibly caused his mood to fall so quickly. There’s a chance that the day’s exhaustion finally got the better of him, but you’d seen him with more energy in worse places.

“It’s stupid,” he mumbles.

“Oh come on, Tommy,” you rest a hand on his arm supportively, the warmth of his skin feeling hot enough to burn your fingertips. “You said you wanted to talk, right?”

“Right,” his voice comes out as barely a whisper, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

Tommy twists to the side to face you, peering up at you from his dejected posture with misty eyes. “Why don’t you wanna be my girl?”

The question falls from his lips and pierces through you like a spear to the heart. You suck in a sharp breath and knot your fingers together in your lap, not quite knowing what to say. It’s not that you don’t want to be Tommy’s– you just don’t know if you’re ready for it yet. Nothing in your life has ever felt more right, and yet every alarm of self-doubt in your body is shrieking that you’re to end up with a broken heart.

It’s fear that’s holding you back. Not the fear of love, but the fear of falling.

“Tommy, it’s not that I don’t want to,” you sigh, wanting so badly not to fuck things up, “I just wanna take things slow is all. Get to know the real you...be friends– you know?”

You heart is beating in your throat as you wait for Tommy’s response, the draft from your busted window chasing goosebumps up your back from the base of your spine. Much to your chagrin, Tommy stays stock still and says nothing.

Unable to endure the silence any longer, you spring to your feet. “I’m going to go make us some tea, okay? Be right back,” you babble, doing your best to pick up the pieces of yours and Tommy’s day and make it whole again.

You make it about two feet away from the bed before a firm hand clutches your wrist, jerking you around. The sudden movement causes a small yelp to escape from your throat as your feet stumble clumsily forward. You fall immediately onto Tommy’s standing figure, your chest pressing firmly against his. Mind reeling, you look up at Tommy for an explanation, astonished to find that his face is only inches from your own.

“We’re not just friends and you know it,” he growls, his breath hot against your gaping mouth. The sensation causes the space between your thighs to twitch involuntarily, setting every nerve ending in your body aflame with desire.

The last thing you hear is the sound of your own pulse rushing through your ears before Tommy’s lips crash against yours.

Masterlist

#how many times can I use a kiss as a cliffhanger??#spoilers: the limit does not exist #tbh though i'm really proud of this one guys #mgk!tommy lee #mgk!tommy lee x reader #tommy lee #tommy lee x reader #motley crue #mötley crüe #vince neil #nikki sixx #mick mars #the dirt #the dirt netflix #mgk #machine gun kelly #writing #80s #80s music

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eveningstarcatcher · 4 years

Text

Ineffable Valentines Day 11: Love Token

“What’s wrong, dove?” Crowley came up behind Aziraphale, wrapping his arms around his waist and setting his chin on the angel’s shoulder.

They were standing at the counter in the shop. Aziraphale was staring at the floor, hands hanging limply at his sides, his face contorted in pain.

“Are you okay?” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hands in his and examined them for cuts, but there were none.

“I knocked it off,” Aziraphale sounded close to tears. He deflated against Crowley’s chest, bringing his hands to his face. “I don’t know what happened. It was on the counter one moment and the next it was shattering!

“It’s okay. I’ll clean it up.” There were shards of glass all over the hardwood floor, covering a great distance and sparkling in the sun that was streaming into the shop. Crowley moved to slide around Aziraphale, but the angel grabbed him, stopping him.

“No, please don’t.” Aziraphle was distressed, which in turn distressed Crowley. Why was the angel so upset about a broken glass? It was an easy fix with a miracle, or could be replaced the human way simply enough.

“Shhhh,” Crowley soothed, turning Aziraphale to face him and letting the angel’s head bury itself in his chest. “It was an accident. I can fix it if you want, angel, s’no problem.”

Crowley raised his hand to snap the glass from the floor to reassemble on the counter.

“No! I don’t want you to fix it!” Aziraphale began to sob into Crowley’s chest.

“Okay, I won’t fix it, just breathe, dove.” His hand froze, then wrapped around the angel.

“Why can’t I do anything right? What’s wrong with me?” Aziraphale wailed, muffled by Crowley’s chest.

“Angel, nothing’s wrong with you. You’re perfect.” Crowley scooped Aziraphale up into his arms and into the back room. He settled them on the couch, Azirpahale curled up in Crowley’s lap, clutching at his shirt.

“Talk to me.” Crowley drew his fingers through Aziraphale’s downy hair and the angel melted into each touch.

“I always make such a mess. No matter how hard I try, everything always goes wrong. Always making such stupid mistakes,” Aziraphale sniffled. “What’s this really about, dove?” Crowley soothed and pressed sweet, soft kisses to the angel’s cheek, hair, and forehead.

“I, I, I've failed. In so many ways over the years. I’ve let so many people down, I've never been good enough!” Aziraphale balled Crowley’s shirt in his fists, tears burning down his cheeks.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true!” He exclaimed, slamming a fist against Crowley’s chest. “Oh, my darling, I’m so sorry!” He gently kissed the spot and rubbed along it with his fingers. “It is true. I’ve been a failure ever since the beginning. I was never a good soldier, I gave away my sword and failed at protecting Eden, I’ve been lying to heaven for 6,000 years, I interfered in the plan! All because I’m gluttonous and selfish! Too blinded by my own desires to do the job that I was created for!”

“Aziraphale, I won’t believe for a second that you were ever created to be a soldier. Whatever the plan is, She knew what she was doing when she created you.”

“But why? Why am I like this?” Aziraphale begged. “Why am I selfish and lazy and soft?”

“Oh, dove. My darling Aziraphale, what brought this on? You are perfect, angel. The best thing that She ever created. Beautiful and kind and soft, yes, but that’s one of the best things about you. I wish you wouldn’t be ashamed of that. I love you and I love that you’re soft.” Crowley’s hands caressed any part of the angel he could reach.

“But I’m not supposed to be. None of the other angels are soft, no other angels eat, no other angels love!” Azirpahale broke out in a new round of sobs. “Our love can't be wrong, it can’t be!”

“It’s not, dove, it’s not. It’s the best thing on earth, I promise you. And you’re right, no other angel is like you. That doesn’t mean you’re wrong. They’re cold assholes who don’t deserve to be angels. Just as bad as demons, the lot of ‘em. You’re the only true angel, the only one who took care of earth, who cared for the humans, who enjoyed everything She created. They stayed up there in that sterile dickworld in the clouds and stayed hands-off until we stopped the apocalypse. They’re the ones that failed, love, not you!” He pressed a kiss to one wet cheek and rubbed his angel’s back. “Besides, you’ve never failed me!”

“How can you say that?” Aziraphale’s expression twisted into pain, his face red and blotchy, eyes pink and watery, his bottom lip raw from chewing on it. “I’ve failed you most of all! All the times I pushed you away, lied to you, I deserted you just before the end of the world because I thought I could do it on my own, but I made it all worse! Got myself discorporated, burned down the bookshop, and left you to pick up all the pieces!”

“Angel, don’t…” Crowley tried to calm him, but he was inconsolable.

“You lost hope. I know you always liked to pretend you didn’t have any, but I knew it was there. It was always there. But then it wasn’t, you lost it all when you thought I was gone. You gave up. Didn’t even run away like you said you were going to. And what did I do? Told you to go save the world on your own!” “You told me you’d be there. I knew you would be. I knew you wouldn’t leave me. You always come back, always.” Crowley held Aziraphale tightly with one hand, the other cupped his face, rubbing his thumb along his cheek, wiping away tears as they fell. “But there was no guarantee! I would have tried and tried, of course, but there was a high chance that I wouldn’t make it back in time, or even at all! What would have happened if I hadn’t…” he lost his voice then, breaking into sobs and wrapping his arms around Crowley.

“Shh, dove, it’s alright. You’re here, you’re fine, everything’s fine.”

“I hate to think about what would have happened to you if I hadn’t come back. Left to face everything on your own. Hell would have destroyed you!” Aziraphale squeezed Crowley tightly, his whole body heaving with sobs. “Oh Crowley! Oh, my love, what if they had destroyed you? It would have been all my fault!”

“Aziraphale, no, no, dove. We don’t have to worry about that anymore. We’re safe, we’re together. You came back, you outsmarted Heaven and you came back to save the world, to save me. You’ve saved me so many times. Every time you smiled at me, believed in me, lied to Heaven for me, every time you spent time with me, every time you show me love. Aziraphale, you’ve been saving me for 6,000 years!”

Crowley hooked a gentle finger under Aziraphale’s chin and brought his face towards his. He moved slowly, leaning in to kiss each of Aziraphale’s cheeks, his forehead, his nose. Aziraphale’s eyes closed and Crowley lightly brushed his lips against the angel’s eyelids.

“Come, dove, let me see you.” Crowley whispered. Blue eyes fluttered open and gazed adoringly into Crowley’s golden eyes. “I’m going to kiss you now. Is that okay?”

“Oh, yes, love.” Aziraphale breathed and let his eyes flutter closed again and Crowley pulled his chin closer, letting his lips claim Aziraphale’s in a gentle kiss. The angel sighed into it, fisting his hands in Crowley’s hair and pulling him closer, tears still streaming down his cheeks.

“Oh, Crowley,” he sighed as Crowley peppered kisses along his cheek, ear, and jawline.

“Do you feel how much I love you?” Crowley asked, continuing his assault of affection.

“Yes, my love.” Aziraphale giggled as Crowley eyelashes brushed against his ear, tickling him. “Oh, darling,” he pulled Crowley’s face up to meet his gaze. “Thank you. I’m so sorry I fell apart, thank you for once again, picking up all the pieces.”

“I’ll always be here when you need me, my dove.” Crowley rubbed his fingers along the soft apples of Aziraphale’s cheeks. “And just in case you need a reminder, I have something for you.” “You do?” Aziraphale smiled weakly.

“Need to get up to get it, though.” Crowley scooped Aziraphale up and placed him gently on the couch beside him. He pecked the angel on the nose and stood, crossing to the desk. Tucked underneath a drawer was a wrapped package, which Crowley withdrew and presented it to Aziraphale, settling in beside him on the couch.

“Darling, you didn’t have to do this,” Aziraphale sniffled and ran his hand lovingly over the shiny gold paper.

“I was waiting for the right time to give it to you, and this seems like the right time. Open it, angel. I think you’re gonna like it.” Crowley nudged him with a smirk.

Aziraphale carefully broke the tap, pulled back the paper and gasped.

“Is this…?” he asked, admiring the sleek black frame.

“Yeah, had ‘em for a while.” Crowley was staring at Aziraphale, drinking in his expression.

Inside the frame was a silver background covered with swirls. Atop that were set two feathers, one pure white, the other iridescent black, curved into each other to form a heart. Below the heart was written in gold script “Our Side.”

“Our feathers, but how?” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley as if love were about to spill out of him.

“I found yours on the wall in Eden. After you left. Picked it up.” he shrugged.

“You’ve had it since Eden?” A grin broke over Aziraphale’s features.

“Don’t know why I kept it, but I finally found a use for it.” Crowley ruffled angelic curls.

“It’s incredible, my love. I will treasure it always,” Aziraphale pressed it to his heart, “as I treasure you.”

