#The Last Stop Route 66 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jetii · 4 months ago

Note

Hi! I’m the anon that asked about the SFW/NSFW thing. I had an angsty idea for a Crosshair x Jedi. Reader where they both liked each other, but they never said anything. He injures her during Order 66 and believes her to be dead. Later he finds out she survived, but she has amnesia from when he attacked her. She doesn’t remember that she was a Jedi. She doesn’t remember the Batch and how she battled by their side. She doesn’t remember him.

This can end with the reader remembering and they make up, or you can go the extra angsty route and have it so she never remembers and Crosshair watches as she moves on with someone else. SFW please!

Hi anon! Sorry it took me a while to get to this, but this was harder than I thought. I ended up writing this in a different style than I'm used to, but I think it turned out alright. Tried to keep the word count short but obviously that Did Not Happen. Enjoy!

Forgotten, But Not Yet Gone

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader / Crosshair x Jedi!Reader

Words: 9,425

Tags/Warnings: Imperial!Crosshair, angst, unrequited feelings, medically inaccurate depictions of amnesia and memory loss

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Killing you was the worst thing that ever happened to Crosshair.

Discovering that you were still alive was a new kind of pain entirely.

And it's one he had never prepared himself for.

He had thought there was nothing left of his heart to break. He thought he was done with feeling anything at all. But seeing you now, in the flesh — and not just the memory of you in the back of his mind...

Crosshair realized he had been wrong.

He had felt nothing for so long. And it had been easier, really. To keep it all locked away. To ignore it. To pretend. He had even been successful, for the most part.

But then, there you were, standing in front of him. And everything came rushing back to the surface.

All of the things he had tried to bury deep within himself. The feelings he had spent years ignoring. All of the things that had made him start to become himself, again. The person he was before the chip, before the nightmare that had been the last year.

And now, as you looked up at him with those big eyes of yours...

Crosshair knew exactly what that emotion was.

You had always made him feel something. Something he had never felt before. Something he was only just now allowing himself to admit. Something he was finally allowing himself to accept.

He’s not sure how long he’s been watching you through the scope of his rifle. So long. Too long.

Long enough for him to realize what he feels.

Long enough for him to know it won't ever go away.

And long enough for him to realize you would never want him again.

Still, it doesn’t stop him from moving. He checks his chrono for the time — he’s been up here for hours, watching the movements of the crowd, and nothing has happened — and stands, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as he heads for the ladder.

He has to see you. Even if you won’t want to see him. Even if he knows it will hurt more than he ever imagined.

Because he needs you to know.

Crosshair pushes his way through the crowd, weaving through the bodies. His heart is pounding in his chest. He can hear the blood roaring in his ears. His palms are sweating as he clenches his hands into fists, and his throat is dry.

You don’t see him approach. You haven't noticed him. You're busy smiling and chatting with a vendor over some sort of scrap, the kind of things he used to make fun of you for collecting.

He watches you, the way you gesture animatedly, the way you laugh. You're still beautiful, he thinks, the same way you were the day you left. Your hair is longer, pulled back into a messy braid, and your smile is softer, kinder, but it's still the same.

When he's close enough to hear your voice, he pulls off his helmet so he can hear it more clearly.

You're talking to the vendor about something, the details of the conversation lost on him. The words are just noise in his ears. Your voice washes over him, filling his head, making him ache.

Crosshair stops a few yards away from you. His chest tightens, his heart racing as he watches you. You've been talking to the vendor, completely unaware of his presence. He has to remind himself to breathe, to calm down, to be patient.

Then, you turn around.

He's not sure what he expected to see on your face. Maybe shock. Maybe anger. Maybe even disgust. But you look...pleased. Relieved. Happy. Your smile never falters. In fact, it widens, crinkling the corners of your eyes. Your hand lifts into a wave, and in his stupor he finds his own hand lifting, as if in a trance.

Someone jostles his side as he stands there, staring at you. Your eyes slide off of him and you let out a laugh before a small form launches itself into you, almost knocking you off your feet.

You laugh, picking up the little boy who had run up to you and swing him around, pressing kisses into his hair as he giggles. A moment later, a woman joins you, her hands on her hips, scolding the boy gently for running off.