“You’re such a romantic,” Crowley laughed, taking the frame and setting it up on Aziraphale’s desk.

“That I am. Desperately, hopelessly so.”

For @mielpetite‘s @ineffable-valentines Also on A03

#ineffablevalentines #ineffable valentines #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #my writing

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the-awkward-outlaw · 5 years

Text

Second Chances - Ch. 10

Memories

Warnings: swearing, murder, mentions of rape

Word Count: ~12,000

You wake up in the morning, still cuddled tightly against Arthur’s side. The storm has passed, giving way to a watery sun. The air is chilly from last night’s heavy rain. You’re stiff from not having moved most of the night, but you’re not uncomfortable. You adjust your hand slightly, and Arthur’s starts rubbing your back up and down. You look up and find him staring at you.

“Mm, sorry Arthur, didn’t mean to keep you pinned down.”

“”S a’right, darlin,” he says.

You sit up, stretching out your arms. He leans up next to you, putting his hat back on.

“Thanks for lettin’ me stay here last night,” you say. “Thunderstorm kept me up.”

“Anytime, darlin’.”

Hosea saunters past the tent, lighting his pipe. He spots the two of you sitting on Arthur’s cot and smiles slyly. You take that as your queue to get up. You pat Arthur’s hand and stand up, going back to your tent only to find that it has indeed flooded. You pull out your soaked bedroll and fold it up, wringing it out.

Arthur walks over to you, puffing on a cigarette. He watches you wring out the roll for a moment.

“Ya sure ya don’t wanna just stay in my tent?” he asks, looking at you with a soft expression.

“That’s okay, Arthur. I don’t wanna impose on you.”

“Ain’t imposin’, sweetheart,” he flings the cigarette away. “‘Sides, you were half frozen last night.”

You shrug your shoulders. “It did get pretty cold.”

“C’mon, darlin’, it ain’t gonna be a problem to share my tent.”

You look up at him. You’re tempted by the offer, but at the same time you feel reluctant. You haven’t shared a bed nightly with a man since you were married, and that was with a man you despised.

“Maybe, Arthur,” you finally say, unfolded the bedroll. “I really don’t wanna impose on you and your cot ain’t that big.”

He smiles at you, getting the hint. “A’right, darlin’. Just know you’re welcome to it whenever ya want.”

Over the next two days, the secret is completely out about you and Arthur. The two of you have to endure the taunts and jokes from some of the gang members. Mostly from Sean, John, Uncle and Lenny. Some of the others are more supportive, like Hosea, Mary-Beth, Karen, Grimshaw and surprisingly Sadie.

“Thought you two were never gonna admit you like each other,” John laughs, approaching you while you scrub Pearson’s table one morning. You look up and laugh with him.

“Yeah, well, it’s out now.”

“So ol’ man Artie Morgan?” Sean joins the two of you. “Now I know why ya always go off wit’ him to town and trips! He’s such a downer! Can’t quite see what ya see in him, especially when I’m ‘round!”

You laugh, despite yourself. You glance over at Arthur, chopping wood, glad he can’t hear Sean. You know he has little self-esteem; he wouldn’t appreciate the way Sean’s talking, even if it is for fun.

“Well, keep the flirting low,” John says after pouring himself a cup of coffee, Sean strutting away with him. You shake your head, smiling.

Pearson walks over to you, rubbing his hands together. You see an odd gleam in his eye, he almost looks mischievous.

“Oh, Ms. Y/L/N, could you go into town and get these things at the store for me? Arthur said he’ll drive the wagon.”

He hands you a shopping list scrawled on a piece of paper. You read it, nodding.

“‘Course, Pearson. We can go now.”

You drop the rag onto the table, folding the paper and tucking it into your pocket, heading over to Arthur. He finishes chopping his last piece of wood, turning to you. He puts down the axe. “Ready to go, darlin’?”

“Yep,” you smile, grabbing his hand. Hosea, over at the fire, gives you a smug grin, which you ignore.

You and Arthur hook up two large draft horses to a wagon and get into it, Arthur flicking the reins. You head into Valentine, Arthur stops by the store and hops out.

“I need to go to the gunsmith, pick up a few things. Almost ready to pull that train robbery with John,” he says, heading down the street.

You wave at him, walking into the store and pulling out your list. You approach the desk clerk, handing him the paper. He snaps his fingers at a teenage boy, who begins grabbing the items and putting them into boxes for you. While you wait, you look through a catalog on the desk, glancing through the section on shirts. You glance down at your own clothes, noticing how worn and faded they are.

You read through the catalog, spotting a shirt you like. You ask the clerk about it, and he reaches into a box behind the desk, pulling it out. You see dark blue material with silver buttons. He hands it to you and you slide it on over your own shirt, liking the way it fits. It reminds you of the necklace Arthur had given you, the one you still wear around your neck. You pull out your money and buy it, along with a new pair of dark jeans. You follow the teenager out the door, both of you hauling a box loaded with supplies. Arthur strolls towards you as you slide the box into the wagon.

“Nice shirt,” he says. You look down, realizing you hadn’t taken the new shirt off yet.

“Oh, yeah, figured I could use some new clothes.”

“Looks good on you.”

You both climb into the wagon, he grabs your hand after turning the horses around and setting off down the road back to Horseshoe. He pulls the wagon to a stop, jumping out. You help him haul the boxes over to Pearson and then turn to go to your tent to change. You pass Dutch’s tent and find that your tent and bedroll are gone. The grass it was set on is flattened and browning. You turn your head left and right, looking for your things.

“What the hell?” you mutter to yourself.

Karen walks over to you, laughing. “Looking for your things?”

“Yeah. D’you know what…”

“We moved ‘em, figured you wouldn’t need ‘em anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why are you still layin’ in your own tent, girl?” she laughs. “We figured you might as well share Arthur’s tent, probably more comfortable anyways.”

You look behind her at his wagon. It hasn’t changed a bit, but then again you hardly had anything in your own tent. You sigh heavily.

“What’s goin’ on?” Arthur asks, standing next to you.

“Karen says we should be sharing a tent.”

“Well, why not?” Dutch walks over, grinning wide and smoking a cigar. “Might as well conserve space ‘round here. Since you two are together, why shouldn’t you be sharing a tent?”

Arthur grins at you. You almost wonder if he put them up to this.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Dutch laughs, slapping a hand on your shoulder. “Not like you haven’t spent a night in his cot before.”

Arthur laughs. You do too, despite yourself, finally relaxing. “Well, guess your right.”

Karen and Dutch walk away, both looking rather pleased with themselves. You wander into Arthur’s tent, or your tent now. You glance around, noticing it hasn’t changed at all since you were trapped here after that mess with the Murphrees. Three pictures still tacked to the wagon, the photo of his mother on the table. Even the photo of Mary is still standing, as much as you don’t like it. You decide to say nothing on it, despite the tightness in your gut. Arthur stands behind you and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Well, guess we’re gonna have to get used to squeezin’ close to each other. This cot ain’t that big.”

You look at the bed, which is really only big enough for one person, and Arthur’s huge. You turn around to face him, shrugging your shoulders. “I guess I won’t mind too much.”

It’s night, and you sit by the fire with Uncle, Bill, John and Arthur. You tip up the bottle of whisky in your hand, drinking from it. You hand it over to Arthur and lean over, resting your head on his shoulder as Bill starts talking about how he met Dutch. Arthur’s arm wraps behind you, pulling you closer.

You look up into the sky, admiring the stars. Arthur puts down the bottle. You yawn widely, trying to hide it with your hand.

“Ya gettin’ tired,” Arthur whispers in your ear. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

Without complaint, you stand up and walk towards your shared tent. You sit down and take off your boots, Arthur following suit. You lay down, curling as close as you can to the side of the wagon, nose centimeters from the wood. Arthur lays down behind you, draping an arm over you as he buries his face into your hair. After a few moments, he whispers to you.

“This is nice. Spent way too many nights alone in this bed.”

You slide your hand over his on your stomach, squeezing it. “I bet. Well, ya don’t have to do that anymore, Arthur Morgan.”

You aren’t sure why you were so nervous about sharing a cot and tent with Arthur. Yes, your husband was an awful man and made your life a living hell. Arthur wasn’t that way, though. You wish that you could abandon all those fears you’ve gained from living with your husband, to be able to have a clean and healthy start with Arthur. You fall asleep to the dark thought that maybe Arthur would be better off with someone else; someone who isn’t as broken as you.

You wake up due to the howling wind in the morning. You feel Arthur packed against your back still. You look over your shoulder and see he’s sitting up, scratching away in his journal.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets you.

You give a feeble smile, still feeling down. You sit up next to him as he closes his journal.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you lie, pulling your hair away from your face.

He looks at you, but you avoid his gaze. “C’mon, sweetheart. Ya know ya can tell me anything.”

“I promise, Arthur. It’s nothing. Maybe I just need to get out of here again.”

He huffs a small laugh. “I know. I been thinkin’ the same thing. Well, what ya say we go on another trip?”

You look at him finally, forcing a smile on your face. You lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek before crawling over him and out of the cot. You walk over to the fire, pouring yourself two cups of coffee, returning to the shared tent and handing one to Arthur, who is putting his boots back on. Arthur takes the cup from you, thanking you before leaving, saying he needs to go speak with John quickly about the train job.

Hosea walks over as you’re strapping your boots onto your feet. He leans against the pole holding the canvas above your heads. He smiles at you.

“Well, I’m glad you and Arthur are together,” he says with a strange look. You glance up at him.

“Me too.”

“You’ve been good for him, Y/N. When he was with Mary, I must admit he wasn’t too likable.”

“What makes you say that?”

Hosea shakes his head slightly. “That girl had him runnin’ ‘round doin’ all sorts of things for her. She constantly kept sayin’ she loved him, then she couldn’t be with him. He was so tired all the time. Didn’t wanna help me or Dutch; took some of his frustration out on John. Nothin’ too bad of course. When he was 19, Mary finally disappeared and he didn’t talk about her again after that. Not that Dutch or I asked. When she wrote him that letter a few weeks ago, I was worried he’d go runnin’ off to her, which as you know he did. I’m just glad he hasn’t gone runnin’ around for her again. Like I said, you been good for him.”

You sigh, not sure you really believe Hosea. You have a hard time believing anyone would have a better life because of you. Of course, you haven’t noticed the way Arthur acts now that you’re relationship isn’t a secret. The way he almost skips across camp, how he’s more likely to smile at strangers. Even when he is out on his own, he’s more likely to greet people and help them out. All you can hear is your ex-husband’s voice in your head. No one could live with you and not end up hating you.

You stand up, pat Hosea on the shoulder, and walk away towards Arthur. You find him leaving the tree John’s leaning against.

“Ya ready to go?” he asks.

“Yeah. Where you thinkin’ of this time?”

“Maybe a place called Cotorra Springs? Ya know it?”

You shake your head.

“Good. Yer in for a treat, darlin’.”

He leads you over to the horses. You pat Rannoch gently on his neck after brushing and saddling him. Arthur looks at you from atop Artemis.

“Ya shoar yer okay, honey? Ya don’t look like ya feel good.”

You wave him off. “I’m fine, Arthur. Just tired is all.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, but then shrugs his shoulders. You mount Rannoch and follow him.

You travel for several hours up north, through the Cumberland Forest, past a military fort and an old train station overlooking a huge gorge with a deep, fast river in its bottom. To the right of the path lies tall, craggly hills. Arthur stops you at the train station, which sits next to a long wooden bridge.

“Let’s cross the bridge, be quicker.”

You look at the bridge hanging over the steep gorge. You’ve never been a big fan of heights. You nod your head nervously, leading Rannoch to follow Artemis. Arthur walks the giant horse across the bridge, allowing her to carefully place her hooves on the rail ties and not get caught. Rannoch twitches his head, slightly agitated by this new obstacle. You urge him gently onward.

The horses manage to cross the bridge easily. A second, smaller one lies ahead only about 500 feet away from where the large one ends. The two of you cross it easily; you’re grateful a train hasn’t come along.

After crossing the smaller bridge, Arthur turns to the right and back onto grass, the land sloping up. You follow him, noticing that the land flattens out above you before it arches up into steep mountains. Tall, bare trees dot the flat area, and you see steam billowing out of the ground. Arthur waits for you, and you stop Rannoch at the top of the hill.

What you had taken for flat land is actually small pools of water and a couple of geysers. The pools, encircled with bright yellows and deep oranges, glow blue as they belch sulphurous steam into the air. One of the geysers erupts, spewing water high into the air. Rannoch startles slightly at the explosion; you pat him until he calms down.

Arthur looks over to you. “Well, what ya think?”

“It’s beautiful, Arthur,” you say. Your spirits have greatly lifted at being away from camp and into the forest. You’re convinced this is the best kind of medicine, being out in the wilderness, surrounded by trees and mountains. Arthur’s presence only improves your mood.

“Now, we gotta be careful while we’re here,” Arthur says, dismounting from Artemis and pulling out his bow.

“Why?” you ask as you mimic him.

“I’ve heard rumors that there’s a pack o’ wolves lives up here. Wouldn’t be surprised, neither.”

“I never dealt with a wolf before, Arthur,” you say, feeling worried.

“Ah, don’t worry, sweetheart. If ya find yerself around ‘em, use a gun. Don’t worry ‘bout ruinin’ the pelts if they’re comin’ after ya. Now, ya still got them poison arrows?”

You check your quiver, looking for the arrows Charles had crafted for you using Oleander sage. You nod to Arthur, replacing the quiver on your back.

Arthur goes off into the forest to hunt. You, on the other hand, want to explore the area more, particularly the water. You wander slowly towards a large pool, its water looking like melted sapphyre. The grass disappears, replaced with pale dirt. The earth becomes lighter the closer it gets to the pool, turning yellow. Veins of dark oranges and muted reds spread from the pool, almost like an infection. You walk closer to it, entranced by the steaming water.

You’re 10 yards from the water when you feel the ground beneath you shift, almost like it’s too soft to hold your weight. You step back, lean down and hover your hand inches above it. You can feel the heat rising from it. You figure that underneath the soil must be tons of hot water, feeding the pools and geysers. You decide not to get to close to either of them, not wanting to fall and get boiled.

You turn away from the pools, facing towards the forest. You walk over to them, scanning for signs of prey.

You stay in the area of Cotorra Springs for two days, hunting elk and ram. At one point, you had accidentally startled a lone wolf, but you had shot a poisoned arrow at him just as he lunged towards you. Arthur was quite proud of you, saying the pelt was in excellent condition despite you shooting so quickly.

On the morning of the third day since you’ve arrived, Arthur says he needs to head back to camp. Tonight is the night of the big train robbery he and John have been planning. You both pack up and leave.

Just as you finish crossing the railroad bridge back to the station and enter Cumberland Forest, you see a woman standing alone ahead on the trail.

“Hey, you there!” she calls to the pair of you. “Think you could help a lady out?”

Arthur pulls Artemis to a stop next to her.

“What’s wrong, ma’am?” he asks.

“My horse up and died on me. Think you could give me a ride home?”

“Shoar. Where you live?” he asks, helping her climb onto Artemis’s back.

“Emerald Ranch. It ain’t too far.”

Arthur looks back at you, giving you a quick wink before he pushes Artemis into an easy canter. You follow close behind on Rannoch, listening to the woman as she tells the story of her horse who died, how it had bitten the ear off some wild mountain man who threatened her. While she speaks, you pass the corpse of a pinto horse. Arthur offers his condolences to her, stating how hard it is to lose a horse. You silently agree, thinking about Rain.

You follow the trail south, and the mountains and forests give way to a wide open plain, flowing beneath a sea of bright green grass. You see ahead the roofs of buildings. You pass a train station, which has a sign reading “Emerald Ranch” on it, and just a short ways off lies the town itself. You’re not really sure it could be called a town since there’s only about 5 buildings, most of them being barns or stables.

The woman asks Arthur to stop outside a long cabin, it’s roof made of peat and dirt. She hands him something as she gets off, thanking him. She waves at you, thanking you as well for going out of your way to help. You nod at her, waving back.

Arthur turns to you. “A’right, let’s head on back.”

You agree and he leads you out of the ranch towards the huge column-like mountains in the distance. As you gallop over the plain, you look to the right and see a wetland.

“Arthur, let’s go over there real quick!”

He looks to where your hand is pointing. You spot on one of the banks of the shallow pond a man holding something in front of him.

“Is that…?” Arthur begins to ask, guiding Artemis over to him.

He hops off his horse, you following in his steps, over to the man.

“So you’re still alive,” he greets the man with a smile.

The man jumps and you see he was looking into a camera on a stand. You’ve only seen one in your entire life when you were younger at a carnival.

“Mr. Morgan!” the man says in a refined accent, clearly from a city.

“How are you?”

“Indigestible, apparently,” the man chuckles. “Other than that, very well.”

“How’s the project goin’?”

“This is God’s country, and I am his faithful servant. Although perhaps not his most talented one. I have been trying to capture the grace of some wild horses for weeks. Only the buggers can’t stand me.” The man points to a ledge across the water. Arthur pulls out his binoculars and looks.

“That,” he says, pointing to one of them. “Is a silver dapple pinto!”

“I know, they’re beautiful. Won’t come anywhere near me though. He can smell my stupidity.” The man turns and sees you. He has a kind face hidden beneath a thin-rimmed hat and beard. “Ah, may I ask who this lovely young woman is?”

Arthur turns, putting his binoculars away and placing a hand behind your back. “This is Y/F/N Y/L/N. Y/N, this is Albert Mason. He’s a… what did ya say you was again?”

“A wildlife photographer,” Albert says. “And not a very good one, I’m afraid.”

“I didn’t know wildlife photography was a thing,” you say, taking a small step forward in the soggy ground. “Ah, yes. I am discovering why it is not the most sought-after profession.”

“How ‘bout this?” you say, pointing to the mustangs on the bank. “Why don’t Arthur and I go and run them over here for ya? Bet you can get a decent picture that way?”

“Ah, you must be an angel, ma’am, accompanied by this saint!” he grins, gesturing at Arthur.

Arthur laughs. “Shoar, a’right.”

You both mount your horses, dashing off towards the mustangs. They flee farther from the water at the sight of you, but you give them a wide berth and manage to get in front of them, running them back towards Albert. Just as the silver pinto Arthur had pointed out reaches the water, followed by the rest of the herd, you and Arthur veer off to the right, behind Albert so he can take a photo. You hear him yell and holler in delight as you dismount.

“You are absolute geniuses!” he declares as you and Arthur approach him again.

“Maybe not me,” Arthur chuckles. “But I can ride a horse.”

“Well, in my world, that makes you a genius.”

You suppress a smile.

“You’re too kind,” Arthur says. “How are the photos comin’ along?”

“Oh, amazing. Here, I have a print of the wolves before they tried to eat us.”

Albert hands him a print of three or four wolves underneath the tall cover of pine trees.

“Well, that’s real fine. Take care, Mr. Mason,” Arthur says, sliding the photo into his satchel and mounting Artemis.

“Thank you, thank you both!” Albert calls.

When you’ve travelled far enough away from Albert, he stops and turns to you.

“Hey, darlin’, I need to go meet John not too far from here. Ya a’right goin’ back to camp alone?”

“‘Course not. Be careful!”

He smiles at you. “I will be. Here, take these with ya.” He dismounts and takes the pelts from Artemis and puts them on Rannoch’s hindquarters. “You get back safe, ya hear?” He mounts Artemis and nudges her into a walk, heading away from you after he salutes you with two fingers.

You push Rannoch into an easy canter, dashing across the plains of the Heartlands, passing the tall cliffs and back into the forest that tucks Horseshoe Overlook away from the prying eyes of those travelling along the trails.

It’s early afternoon by the time you hitch Rannoch to a post, dismounting and going over to Pearson with your load of pelts and game.

After eating, you head on over to the main campfire, determined to stay awake as long as you can until Arthur returns with John and Charles.

Somebody shakes you awake gently by the shoulder. You look up, still sat by the campfire. The sky’s turning a soft grayish-blue, announcing the dawn. Arthur stares at you.

“What ya doin’ over here, honey?” he whispers, sitting down next to you.

“I was waiting for you,” you yawn. He puts an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into him. You lean against his chest, stifling a yawn again.

“Ya didn’t have to wait for me, darlin’,” he says, kissing your forehead. “Ya could’ve gone to bed.”

“Wanted to make sure you got back safe.”

“Well, I’m back and I’m safe.”

“How’d it go? Did you just get back?”

“Yeah. Sean joined us, even though John told him not to. That boy don’t listen to nobody.”

You laugh.

“It went a’right, though. Law showed up. They were real quick, too. Almost wonder if it was a setup.”

“The law showed up?” you ask, opening your eyes, pulling away from him. “Yeah, but we all got away from ‘em just fine. Lost ‘em past the train tracks. Don’t worry, honey. Just a bunch o’ locals from Valentine, I think.”

“Good. At least it wasn’t the Pinkertons,” you say, leaning into him again.

“Nah, we’d have a real problem if it was.”

Several moments pass in silence before Arthur pats your back. “I’m gonna get some sleep, darlin’. Ya comin’?”

“Of course,” you smile, standing up with him. You both lay down in Arthur’s cot, wrapped in each other’s embrace.

That afternoon, Arthur approaches you with a plate of stew by the campfire. You take it, thanking him.

“I was thinkin’...” he says, sitting next to you. “Of goin’ to Valentine. Get some drinks or somethin’.”

“What for? To celebrate?” you ask.

“Shoar, why not? Score last night was good.”

“Shouldn’t you be takin’ Charles, Sean and John? They were the ones who helped you.”

He smiles. “Nah. I feel like takin’ you out.”

You agree, finishing your stew. You mount Rannoch, trotting next to Artemis and head to town. You follow Arthur into the saloon where he orders you both a shot of whisky. You both drink several of them, getting progressively more drunk. By the time the sun has set, you’re standing on the poker table yelling at the cards in your hand, convinced they should be shuffling themselves. Arthur’s standing next to the pianist in the corner, egging him on. He sees you and starts laughing, stumbling towards you.

“Arthur!” you yell, slurring his name. “This stupid deck won’t pull out another king!”

He laughs at you; you take a step towards him and fall off the table. He helps pick you up from the ground, unhurt. He pulls you close to him, smiling. Before you can say anything, he leans down and kisses you. You kiss him back, but someone wolf whistles at the two of you.