His throat is too dry to speak. His hands are shaking. The world seems to tilt around him.

Crosshair knows what he feels. He had denied it for so long, tried to tell himself he didn't. But he can't do that anymore. Not when you're here. Not when he's faced with the reality of his feelings for you.

Crosshair can't speak. Can't say anything. Not now. So instead, he watches. Watches the boy squirm in your arms, and the woman smiling at the both of you. Watches as the three of you move on, further into the crowd.

As you move on. Without him.

"CT-9904, report. Why have you left your post?”

He sucks in a sharp breath, reaching up and activating his commlink.

"There was a disturbance in the market," he says. His voice is steady, cool, emotionless. Just like it should be.

"And?"

Crosshair looks around. There's no trace of you or the child. You've moved on.

"All clear."

"Good. Report back immediately.”

Crosshair's finger hovers over the button on his comm, the one that will deactivate it. He glances up, once again searching the crowd for any sign of you, but there's nothing.

You're gone, and he's alone. Again.

Crosshair's stomach turns, and he takes a breath, his eyes sliding shut as he speaks.

"Understood."

Every day, Crosshair takes up his post and watches the market, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. And every day, he finds nothing. Every day, he returns to his base, his shoulders heavy with disappointment. He starts to convince himself that he'd imagined you.

That's the only logical explanation. You aren't real. None of this is.

But then, one day, he finds himself watching as you walk into the market. You're holding the hand of the same boy he'd seen you with before, and he can't help but wonder if the two of you are related. If you've found happiness. If you're happy.

It's the first time since finding you that he feels like he can breathe.

He watches as the boy tugs on your hand, dragging you towards a booth, where he's pointing at something, chattering. You're nodding along, clearly invested in what he's saying.

He doesn't look like you. Maybe it's the father. But his age isn't right, either. Crosshair frowns, thinking. How old was the boy? Four, maybe five? It couldn't be your child, not unless you had hidden him from him for the last four years.

He watches as the boy drags you into a crowd. You're laughing, your smile wide, and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He'd forgotten how much he loved seeing you smile. Forgotten how it felt.

The only thing keeping him from leaving his post is his fear that you'll be gone the moment he does. So he stays.

The boy is still talking to you. You're listening intently, but your eyes are moving, scanning the crowd. You're nervous, he realizes. You've sensed him, he's sure of it.

Crosshair doesn't dare move. He doesn't know how you would react. You're a ghost. A figment of his imagination, conjured up because he's finally allowed himself to feel something again, but one he can’t bear to look away from

A group of people walk by. A woman bumps into you. Crosshair doesn't have a good view of you anymore. He curses, shifting, trying to get a better angle. He needs to see you. Has to.

You're moving farther away, leaving the market, the boy's hand clasped firmly in yours.

Crosshair moves, quickly, not wanting to lose you. He leaps across rooftops, keeping you in his sights, until the two of you leave the market.

The crowds have thinned. People are going home, to their families, to their lives. Crosshair wonders, briefly, where you're taking your son. What your life is like.

The two of you turn a corner, heading toward the residential district. He follows you, carefully. Slowly. Keeping a distance. You haven't noticed him, which is fine. He wants to be alone with his thoughts. He can't get over how beautiful you are. How perfect.

Crosshair slows, realizing the two of you are stopping in front of an apartment building. You let go of the boy's hand and crouch down in front of him, smiling as you brush his hair from his face. The boy smiles, wrapping his arms around your neck and pressing a kiss to your cheek. You squeeze him, and Crosshair can hear the low murmur of your voice as you talk to him, though he can't make out the words.

You're talking for a few moments, and then you're straightening, ushering him into the building. Crosshair can see the door open, a figure standing in the doorway. The woman from earlier, he realizes. He watches the door shut behind you, his heart clenching.

Maybe it's better this way. You're freer than you've ever been without the Jedi or the Empire. He doesn't want to put you in danger. He's seen what the Empire does to rebels, and he knows what they'll do to you if they discover you're still alive. The same thing he'd failed to do.

Maybe he can be satisfied with knowing that you're safe. Maybe he can live with not having you.