You turn your head, seeing a man by the barber’s chair grinning at the pair of you.

“Let’s get outta here,” Arthur mumbles into your ear. You turn and nod at him; the pair of you stumbling over each other. Arthur leads you over to the hotel; you’re still too drunk to really do anything else.

He slams a dollar on the desk, wrapping an arm around your waist. He guides you up the stairs, slamming you into the wall when you reach the second floor, pressing his lips against yours. You kiss him back, folding your arms behind his neck. He walks you backwards to the door of the room, closing the door behind him. He kisses you harder, his arms sliding up your back and to your front. The backs of your legs crash into the bed, you fall backwards, pulling Arthur on top of you. The two of you don’t break apart as Arthur’s hands start unbuttoning your shirt. You feel him pressing himself into you, pinning you to the bed. His hands grab your wrists, pinning them above your head. His fingers slide over your throat.

Without warning, your heart begins to race. Your palms begin to sweat, and your body begins to shake. It’s not Arthur on top of you anymore, and you’re not in a hotel. Through your blurred vision, you see him. James Brackenridge. Your ex-husband before you killed him. He’s pushing you into the bed, forcing himself on you, overpowering you. You feel terror flare in your chest. All you know is that you have to get him off of you. You start thrashing, smacking him in the face.

“What the hell, Y/N?” James yells, straightening up and away from you. You blink your eyes, your vision clearing slightly. Arthur stands where James was, rubbing his slightly red face. “What was that for?”

You realize suddenly that James was never here. He couldn’t be. However, the terror of feeling him forcing himself on you still roars inside of you. Your breathing is hard and fast; you try to slow it down with no success.

“Arthur, I…” you start. He looks at you confused; you can’t stand it anymore. The room’s shrinking, spinning. You have to get out of here.

You launch to your feet and run to the door. You yank it open, running into the hallway, ignoring Arthur’s calls to you. You turn to the right, throwing the door open and out onto the deck of the hotel. You breathe out hard, finally able to calm down slightly and close the few buttons Arthur had managed to undo. You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, the panic attack subsiding enough for you to gather your thoughts.

You run down the stairs onto the grass by the hotel and dart to the front, hopping onto Rannoch’s back. You’re still a little drunk from the shots of whisky, but you turn Rannoch and dash off down the trail that passes the stables and into the forest, ignoring the loud shouts of Arthur calling your name.

You arrive at Cattail Pond, the only place you could think of coming to this late at night. You slow Rannoch down to a halt by the water, hopping off and collapsing into the dirt. You’re sure Arthur hasn’t followed you, leaving you completely alone in the wilderness.

You lie in the dirt and try to recall the last ten minutes leading to your fit. You know Arthur had never meant to hurt you or force himself on you. He had been caught in the moment, drunk and amorous, but he couldn’t have known you’d panic. You realize it’s your own fault really, not having ever told him about your past.

You’re still drunk and exhausted now because of your attack, so you find it impossible to stand up and unpack your tent and bedroll. You just let yourself fall asleep on the earth, blanketed in starlight.

You wake up stiff, cold and with a pounding headache after the sun has risen, a light mist hovering among the trees. You stand up, somewhat shaky, and then immediately buckle over, vomiting. You straighten up. Your head still hurts, but at least you’re sure what alcohol hasn’t made it into your bloodstream is now out of your system.

You walk over to the pond, bending down and cupping some water into your hands, sipping it. You stay there for a moment, recalling last night and why you feel so horrible, remembering it wasn’t just because you drank too much. You can’t believe you ran away from Arthur, not even giving him a reason why.

You lie back down in the dirt, wishing the headache and dryness of your mouth would just disappear. The sun’s in the middle of the sky by the time you finally gather enough energy to mount Rannoch and head back to camp. You travel at a walk, dreading what’ll happen when you get there.

When you reach Valentine, you look briefly down the main street, looking for Artemis. She isn’t there, of course. You’d be surprised if she was. You wander slowly back to camp, feeling your stomach clench painfully when you hitch Rannoch next to Arthur’s giant horse. You climb off your appaloosa, still feeling a bit wobbly. You turn and spot Arthur sitting in his cot, staring at you. You can’t read his expression, but you’re certain he’s angry with you.

You try to gather the courage to head over to him and tell him about last night, but you find yourself wandering into the trees, feeling miserable. You sit at the feet of a large oak tree, folding your knees up to your chest.

“Y/N,” you hear him gently call you. You lift your head from your knees, not bothering to wipe the tears from your cheeks. He stands to your side, looking sad and concerned.

“Arthur,” you say silently. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, ya ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for,” he says, sitting next to you. He smiles. “‘S that why you been gone so long? Ya felt bad about last night?”

You wipe one of your eyes. “I thought you’d be mad. I would’ve been if I were you.”

He puts his arm around your shoulder. “Nah, honey, I ain’t mad. Worried more than anythin’ else. I tried lookin’ for ya last night.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur.”

“What happened, anyways? One minute, we were havin’ a good time. After ya hit me, which by the way ya got me good,” he laughs softly, touching his cheek. You can’t help but smile. He looks at you seriously again. “Ya looked like ya thought I was gonna kill you. Why?”

You stay silent for a moment. You’ve been putting this off for far too long, holding in your dark secrets, hiding them from the world. Arthur has been so patient and gentle with you; he deserves to know. You decide to tell him everything.

*******************************************************************************************

You had lived in the house your whole life, that tiny three room cabin, with your parents south of Blackwater in the lowest corner of West Elizabeth. The cabin sat on a decent plot of land, large enough for a small garden, a barn and pasture. The view was the only thing you ever liked about your home. To the west, you could see the plains stretching for miles, to the north were great sweeping mountains. The east and south faced Flat Iron lake, connecting with the wide San Luis river, winding its way west and above Mexico.

Your father worked in Blackwater as a shop owner. Most men like him would live above their shop, but this cabin had belonged to your family for generations. Your mother stayed home, doing chores and caring for you, teaching you all the skills you would need to know as an adult.

From afar, your family life was nothing unusual, pleasant even. Behind closed doors, however, it was anything except for that. Your father was a tyrant with extremely set ideas about how things should be, particularly in regards to the roles of men and women in society. To him, the man should not only be the head of the family and breadwinner, but the master of it. Whatever he said must be matched. He’d ruled over you and your mother this way for as long as you could remember.

Your mother, although sweet and patient when your father wasn’t around, had no courage to speak of whatsoever, and was highly limited in skill herself. The only thing she could offer you in ways of knowledge was how to clean, cook, garden and look after the few livestock your family owned. She could not read or write, in fact she could hardly even ride a horse.

When you were fairly young and had no idea how to decide what you wanted for yourself, that lifestyle suited you. Some days, your father would take you into town to help him run the shop, but only as long as you were dressed to your best. You hated running the shop with him, it was an extremely boring job, and you weren’t allowed to touch or play with anything. You remember you had once snuck a piece of candy off the shelf and eaten it. Your father had struck you across the face hard, yelling and screaming.

Every couple of weeks, your grandma would show up, riding on a small cherry-bay arabian. You loved whenever she came to visit; she always brought something for you. A new toy, a photograph, candy, and sometimes even a book, despite the fact that you couldn’t read. She would sit in the main room with you and your mother and read from the book for you. If your father was around, he’d voice how much he disapproved, but your grandmother would always send him off and tell him to be useful and make her a cup of tea.

When you were nearly ten, your grandma started to visit less and less. Your mother said it was due to her failing health. You knew it was a lie, though. You’d heard the arguments your parents would have with her when they thought you weren’t around. Your grandma had been begging your father to enroll you in school; to let you learn to read, write, do math, learn science. Your father was adamant that you would not go to school to become some over-educated ninny and think of ideas above your station. When she began to push the issue further, your father told her to stop coming around.

After that, your grandmother would only come around to pick you up and take you to her house in the northern slopes of Tall Trees, claiming she was going to teach you how to care for horses. “Who knows?” she used to say. “Perhaps she’ll marry a horse rancher!” This was the only way she could convince your father to let you see her. She did teach you horse care, but she also tried teaching you how to read and write. She was forced to stop though when your father discovered your practice sheets in your room. He had beaten you severely that day, furious that his own mother had gone behind his back and done it. It was only with the promise that she would stop the lessons that you were still allowed to visit her.

When you were eleven, you had gone to visit your grandmother when she pulled you into her stable to show you her large black American Standardbred mare named Ruby. She had you feel the mare’s swollen belly. When you asked why, she whispered in your ear that Ruby was pregnant and she wanted you to help take care of the foal. Five months later, Rain was born during the night.

After that, you came to visit your grandmother each day to help her take care of the horses, especially Rain. When the foal was a yearling, she taught you how to bridle and saddle her and then to ride. You’d never ridden a horse on your own before that, but you loved the feeling of freedom, of rider and horse becoming one. You and Rain became inseparable after that. Your grandmother used to say that Rain was poured down just for you.

Two years after that, your grandmother died of yellow fever. You were heartbroken, feeling like you had lost your only friend and protector. Your father took you and your mother in a wagon to her cabin, gathered everything up, including her horses and took them off to be sold. When you realized this included Rain, you begged and pleaded with him not to sell her, offering anything in return. He finally relinquished, but he demanded that if you slipped up for even a day in caring for her and the other horses, he would send her away.

After your grandmother died and you were allowed to keep Rain, you would saddle her up each day and go off on your own, wandering Great Plains and even venturing a bit into New Austin. Your mother hated this, stating she needed your help around the house, but you didn’t care. You hated living in the house with no one but your parents to keep you company, having nothing to listen to but your father’s gossip he’d collected from around town and your mother’s mindless babble. You had to get away from them, their land. Most days you’d be gone for a matter of hours, always back by dinner, but one time you had gotten terribly lost during a dust storm and had been out for three days. Your father put his foot down on your adventures then, throwing out the usual threat of selling Rain.

Your mother had a better idea to keep you rooted to your home, realizing you were lonely and bored. She took you into Blackwater one day, forcing you to buy a nice dress and hat. You hated dressing this way, preferring your pants and button-down shirts. Your mother insisted, however, that as your father’s daughter and a proper lady, you needed to look nice. She ignored your statements that most proper ladies had the knowledge to at least write. She took you to the post office and paid a man there to write a letter to her sister. She didn’t tell you what the letter was for.

Two weeks after the visit to the post office, a young lady, close to your age, arrived on your family’s tiny ranch. She showed up by stage, dressed in a fine city dress, her hair perfectly pinned under her broad hat. Your mother and father made you stand outside to welcome her. Her name was Emma, and they explained she was your cousin from Saint Denise and they’d invited her to stay with you for six months.

Those six months were awful. Emma, although beautiful and everything a woman should be, at least in the eyes of your father, was conceited and arrogant. On the first morning after her arrival, she witnessed you outside, taking care of Rain and the other horses. She had come outside, already dressed and primped, explaining a woman shouldn’t subject herself to such filthy work. You explained it was the only way you could keep your beloved horse. She laughed at you for this.

“What impropriety,” she said. “A woman with her own horse? Why, only men care for these beasts.”

“Who’s the beast?” you snapped. “The beast or the person who names them as such?”

She had pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at you. After that, she started pointing out everything you did that she deemed unlady-like, from the way you dressed yourself, ate your meals, and even lay on the bed you were forced to share with her. In her eyes, you could do nothing properly.

Your mother, not knowing how to properly tack, groom or hitch the horses to wagons, forced you to take Emma into Blackwater nearly every day. She treated you like her personal chauffeur, demanding you take her from one street to the next. On Saturday nights, she would put on her finest gowns and have you drive her to the city hall in Blackwater where they had a dance. You would be wearing a dress too, after your mother insisted you join the dancing since you had to bring her back anyway. These dances were miserable for you. You were sure they were designed for men to come meet their future wives. Marriage was one of the last things you ever desired. You saw the way your parents were when they were around each other, and happy is the last word you would use to describe them.

These dances also proved to be boring. Since most of the boys your age were from Blackwater, and at least knew you were your father’s daughter, the young girl who was always running off, falling in the dirt, and even getting in an occasional fight, they wanted nothing to do with you. Not that you wanted anything to do with them either. Most of these dances you spent sitting on the sidelines of the main activity, watching your cousin with loathing. Emma was, of course, a popular item at these dances. Beautiful, graceful, elegant, and most importantly, submissive and stupid, most of the boys wanted to dance and flirt with her.

When the dances mercifully ended at midnight, Emma almost always brought up the fact that you were never asked to dance, never even asked for your name. You didn’t care though. You just wished you could stop going to these stupid social functions.

To your parents, Emma was the perfect young woman. They said she was someone you should idolize and mimic. Your mother even sent you into town with Emma with instructions to her to buy you clothes she would wear. You were forced to wear them, no matter how often you complained. All your old clothes, with the exception of a couple working pants and shirts, were destroyed so you had no choice but to wear the gowns and dresses.

Your father doted on Emma, often verbalizing how much he wished you would be more like her. She was helpful around the house, always taking over chores for your mother. There was only one thing your mother wished Emma could do that you could and that was tending to the garden. You were instructed to teach her, but she complained every time the two of you set foot into the gated garden, stating how much she hated getting dirt under her nails and how the sun burned her skin.

After only four months since Emma first arrived, you thought you might go insane. At the awful dances on weekends, you often found yourself at a table with a few bottles of alcohol. You’d grab one and nurse it all night. Emma would complain on the way home how you reeked of alcohol and how you couldn’t drive the horses straight. One of the night’s, when you were more drunk than usual and hardly able to stay seated on the wagon, she threatened to tell your father. Her reward for this was you pushing her off the wagon and into the dirt. After that, she no longer threatened you and she quit trying to stop you from drinking. During your mandatory trips during the day into town, you would often stop at the saloon in Blackwater and buy drinks while you waited for her to get back from her shopping or the men who were courting her. You had begun to drink so heavily by month five that your mother began to worry about your health since your eyes were constantly bloodshot, you were losing weight and you were suffering from balance problems.

Your father took you to the doctor, who knew you were constantly getting drunk and told your father. He instantly fell into a huge fit of rage, screaming that a young woman should never drink alcohol with the exception of wine or champagne at parties. He dragged you by your hair to the sheriff’s office, throwing you on his desk and demanding you stay the night in jail for public intoxication.

The next day, when you were released from jail after having paid $10, you had to walk all the way home, hungover, exhausted and terrified. When you did finally get home, your father beat you horribly to the point where he had sprained your wrist, cut open your lip and covered your skin in bruises and welts. He did this all while Emma and your mother watched near the fireplace, neither of them even attempting to stop him as he struck you again and again. He threatened that if you ever had another sip of alcohol again, he’d shoot Rain.

Three weeks after, Emma finally returned to Saint Denise. You’d been sober the entire time, but you breathed a final sigh of relief when she got into the stage and disappeared down the trail. You never saw her again, not that you cared. Nearly a year afterwards, your father received a letter from her stating she was engaged to a wealthy man who owned a mine in Annesburg. You remember distinctly the look he gave you after having read the letter.

A month later, your father came home one afternoon. You had been working outside in the pasture, cleaning up the horses and setting out fresh bedding when he called you inside. You entered the house, finding your mother and father standing beside the fireplace, staring at you curiously.

“Y/N,” your father said. “You’re getting married three weeks from now.”

Your stomach dropped. “Married? To who?”

Your father grinned, tucking his thumbs underneath his suspender straps. “A man named James Brackenridge. Lovely fellow I met in the shop a few weeks ago. He’s just moved to Blackwater and he’s been looking for a wife for some time now. Says he has a lot of money, big estate just north of Armadillo. I think you’d make him a splendid wife.”

“No, father, please. Don’t make me do this.”

“You’re going to marry this man!” your father screamed. “All you’ve done here the last few years is be completely useless! Your poor mother has been taking care of this house alone! You’ve acted as though you were some prisoner! We’ve let you live under our roof, sleep in a bed and eat our food, and yet you remain ungrateful!”

“I am a prisoner!” you shouted back. “Yes, I’ve lived under this roof and eaten your food, but I didn’t ask to be your child! All I ever wanted, the only thing I ever asked for, was to learn how to read, to go to school! You wouldn’t even give me that!”

“You are a young lady!” your father roared, spitting in your face. “Why would you need to read? You’re going to marry this man and live with him! You are going to make him happy as his wife! If I hear that you’ve displeased him in any way, I’ll put a bullet into Rain’s skull!”

You stood there, tears dripping down your face. “Please don’t make me do this.”

He sneered at you. “It’s too late. He’s already paid a reasonable amount of money to marry you.”

“He paid you to marry me?” “Well, of course. I’m not so heartless to let you marry some stranger without gaining something in return.”

You hadn’t noticed the way your mother refused to look you in the face as he said that.

Three weeks later, you walked down the aisle in the church going towards the pulpit. You had never seen the man you were getting married to until that moment. Only a few years older than you, he had small, watery eyes, dark thin hair. He was tall and thin. He didn’t smile as you walked towards him, wearing a white dress and holding a bouquet of roses. Not that you smiled either as tears streamed down your face. Despite your desires to run, to do anything in your power to get as far as you could from the man next to you, you said your vows and kissed him in front of the Father. James, your husband, took your hand and walked you outside to a wagon pulled by an old chestnut stallion and Rain. He didn’t help you in, not that you needed him to, and he drove you to his home.

What your father had said was a fine estate was as different from his home as a Missouri Fox Trotter is to an old, lame donkey. His home turned out to be an old, two room cabin, backed by a small pasture and a three-stalled barn that was beginning to fall apart. James took you into the cabin, its only rooms being a kitchen with a dining area and the bedroom, barely large enough to fit a dresser and the bed.

That night, James forced himself upon you. You had fought him as hard as you could, trying to get away from him, but he overpowered you, pinning you to the bed with his hand squeezing your throat to the point you thought you would lose consciousness. You laid on the bed afterwards, terrified and horribly sore as he slept next to you.

You discovered a few weeks after your wedding that James was not only a man who lived in a small cabin, he was also poor due to the fact that he often went into Armadillo to gamble, drink and whore. Not that you minded, of course. It got him out of the house and away from you. You preferred he go sleep with a prostitute instead of forcing himself upon you. Not that he didn’t do that still. Nearly once a week, he’d come home stinking of alcohol and trap you to the bed, having his way with you until he was satisfied, leaving you sore and miserable.

Six months had passed since you married him, and things had gone from bad to worse. James refused to put a curb on his spending habits in town. He was already a poor man when he married you, and he wasn’t getting any richer now. He also refused to get a job, too busy gambling during the days and sleeping with women at nights. You tried your best to control the money, but not knowing how to count or even manage it yourself, it proved more than difficult. It got to the point where you would go to the market in Armadillo and had hardly enough money to buy even the cheapest of foods. You tried cutting back on your own diet, going down to one full meal a day, but it wasn’t enough. James was starving you.

You ended up getting a job as a seamstress in Armadillo, but the work paid very little. Not enough to buy food for both you and James. Considering how thin he was, he ate an enormous amount of food.

One afternoon, after you had gotten off work, you found yourself riding Rain into Tall Trees towards your grandmother’s cabin. You hadn’t been there since she died so many years ago, but you felt so miserable you figured it might be a reprieve. Along the way, you stumbled upon a hunter’s camp. It looked like it had been there for days, the fire pit cold and black. You investigated it, stumbling upon the hunter’s body. He had been killed by what looked like a bear. You saw, still strapped around his waist, a gunbelt with a knife and a sawed-off shotgun. Trapped beneath his body lay a bow and quiver full of arrows. Sucking in your breath, you moved his corpse, freeing the weapons and unbuckling the belt. You strapped them to yourself and carried on, only to find that your grandmother’s cabin had been torn down and replaced with a mining outlet.

After discovering the hunter’s bow and other weapons, you took it upon yourself to learn how to use them. Every morning, after your husband would leave for town and before your shift started, you would go out to the yard, placing bottles in various locations and practice shooting them with the gun and the bow. Both proved to be difficult, particularly the gun with its aggressive kick-back. The bow was a little easier, although it made you incredibly stiff and sore.

After practicing for a few weeks, you took Rain on a trail ride not too far from your home. You felt competent enough with a bow to try your hand at hunting. After several hours and many failed attempts, you finally killed a pronghorn buck. You had no idea how to skin and butcher it, but you sat next to the carcass and worked away at it with your knife. The end result was sloppy, but at least you had something. You put the skin and the body on Rain’s back and went into Armadillo, praying your husband wouldn’t see you. You went and traded the pronghorn to the butcher, who was thoroughly unimpressed with the quality. He gave you some tips on how to properly skin an animal and where on a carcass to cut.

After that, you tried your hand several times a week at hunting, getting slowly better and more accurate. Nearly a year had passed since you found the hunter’s camp, and you had gotten so good at hunting that you were able to quit your job as a seamstress. James knew nothing of your job, so he was never suspicious, and he was usually too drunk to notice the steady flow of money. You and he barely spoke to one another, considering you were married.

It was obvious at this point in your marriage that the two of you would never grow to love one another. You didn’t even like each other. He turned out to be as angry and abusive as your father was, if not more. On the nights he forced you into bed, he still enjoyed beating you, purpling your skin under his firm grip.

One night, when he got home, he pushed you down and put his face inches from yours.

“We’re going to have a baby,” he said, his breath reeking of alcohol.

“A baby?” you asked. “Why would we be having a baby? I’m not even pregnant.” “No, but you’re going to be. We’ve been married over a year. People expect us to have a family.”

“Who cares what people expect?” you snapped. “They expect us to be happy and we’re far from that.”

He slapped you hard, grabbed your face and made you look at him again.

“I don’t care if you’re happy, we’re going to have a child and look like a normal family.”

If things hadn’t been horrible before that night, they certainly were afterwards. Almost each night, he would come home and force you to the bed, determined to start a family with you. You couldn’t understand why, it was no secret that he loathed you. You had often wondered why he had paid money for you to be his wife.

After three months of constant attempts and you still weren’t pregnant, James dragged you to the doctor in Blackwater. It was the first time you visited your hometown in years. Not that you had happy memories of the place. The doctor inspected you. After he spoke with both you and James about your activities together, as far as how often you tried to get pregnant, he came to the conclusion that you were very unlikely to ever get pregnant.