Still, a part of him wishes that you'd turned, seen him. That you'd looked up at him, somehow knowing that he was there.

He'd give anything for just a moment with you.

A moment is all he'd need.

He'd tell you everything. How much he's missed you. How sorry he is for the things he'd said and done. For everything. He'd beg for forgiveness, though he doesn't think he deserves it. He'd tell you how much he loves you, even if it's too late. Even if you're happy now. Even if you'll never be his.

It doesn't matter.

He just needs you to know.

He watches. He keeps his distance, but he watches. Every day. Waiting for you to appear.

He finds his mind wandering more often, thinking about the what ifs. What would have happened if he had never been forced to kill you? Would the two of you have made a life together, away from the Empire, the GAR, the Jedi? Or would he have continued to deny his feelings, pushing them away, until it was too late and he'd lost you forever?

Crosshair wonders, not for the first time, if it's worth it. If staying loyal to the Empire is worth losing any semblance of freedom. His life. The life he could have had.

He has no other choice. They're the only ones who will accept him, who will give him a home. His brothers are lost to him. They hate him, he's certain. They'd tried to kill him.

They've never needed him. They've always had each other. They'll be fine. They'll move on.

Without him.

Like they did after you.

Crosshair tries not to think about that. It's easier to focus on his work. The only thing keeping him sane, the only thing distracting him.

It's late. Crosshair's shift ended hours ago. He'd gone back to his quarters, but sleep hadn't come easily. His thoughts were racing, as they usually were, and the longer he'd laid in bed, the more restless he'd become. So he'd pulled on his armor and grabbed his rifle, and suddenly he was standing outside of your apartment.

He shouldn't be here.

But he is.

He has to see you. He just...he has to. He doesn't know why.

His fingers flex against the stock of his rifle as he looks around. It's empty, save for a few speeders parked nearby. There's not a single person in sight. He lets out a breath and slings the weapon over his shoulder.

He shouldn't be here.

But he is.

His boots crunch against the ground as he moves towards the entrance of the building. It's not the worst area of the city, but it's not the best, either. It's quiet, peaceful. There's a small garden nearby, a few trees casting a shadow on the door.

He stands outside the door for a moment, looking at the panel next to it. He shouldn't be here.

His fist pounds on the door anyway.

It takes a few minutes, but the door slides open, revealing the boy from the market. He blinks at Crosshair, tilting his head curiously.

"Hello," he says.

"Hey," Crosshair replies, awkwardly. He doesn't know what to say, really. He doesn't have any experience with kids beyond his few encounters with Omega, and she wasn't a kid, not really. "Uh, is your mother here?"

A pair of hands wrap around the boys shoulders and yank him back.

"Sam, you don't just open the door to strangers!"

The woman he'd seen the other day steps into view, a blaster clutched tightly in her hand. Her eyes widen as she sees him. He suddenly realizes how this looks — an imperial soldier, standing at her doorstep, in the middle of the night.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

She raises the blaster, pointing it at him. The boy is staring at him, and his gaze moves to the woman, his eyebrows furrowing. He slips around her and darts away, further into the apartment.

"Wait, Sam—" She glances over her shoulder. "Sam!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," Crosshair says, holding his hands up.

"What do you want?"

"I'm looking for someone," he says, slowly.

"At this hour?" She looks over her shoulder again, and when she turns back to him, her eyes are wide, panicked.

"Yes. I...I need to speak with her." His mouth feels like its full of sand when he says your name, and he watches as the woman's brow furrows with confusion.

"Who?"

"I need to speak with her. Please."

The woman is silent. She stares at him for a long time, her eyes narrowing, searching his face. She looks like she's about to say something, her lips parting, and then—

"Is everything okay, Maris?"

Crosshair's breath hitches.

Your voice. It's your voice.

The woman — Maris — glances over her shoulder. She takes a breath and nods, before looking back at him. You step into view, the boy at your heels, and stop short, your eyes widening as you take him in.

"We don't want any trouble," you say, stepping in front of Maris, shielding her and the boy. "You can't just—"

"I know."

You're standing between him and the other two, the boy's eyes darting from Crosshair to Maris. The woman has relaxed her stance, lowering her blaster. She's still watching him, wary, but she's not pointing the blaster at him.

"Are you going to hurt us?" you ask softly.

"No," he says, shaking his head. "No. I...I need to speak with you."

You're silent. Your eyes are locked with his, searching his face. His heart is racing, and he's struggling to breathe. His armor suddenly feels like an impossible weight on his shoulders.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you nod.

"Okay," you say. "Okay. Come inside."

You turn, ushering the other two inside. Maris looks over her shoulder at him, her eyes narrowed. He can't blame her. He'd be suspicious of a stranger at the door, too. Especially a strange imperial.

He's surprised when you stop just inside the door, waiting for him to enter. Your arms are crossed, your lips pressed into a thin line. You look nervous.

"Close the door, please," you say.

Crosshair reaches behind him, pressing his palm against the door, closing it. He pulls off his helmet and lets it rest against his hip, his fingers tight underneath the lip.

"You said you needed to speak to me?"

He nods. He wants to say so much. To tell you everything. But the words stick in his throat, and the silence stretches out between you.

"Well, what is it?"

He opens his mouth, then closes it, frowning. How can he even begin to explain? How can he start to make up for the things he's done? For the pain he's caused you, for the words he'd said, the insults, the hurtful things. For the fact that he was the one to end your life.

"I—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. No. That's not enough. "I'm sorry," he says, finally.

He doesn't know if that's enough, but it's a start.

"For what?"

Your question throws him. He's not sure what to say. His brow pinches as he tries to think of a response, and the longer he takes to respond, the more annoyed you look.

"Look, I don't know what you want, but—"

"I'm sorry," he says again, firmly. "For...for everything."

Your eyebrows furrow. He watches you, trying to gauge your reaction. But you've always been hard for him to read, with your endless calm and steady presence. It had made him feel less alone, knowing someone else had a handle on their emotions.

Now, he finds it maddening.

"I don't understand," you say, finally. "You show up, unannounced, in the middle of the night, and say you're sorry, but you don't say why. For what? What do you have to be sorry for? How do you even know me?"

Crosshair freezes and looks at you. Really looks at you.

There's no recognition in your eyes. No glimmer of warmth or love, or even hate. Just confusion. And annoyance.

"I..."

You raise your eyebrows, waiting.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

Nothing comes out.

"I...I need to go."

Crosshair turns and heads for the door.

"Wait."

You're still standing between him and the door, and when he gets close, you grab his arm. Your fingers press into the armor, digging into the gaps, the skin on his wrist burning where your hand is touching his.

"Tell me," you say. "Why are you here?"

He looks at you. The confusion is still in your eyes, the annoyance. You're waiting for an answer. You don't remember him. You don't know him. He's a stranger to you, and he has no right to be here, talking to you.

"I shouldn't have come."

"No," you say, "you shouldn't have. Tell me why you're here. What do you want?"

Crosshair sighs, running his hand over his head. His fingers linger on the mottled scar, thumb tracing where the chip was. He knows what he wants to say. But the words are caught in his throat, his tongue heavy, his mouth dry.

"I'm not going to stop asking," you say. "Tell me. Who are you?"

He feels the strange urge to laugh. You always were stubborn. It's not an admirable trait, not normally, but it's something that had always drawn him to you. You were one of the few willing to stand up to him, and now, you're standing in front of him, demanding an answer.

"My name is Crosshair."

Your frown. "Crosshair? Why does that sound familiar?"

He looks at the ground. "That's what my brothers call me."

"Brothers?" You tilt your head, confused. "I don't..."

He looks up, watching your face as you try to figure out what he means. There's a small wrinkle between your brows, the one that appears when you're thinking hard about something. Your teeth worry at your lower lip. You look...

"You don't know me," he finishes for you.

You shake your head, your lips pressed together. "I don't."

"Why not?"

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, and he can't help but cringe at the way his voice sounds. Childish. Petulant. He can't stop the way his stomach twists.

You're alive.

And you don't remember him.

You frown. "What do you mean? What does it matter?"

Crosshair looks at you, and he can't help it. His eyes roam over your face, searching.