James became enraged then, dragging you to the wagon he had drove, and galloped the horses to your parents’ home. He tossed you through the door, screaming into your father’s face about how you were so inadequate of a wife that you couldn’t even provide him with children. Your father calmed him down, saying he had no way of knowing. James finally settled down, but not before saying what a waste of money you were. Your father told him to go home with you, saying that all sales were final.

You went home with him. The upside of finding out you were infertile did have an upside in that he hardly ever tried to force himself on you anymore. In fact, you hardly saw him at all most days. Things went on this way for nearly a year. You still went out hunting and gathering each day, selling your wares to the butcher and the small doctor in Armadillo. You were getting so good that you had even been able to start saving money. For what you didn’t quite know, but you were sure it would come in handy one day.

One night, James came home more intoxicated than he had been in a long time. You had just set down dinner, expecting him when he walked in, stumbling heavily. He stared groggily at the table and the plates set with venison and boiled vegetables.

“‘Nother piss-poor example of barely-edible food,” he slurred.

You bowed your head, used to these kinds of insults. You weren’t ashamed of your cooking. Instead you were trying to contain your anger. You’d grown tired of his insults, his abuse.

“Y’know, just once I wish I could come home and see this house spick-and-span with a banquet laid out for me after having a hard day.”

“Why?” you snarled. “Why would you deserve that? All you do, day after day, is drink, gamble and hire prostitutes for your amusement. Explain to me how your days are hard.”

His face turned a darker shade of red as he pointed a wobbly finger at you. “You cannot talk to me that way! You are my wife and will treat me with some damn respect!”

“And as my husband, you are so supposed to treat me with love and gentleness! All you’ve ever done is hate me!”

“No one could live with you and not end up hating you! You’re the biggest mistake I ever made!” he spat.

“I couldn’t agree more! Just hope I was worth the cash! Can’t imagine how you got enough to even afford me, probably managed to actually win a game of poker for once.”

“Oh, honey, trust me when I say I gambled that money away so fast I can’t even remember how much it was!”

“What?” you said. “How did you gamble away the money you paid for me? My dad wouldn’t have given me to you if you didn’t offer him something.”

He laughed, sneering at you. “You think I paid money for you? Oh no, it was the other way ‘round, girl! I met your daddy at the saloon in Blackwater when he went off about how he was sick of having his no good daughter hanging around his house all day. He offered me money if I would marry you.”

Your anger flared. How could you have been so stupid to think that some stranger would actually buy you? How could your father do this to you? Your eyes teared up. James smiled wide at you.

“I almost regret takin’ that money from your daddy. If only I knew how much the price tag really was. Marryin’ a woman who can’t even have children. It’s like havin’ a cow who can’t even milk. Only one thing to do then; send it to the butcher.”

You whipped around and went into the bedroom, reaching under the bed and grabbing your gunbelt, pulling out your sawed-off shotgun and pointing it at the man you hated so much.

He laughed. “You don’t have the guts, little girl! I doubt you even know how to use that thing!”

“You’d be surprised, you sack of shit! You really think this food, all the fresh game I cook for your miserable ass, just magically shows up? No, I had to learn to hunt so we wouldn’t starve!”

He reached over and grabbed the beer bottle you had set out on the table for him for dinner, smashing it over the table, liquid spilling everywhere.

“You don’t have the guts to hunt, and you certainly can’t pull the trigger of that gun,” he growled.

“Try me!”

“Then why ain’t you shot me yet?”

You were just about to pull the trigger when he lunged at you, smacking the gun out of your hand. As you swung around from the force of his strike, you felt a sharp pain in your shoulder. You turned back and saw him pulling the broken beer bottle away from you, the broken shards coated in your blood. You dashed back to the gun on the floor as he reached for you again. You dropped to the floor, grabbed the gun and rolled over onto your back. He stood above you, preparing to strike you with the bottle again when you pulled the trigger. It exploded, the slug plunging into his stomach, blood spurting all over you. He fell with a heavy crash, gasping and sputtering. You stood up and looked down on James, grasping at his gut, blood streaming from his mouth. He looked up at you with shock and disbelief, choking on his blood.

“I hope I’m worth the price tag now!” you spit on him.

You turned back to your room, grabbing the gun belt and buckling it around your waist, grasped your bow and arrows and a few other necessities, including the money you’d been saving, before turning back and walking past your husband’s corpse. You threw him one last look before walking out the door.

You mounted Rain, still fuelled by the rage from your argument with James. You galloped away from the cabin towards Blackwater, back to your parents’ home. It was night when you reached it. You stormed up to the house, throwing open the door to find your mother and father sitting at the table, finishing their meal.

“Y/N?” your mother said, surprised. You hadn’t seen them since James yelled at your father for you being infertile. “What are you doing here?” her voice shook from the dark look on your face hidden beneath your hat, your shoulder still dripping blood.

“Y/N,” your father barked, standing up. “Why do you have a gun? How in the world did you even get a hold of it?”

“Is it true?” you growled at him.

“Is what true?”

“Did you pay James to marry me?!” you yelled.

“So he told you, did he?” your father said calmly. “Yeah, he told me right before I shot him!”

He stared at you angrily.

“Why?” you finally say, tears sparking in your eyes. “Why do you hate me? I tried being a good daughter to you! All I ever asked from you, ever, was to learn about the world! I just wanted to read, to go to school! The only excuse you ever gave me was that I was a girl!”

He huffed angrily at you. “If you think you were a good daughter, Y/N, think again. You have been such a disappointment to me and your poor mother. How I wished your cousin Emma was my daughter!”

You whipped out your gun, pointing it at him. Your mother screamed and stood up. You pointed the gun at her and told her to sit down and shut up, to which she did.

“Don’t talk to your mother that way!” your father screamed.

You pointed the gun back at him. “I will speak to the both of you however I wish. You’ve done nothing to earn my respect!”

Your father started to approach you, telling you to give him the gun. You pulled down the hammer. “Stay where you are! I killed James with this very gun. You think I won’t kill you, too?”

He stopped, his face darkening as he raised his hands. “Fine, Y/N. I never let you go to school or learn to read because women do not have the intelligence to handle school. Your tiny minds simply cannot handle it.”

“Your mother could read!” you screamed. “She tried to teach me, but you didn’t like it. So what, you think that women only exist to wait on you men while you take over the world?”

Your father said nothing, but you can tell by his face that it was exactly what he thought.

“Tell me this, father,” you said, tears spilling from your eyes. “Was there ever a day you felt proud of me? Was there even a time you were happy that I was your daughter?”

“What do you want me to say?” he said. “That you were an exemplary child? All you ever were was ungrateful.”

“I’m your kid! I didn’t ask to be part of your family, so I don’t owe you my gratitude! You chose to have me!”

Your father approached you again. You refused to let him come at you and wrestle the gun from you. Just before he reached you, you pulled the trigger, shooting him in the chest, feeling the flecks of his blood spatter onto you. He was dead before he hit the floor. Your mother screamed, standing to her feet. You whipped the gun to point it at her, forcing her to sit down again.

“And you,” you snarled at her, walking slowly towards her, stepping over your father’s corpse. “You’re as bad as him!”

“Y/N,” she cried. “I’ve always loved you! I just wanted you to be happy!”

“No, you tried to make me into a better version of yourself! You brought my fucking cousin in to try to make me into the woman you wanted me to be! How many times did you just sit back and watch him hurt me?!” you gestured to your father’s body. “You should have protected me!”

“Y/N, please, I hated watching your father hurt you! But there was nothing I could do.”

“Yes there was! You could have told the police, hell you could have left him! But no, you were just too much of a coward to stand up to him!”

Full of rage and pain, you grabbed a length of rope hanging beside the front door. You tied your mother to her chair under the threat of your gun while she cried. When she was tied securely, you turned to her.

“Now none of you can ever hurt anyone again! The world will be a better place without any of you.”

You grabbed a lantern from the table and smashed it on the floor, letting the fire spread across the home you’d grown up in. Your mother screamed and pleaded your forgiveness as you walked out the door, snapping it shut behind you.

You mounted Rain and galloped away, stopping on a nearby hill and turning to see the house engulfed in flames. You turned away from the blaze, dashing down the hill and into the night. As you reached the road, another rider wearing a blue shirt on a palomino paint appeared on the road. You crashed into him, Rain whinnying in shock. You got up, glanced at the stranger’s face, and then got back on your horse, racing away into the darkness.

Within three days, the news of your parents’ death had spread to Blackwater, and Armadillo announced in their newspaper that your husband had been murdered. You had wandered into Blackwater when you saw a bounty poster with your portrait, claiming you were wanted for questioning, and the sheriff was offering $500 for you.

After that, you decided to stay away from Blackwater and Armadillo. You tried going west into Tumbleweed for a few months, but the town was a little too rough and hot for your taste, so you wandered back east. You avoided the towns as much as you could, staying on your own as much as possible. You were beginning to debate going north or east when you reached Tall Trees a year after murdering your family, and that was when a rugged outlaw came and found you, looking to collect your bounty.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x oc #Van Der Linde Gang #r* games #rockstar games #second chances #i'm awkward

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just-another-wasteland-merc · 4 years

Text

It’s a Kiss! #6 (On a Falling Tear)

I polled a chat for the tone for this one and they picked fluff. I shall abide!

“Em, I swear we’re gonna be late!” RJ lamented through the door of the bathroom in their hotel room at the Rexford. “You know Hancock’s gonna want to see us!”

“I don’t think I should go,” she replied, her voice muffled through the wooden door. “You should go without me.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, worried. “Are you feeling sick?”

“No.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“This dress doesn’t fit me anymore!” she yelled, causing RJ to jump back a little in surprise. He sighed, his head falling back, eyes landing on the ceiling, groaning inwardly.

“Let’s see it,” he called. “Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

He heard a huff, but the door opened. He was surprised at the dress- he couldn’t believe she brought the silver one they had grabbed from the house in Cambridge- she said to him she was planning on bringing the red one. It hugged her a little tighter around the midsection, thanks to her being six months pregnant. Her hair was down, curlier than normal. It was almost never down in front of others, at least she would braid it if it wasn’t in her usual bun. How she found a way to curl it was a mystery to him, and how had she managed to find makeup for her eyes...did she save it from before the war? He didn’t know. What he did know, is that he absolutely loved how she looked.

He smiled. “It looks great on you,” he commented. “I’m being very serious here.”

He watched as she smiled a little.

“You ready?” he asked, holding out his arm. She snickered.

“Wait,” she replied. “You forgot about your bow-tie.” She reached up and held up one of the tails so he could see.

“Damn,” he muttered, heading to a mirror.

“And you said I’d make us late!” she laughed.

A few minutes later, Mac held his hand out for her at the top of the stairs under the State House, escorting her down into the Third Rail. The atmosphere was warmer than she had remembered. The patrons weren’t in their usual drifter garb, no guns, nothing to suggest that the place was just a bar. The men wore suits, all in varying degrees of wear, while the ladies wore their best dresses. It suddenly explained why RJ had insisted on her bringing her best dress and why he was wearing a suit in the first place. The tables had been pushed to the outer edges of the place, creating an open space. She saw people dancing, and was surprised that Magnolia wasn’t on stage, singing- even the spotlight was turned off.

“Hancock always gives her the night off so she can enjoy herself too,” RJ mused, as if reading her mind.

“Are Hancock’s parties always black-tie?” she asked nervously.

“Just two of them,” he answered. “Christmas and …. Valentine’s Day.”

As if he was summoned, Hancock appeared in front of the pair, a glass in each hand, giving the darker filled one to RJ, while giving Em one filled with clear liquid. He shook hands with RJ and pecked Em on the cheek, smirking as she took a whiff of her glass. She handed it to RJ, who sipped it, and handed it back.

“Water,” he confirmed. She nodded and sipped at her glass.

“Don’t worry, sister,” Hancock reassured, gesturing to her abdomen “nothin’s gonna harm that. I made sure, even told Charlie.”

Em shook her head a little,smiling. “Thanks, John.”

“I should warn you guys though, he’s been calling you missus for some reason. Damn bot’s thinking you guys are married already.” He made a face. “But anyway, I’ll see you two later, yeah? Someone wants to start trouble already. Kind of a record if you ask me.”

He whisked away, leaving Em and RJ to exchange a shrug before mingling with the others. Em took regular breaks from standing, thanks to RJ asking what felt like every ten minutes if she was okay, only sitting down when she was annoyed. She was talking with someone for about an hour when the spotlight suddenly turned on and Hancock was standing at the microphone. The crowd hushed. Em looped her arm around RJ’s, resting her head against his arm.

“Hey everyone,” Hancock announced. “Just wanted to say that this is a hell of a group.”

A few people whooped and clapped. Hancock gave a wink.

“I’m glad to be your mayor. But enough about me, this party is for you! Valentine’s Day is probably my favorite holiday out of the year, besides Christmas, but you already knew that.”

A few “yeah”s were heard.

“Right now, I’d like to dedicate just one song for my two best friends in the whole Commonwealth. I was digging through some old record stores and found this holotape. I didn’t think anything of it at first, but still took it back here to listen to it. I gotta say, friends, I was hooked. I love it, but I know one person here will love it even more.”

“What’s he talking about?” she murmured.

“No idea,” RJ whispered back.

“So!” Hancock continued. “If everyone will clear the floor for a moment, except Em and MacCready.”

Em’s eyes went wide, and her head snapped up to meet RJ’s shocked expression.

“What did you do…” she started.

“I didn’t do anything, I promise!” RJ countered.

Hancock laughed a little. “You guys are the best. I’m really glad you guys made it here, and Em?”

She looked over at him.

“I hope you love this song still.” He slapped the holotape into the speaker. It crackled a little, then finally the song started. She smiled, looking up at RJ while grabbing his hand. It took him a little bit to find the tempo, but took the lead as he danced with her, his free hand resting on her back as they swayed. He listened to the lyrics, but he had never heard the song before.

“Em?” he asked. “I hate to interrupt, but…”

“It’s ‘Nights In White Satin’, RJ,” she answered, her head resting against him, her eyes closed. “I’ll talk about it after.”

All too soon, the song ended. Feeling bold, RJ dipped his head down and gave her a quick kiss as the on-lookers clapped. As the people started filling the dance floor again, RJ gently pulled her away from the crowd, sitting next to her at a vacant table. His head tilted to the side, watching as she closed her eyes, a smile plastered on her face.

“I’ve always wanted to have a dance to that song,” she said. “I’m very grateful that it was with someone I love, played by one of my dearest friends.”

“I…” he grew alarmed as a tear beaded on her lashes. He reached up and caught it as it fell to her cheek with his thumb, leaning in and softly kissing her. Her hands went to his face, holding him there for a moment longer before pulling away. Finally opening her eyes and meeting his, her smile grew.

“Thank you for dancing with me to it,” she said, kissing him again.

“You’re welcome,” he replied. He leaned back a little, looking over when something orange caught his eye. Em noticed it too, and picked it up. A holotape, with the words “Nights In White Satin- 1967” written in the title space, and a small red bow stuck to the upper left corner. She looked up, and saw Hancock at the bar, watching them. He raised his glass to her and gave her a wink before turning back to talk to the person next to him.

“Huh,” she mused. “Hancock’s gone Cupid.”

RJ chuckled. “He always does this time of year.”

#It's a prompt!#em and mac take the commonwealth #Robert Joseph MacCready #MacCready #i love everyone who reads this #fallout 4 #fallout4 #I love getting the notifications on my phone #seriously thanks #thanks for reading

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queen-scribbles · 4 years

Text

Character Interview: Abigail

Tagged again by @haledamage, using it to talk about my first (and favorite but shhh) Wayhaven Detective

name ➔ Abigail Jenings, you can call me Abigail or AJ.

are you single ➔ I’m... um... *blushes and looks down at her hands, picking furiously at a hangnail* don’t know? *sheepish chuckle* Check back in a couple weeks after... after I’ve had a chance to, um, get things worked out. I think I am, technically speaking. But hopefully not for much longer?

are you happy ➔ For the most part.

are you angry ➔ Not very often.

are your parents still married ➔ No. I think they would be, but Dad died when I was little.

NINE FACTS

birth place ➔ Wayhaven. I’ve lived here m’ whole life, ‘sides from college.

hair colour ➔ *she tugs on one loose and rebellious curl* Red, which is just as much a curse as it is a blessin’.

eye colour ➔ Dark blue. Mum says they look like stormy seas on the rare occasions I do get mad.

birthday ➔ The 13th of November, so.... tomorrow.

mood ➔ Relaxed, generally. Friendly and professional, I hope, when I’m on the job.

color scheme ➔ *vaguely self-deprecating snort* Typical redhead colors; blues and greens and all that rubbish, though I am partial to purple, ‘specially more lilac shades, and every once in a great while I’ll slip in some pale pink, just b’cause I can.

gender ➔ Female.

summer or winter ➔ Summer, for sure. Have you ever been through a winter here? *shudders* Not fun, let me tell you.

morning or afternoon ➔ Morning, it’s great gettin’ to watch the world wake up.

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

are you in love ➔ *her ears go bright red and she looks down at her lap again* I... might be. *she bites her lip and looks up, the flush spreading to her cheeks* I think I am. Just a wee bit, yeah?

do you believe in love at first sight ➔ i didn’t used to, thought that only happened in fairy tales and such, but now... I’m not so sure. *she tucks the curling lock of hair behind her ear and purses her lips* Given what else I know exists now, love at first sight’s not a far stretch.

who ended your last relationship ➔ I don’t really have one. Never had things go past a second date, so none of ‘em felt like relationships, y’know? We were both testin’ the waters an’ for one reason or another none of ‘em worked out.

have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ I can’t think of anyone. *she frowns, mildly panicked at the thought* I certainly hope not.

are you afraid of commitments ➔ Quite the opposite, I”d love to find someone... well, actually, figure out if someone I’ve already found feels the same.

have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ Yeah, a couple people.

have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ I got a few anonymous valentines the last couple years b’fore college, but that’s about it.

have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ What, y’mean chasin’ someone I can’t have, or not lettin’ m’self go for someone I coulda? Like that? *thinks for a moment* No, I haven’t.

SIX CHOICES

love or lust ➔ Love, definitely.

lemonade or iced tea ➔ Iced tea, but only if it’s sweet.

cats or dogs ➔ I prefer and love cats, but both are cute. *she bites her lip and smiles at some private thought or memory*

a few best friends or many regular friends ➔ Just a few close friends, easier to keep up with everyone and spend time together that way.

wild night out or romantic night in ➔ Romantic night in, especially if cuddling’s involved. *wry smirk* Never really been one for wild nights in any form

day or night ➔ Day.

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

been caught sneaking out ➔ Never really needed t’ sneak, I just let someone know where I’m off to and tried not to stay out too late. Bein’ I’m an early bird, not that hard a system to keep.

fallen down/up the stairs ➔ .*she wrinkles her nose* Up. Once.

wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ Not til recently

wanted to disappear ➔ No, there’s too many people in my life I care about, I’d never do that to them.

been involved in a fight you thought you couldn’t win ➔ *her eyes go dark as her gaze shifts off to the distance, one hand rubbing the side and back of her neck* Yes.

FOUR PREFERENCES

smile or eyes ➔ Smile. *she cocks her head in thought* No, wait, eyes. No- *she sighs in exasperation* I like them about the same on him, both are fantastic, and I didn’t really have a preference before, so I dunno.

shorter or taller ➔ *smirk* Oh, taller. Taller’s grand.

intelligence or attraction ➔ Attraction strikes me as somewhat necessary, so I’ll say that, but there’s all kinds of intelligence, and they’re all a little attractive in their own right, yeah?

hook-up or relationship ➔ *the loose curl slides free from behind her ear and she plays with it as she answers* Relationship, I can’t do hook-ups.

FAMILY

do you and your family get along ➔ Mum’s the only one, really, and we get along swimmingly, thanks.

would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ I wouldn’t call it that, no. Interestin’ or excitin’, sure. but not messed up. Too much good’s come out of it for that.

have you ever ran away from home ➔ No. Thought about it, but never did. An’ even thinkin’ about it was as an eight year old who didn’t want to clean her room. Didn’t go through with it b’cause there was too much I wanted t’ take with me, I couldn’t’ve carried it all. So I stayed put.

have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ Nah

FRIENDS

do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ No, there’s not really anyone I hate, period. *she winces slightly* Well, maybe one, but he’s definitely not my friend and never has been.

do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ I’m still workin’ on it with a couple of ‘em. *smirks* We’ll get there. though. An’ truly, I think they like me more than they’ll admit, but I’ll let them get to acknowledgin’ that on their own.

who is your best friend ➔ Probably Tina, I suppose? Would be her, hands down, but Felix an’ I bonded thick as thieves, so I feel I’m at least as close with him now.

who knows everything about you ➔ I don’t think any one person know everything, except maybe Mum?

#tagged #character interview #abigail jenings #she's gonna hve fic soon but for now have this :D

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bittysvalentines · 5 years

Text

Dance to This

From: @edgarallanrose (same on Ao3) To: @writingdragon Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann Rating: T, Tags: Fluff, Dancing, Making Out, Domestic, Year Four, Canon Compliant

Message: For my very secret valentine giftee, writingdragon! I hope you enjoy this bit of Valentine's themed fluff!

Jack frowned into his bathroom mirror. His white button-up shirt was still only half buttoned, open over his chest and untucked from his slacks. He held two different ties in each hand, alternating holding one in front of his throat and then the other. He sighed in defeat.

“Bits,” he called out, but there was no answering reply.

When Jack had returned to his apartment from practice earlier, Bitty was already dressed and ready for the event they were attending that night. Bitty had given him a quick kiss and pushed Jack toward the shower, muttering about keeping busy while Jack made himself presentable.

Jack knew what “keeping busy” translated to in Bitty-speak.

He headed toward the kitchen.

Bitty had his back turned to him, his head bent down over a mixing bowl. He was blasting music through a Bluetooth speaker and had kicked off his shoes in favor of being able to dance and slide around in his socks. His head was nodding along to the beat and his hips swayed with the rhythm. Jack didn’t try to stop the smile that came unbidden.

Jack crossed the room and placed a hand on his hip, holding his ties in the other hand, and kissed the back of his neck. “Hey, Bits.”

Bitty turned around, an embarrassed smile on his face. Even without a full smile, Jack could still see the dimples in his cheeks, and he wanted to kiss each and every one of them.

“Sorry, honey,” Bitty said, adjusting the volume. “Were you callin’ for me?”

“Yeah, but first -- you do know this is a catered event, right?” Jack teased, nodding to all the baking in process.

“Oh, chirp chirp chirp. This is just for us when we get home, not the rich, old white guys at your ‘Thank You for Emptying Out Your Pockets to the Falconers’ dinner.” Jack laughed and Bitty bumped him with his hip. “And honestly, making it on Valentine’s Day? Where is the love?”

“I guess this dinner isn’t usually on the holiday, that’s just where it fell this year. The other guys didn’t mind.” Jack thought for a moment, brushing away a blonde hair from Bitty’s forehead that had gone astray. “Neither do I, because this year I actually get to show you off.”

“Oh, stop that, Mr. Zimmermann, I am already blushing!”

“Nah, can’t stop, won’t stop. Anyway –”

“Sorry, right, what did you need, darlin’?”

“Just your help with something real quick,” Jack said, holding up the ties. “Which one?”

“Well, you probably know more about this kind of event than I do.” Bitty shrugged. “They both match your suit, I’m sure either one would be fine.”

“I know that, I just wanted to make sure I was coordinated with what you were wearing.”

For a second, Jack thought that Bitty might get down on one knee and propose right there.

“Jack, you sweet, sweet man,” Bitty said, pulling Jack down for a kiss. “You want to know the truth?”

“Sure.”

Bitty plucked both ties out of Jack’s hands and tossed them on the counter behind them. “I prefer you just like this.”

“Bits, my shirt isn’t even done up yet.”

Bitty traced a finger down the center of Jack’s exposed chest and then looked him in the eye. “I know.”

Jack leaned in for another kiss, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of Bitty’s pants to press their hips together. Bitty made a pleased sound against Jack’s mouth, then pulled away with a laugh, though he kept a grip on Jack’s arms.

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, if you keep kissing me like that, we will never leave this apartment.”

“Now there’s an idea.”

“Jack!”

“I bet whatever you’re making in here is better than what they’ll be serving us there.”

Jack kissed Bitty again. And again. Bitty’s kisses were always addictive, but before yesterday, they hadn’t seen each other in nearly four weeks since the start of spring semester, Bitty’s final semester at Samwell.

Bitty held onto the back of Jack’s neck and licked into his mouth. Jack tasted sugar and chocolate.

“Would you like to try the pie filling?” Bitty asked when they both had to pause for a breath.

“I think I just did.”

“Naughty.”

Bitty fished out a spoon from the cutlery drawer and dipped it into what looked like some sort of chocolate mousse mixture. He held the spoon up to Jack’s mouth. It was chocolatey and rich, but not too sweet, the texture silky smooth.

“Mmm,” Jack said, nodding, “that’s nice.”

“Would you like to know my secret ingredient?”

“Of course.”

“Tofu!” Bitty said, positively delighted with himself. “Silken tofu! There is now protein in your pie, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack stared.

“Eric Bittle, I am so, so in love with you.”

Jack swept Bitty up into his arms, and Bitty playfully batted him away.

“Oh, don’t you start that again,” Bitty said. “We are going to be late!”

“Fine, fine,” Jack said, hands up in defeat.

“And wear the blue tie. Brings out your eyes,” Bitty said with a wink.

Jack went to collect his ties as Bitty returned to his pie, turning the music back up. Jack quickly sorted out his shirt and put on his tie. He checked his appearance in the bathroom mirror again and had to recomb his hair, since Bitty’s fingers had somewhat restyled it when they kissed. Jack slung his jacket over his arm and returned to the kitchen.

Jack was about to call out to Bitty that he was ready to leave when he caught a glimpse of him. A new song had just started, and Bitty wasn’t just swaying to the beat anymore but full out dancing as he cleared off the counter. The song sounded familiar – Bitty might have played it in the car before. It was mid-tempo and sultry, a duet with a man and a woman. Bitty circled his hips, his hands sliding along his body and up over his head. He still hadn’t noticed that Jack was behind him.

Jack ducked into a hallway and pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping out a quick text to George. Then he went back to the kitchen, set his jacket and phone on the counter, and reached out to place his hands on Bitty’s shoulders.

Bitty stopped moving, about to turn around and say something when Jack leaned down and spoke low in his ear.

“Keep dancing. Dance with me.”

“Jack, we’re going to be –”

“I already texted George and told her we’re going to be late. Unavoidable, very sorry, and start without us.”

“You sure?”

“Very sure. Dance with me, Bits, please.”

That seemed to be good enough for Bitty, because he took both of Jack’s hands in his, moving them from his shoulders to his hips as he resumed his dancing.

Jack moved with him, shifting from side to side, pressing his chest against Bitty’s back. The music changed tempo slightly and Jack grasped Bitty’s hand, taking it across his body in order to spin Bitty out across the kitchen floor. Bitty’s eyes widened but then crinkled and softened with laughter as he was spun back in to face Jack. They untangled their arms so Bitty could lace his fingers behind Jack’s neck and Jack could return his hands to Bitty’s side, his thumbs finding Bitty’s hipbones and gently brushing over them, back and forth, as they swayed in a slow sort of circle.

“What has gotten into you?” Bitty asked.

“I dunno,” Jack admitted. “You just…you look real good right now, Bittle.”

“Yeah?” Bitty looked up at him through long eyelashes, and Jack had to remember how to breathe. “You like me all dressed up, huh?”

“I mean you still look good when you’re in shorts and tank tops,” Jack shrugged. “Maybe I just love you.”

“Maybe?” Bitty laughed.

“I think there’s a pretty strong chance, yeah.”

“Maybe I love you too, then.”

The song ended, but Jack didn’t let go of Bitty, and Bitty didn’t make to move either. Another song came on, a slow ballad, and Jack recognized it as Beyoncé. He couldn’t name the song, but he was still very proud of himself.

Jack dropped his forehead to rest against Bitty’s. Bitty closed his eyes and sighed, his hands sliding down from Jack’s shoulders to his chest. Jack pulled Bitty in closer, placing one of his legs between Bitty’s to line them up completely. They breathed in each other’s air, mouths near but not touching.

“I have a present for you,” Bitty whispered. “Besides the dessert, I mean.”

“I have something for you, too.”

“Should we open them now? Or wait ‘til after?”

“Open them now. I have other thoughts about what we should do after.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bitty said, breathlessly nodding. “I’ll go get ‘em, you stay here.”

“You know where I was keeping your present?”

“Honey, under the shoe rack of your closet isn’t exactly the most secretive of hiding spots.”

Bitty smirked over his shoulder as he left the kitchen. Jack leaned back on his elbows against the island counter, his heart still racing as the speaker shifted to yet another sexy, slow song. He eyed his phone on the counter across the room, lighting up with notifications. Probably a reply from George and then a bunch of chirps from his teammates for being late. He considered again just canceling the whole thing to stay home, but the appeal of getting to go out with the very handsome Eric Bittle on his arm was too strong a pull. Finally being able to bring a date like the rest of the team was something Jack did not take for granted.

Bitty returned with a very prettily wrapped box with a ribbon tied around it and Jack’s slightly less artful, giant gift bag.

“This is kind of heavy!” Bitty said, lifting the bag onto the counter. “What have you done?”

“You’ll see.”

“I want you to open mine first.”

Jack removed the paper and ribbon to find a long, flat nondescript box. He lifted his eyes at Bitty, who smiled back nervously, as he removed the lid of the box to see a large red number fifteen on a background of white.

“Oh my god, did you get me your jersey?”

“Do you like it?”

Jack held the jersey up to his chest, then out in front of him, and, sure enough, it said Bittle on the back, with his red, captain ‘C’ on the front.

“Bits, quick, open your gift.”

Bitty frowned at Jack’s non-answer but removed the tissue from his bag before reaching in blindly. Jack could tell when the expression on his face shifted from confusion to shock that he had figured it.

“We did not.”

“We did.”

Bitty pulled his own Falconers jersey out of his bag, Zimmermann number one on the back, and the alternate captain ‘A’ on the front.

“Well, no one can say we don’t know each other very well,” Bitty said. “I love it, Jack.”

“I love mine, too.”

“But now I have to change.”

“Change?” Jack asked.

“I’ve gotta wear the jersey to dinner! I’m never gonna take it off!”

“If you wear yours, I’ll wear mine.”

“Oh no,” Bitty said, realization dawning on his face, “are we that obnoxious couple?”

“We sure are,” Jack said, setting both their jerseys aside in favor of pulling Bitty back into his arms. “I hope everyone gets so sickened by us tonight they can’t even finish their dinner, then we can bring home the leftovers.”

Bitty threw his head back and laughed. Jack used this opportunity to go for Bitty’s neck, lightly nipping then kissing him. Bitty’s hand immediately landed on the back of Jack’s head, holding him there. The angle was a bit awkward, but Jack latched his mouth onto the soft skin beneath Bitty’s ear and Bitty moaned. Jack could feel Bitty’s breath hot on his ear hitching as he grazed him gently with his teeth, then a high-pitched noise as he bit down harder.

Jack could feel Bitty’s weight dropping heavily against him as his legs started to give out. Jack grasped the bit of thigh right under Bitty’s ass, and Bitty shifted his weight as Jack lifted him onto the island counter. Bitty quickly brushed the paper and tissue from the gifts onto the floor so he could move his body further onto the counter, then he reached out for Jack’s tie, using it to pull Jack’s body over his and bring their mouths back together.

Jack was overwhelmed. The softness of Bitty’s lips, the wetness of his tongue, the heat of his body underneath him, the pressure against the small of his back as Bitty wrapped his legs around and dug his heels into him. Jack ground his hips down and against him as Bitty sucked Jack’s lower lip between his teeth, and Jack was fairly sure he made an embarrassing noise. But he didn’t care. It was too much and too perfect at the same time.

“Jack,” Bitty panted, “oh, lord, Jack, I need—”

��Mmm, yeah? Yeah, Bits, what?”

“I need to stop.”

“Oh.” Jack pushed himself up on his hands, straightening his arms and distancing their bodies. Bitty groaned and let his head fall back on the granite countertop. “You good?”

“You’re good, that’s the problem.” Bitty laughed at Jack’s raised eyebrow. “If we keep going, I really will have to change, if you catch my drift.”

Jack grinned. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am a little.” Jack leaned down and kissed the spot on Bitty’s neck that was now starting to darken. “Make it up to you later?”

“You better, mister. Especially since you are now taking me to a public event with a hickey on my neck.”

Jack just smiled wider as he helped Bitty up and off the counter.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, eh?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey.”

Bitty straightened Jack’s tie, and Jack pushed Bitty’s hair back into place, then let him lean against his side so he could slip his shoes on. Bitty turned the speaker off and the kitchen went quiet.

“Ready?” Jack asked, grabbing his jacket and turning off the kitchen lights.

“For you, honey,” Bitty said, standing on tiptoes to kiss Jack on the cheek, “always.”

#bittyjack #fanfiction #bittysvalentines #bv2019 #omgcp

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