He wonders what happened. Wonders why you don't remember him. If you'd blocked him out because you were hurt, or angry. Or if it was something else. Something more.

"Because we know each other," he says.

"We do?" You blink at him, and your nose scrunches, just a little. He feels a pang of fondness. "How?"

"We...worked together."

"What? Where?"

Crosshair looks away, his mouth pressing into a thin line. He can't do this. Not now. Maybe not ever. He shouldn't have come. He should have left things alone.

"You don't remember."

"I told you that."

"Then what's the last thing you do remember?"

Your brow furrows, and you're quiet for a moment.

"I...I remember..." You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. When you open them again, your face is pinched. "I remember running. A battle. People were screaming. I was hurt."

You glance down at yourself, and Crosshair follows your gaze, looking at the spot where his rifle had pierced you.

"What else?"

You look at him. "Nothing. Everything went dark. Then I woke up on a ship, and the people who rescued me, they brought me here."

"And you don't remember anything before that?"

You shake your head. "No. It's just...black. There's nothing there."

Crosshair can feel his heart sinking.

He wonders if the memory loss was deliberate. A defense mechanism, something to keep you from remembering. A way to protect yourself from the trauma. Or maybe it was just a side effect of being brought back to life.

You’d told him once that you could see people’s memories, peel open their minds until they revealed their thoughts and past to you. It was a useful skill in a Jedi, but one you had hated, and never used. Would it work on yourself? Or would it be different, now that you didn't remember anything?

"Are you alright?"

Crosshair glances up at you, and your eyes meet his. He can't look away. Your eyes are searching, searching, searching, and he knows you're trying to understand what's going on. He can see the frustration and confusion written all over your face.

He nods. "Fine."

You sigh. "This is...a lot."

He nods again, looking away.

"Why did you come here, Crosshair?"

"I needed to talk to you."

"But why?"

"Because..." He sighs. "I need to apologize. For the things I said. For the things I did. And for...for this."

He presses his palm against the place where he'd shot you, and you inhale sharply, stepping back. He can't look at you. He doesn't want to see the fear and disgust on your face.

"I'm sorry," he says, again. "I...I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I wish..." He lets out a shuddering breath, shaking his head. "I wish things were different."

You're silent, and he looks up, finally meeting your eyes. They're wide, shining with unshed tears, and the sight makes his heart clench painfully in his chest.

"I don't understand," you say.

He can't blame you. You've forgotten everything. Every moment, every memory, every feeling.

And he can't do this.

Not now.

Not like this.

"I have to go," he says. "This was a mistake."

"Wait," you say, reaching for him, but he steps away from you, heading for the door.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, not looking at you.

The door opens, and he steps out. He's halfway down the stairs to the street when you call out.

"Crosshair!"

He stops, glancing over his shoulder at you. You're standing in the doorway, the light from the apartment spilling out around you.

"Come back tomorrow. Please."

He hesitates, and you continue, a slight smile pulling at your lips, "I'll be here."

Crosshair turns and starts walking again.

"Promise?" you call out.

He doesn't stop, but he raises his hand in a wave. "I promise."

You're already waiting for him.

Crosshair can see you, standing in the window. He watches you, your form shadowed by the curtains. You're holding a mug in one hand, the steam curling into the air. The sight of it is so domestic, so...normal. It feels like a punch in the gut.

He had watched you do the same thing, years ago. Sipping tea as you stood at the window, looking out at the landscape. It was one of the first moments that had made him realize that he felt something for you, beyond friendship.

Crosshair is so caught up in his thoughts that he almost doesn't notice the boy peeking out from behind you. You lean down, murmuring something, and the boy's face disappears. You take another sip from your mug and step away from the window.

The door slides open, revealing the two of you, and the woman from the other day. She's standing behind you, arms crossed, scowling at him. The boy is holding your hand, and his stare is unabashed.

"Crosshair," you say, smiling. "Come in."

He looks at the woman — Maris — and she narrows her eyes at him, but she doesn't protest. The three of you step inside, and he follows.

The apartment is small, but cozy. It's full of things. Pictures. Sculptures. Pieces of scrap and machinery. Junk, he would have said before, but now, they seem important, somehow.

"Do you want something to drink?" you ask, ushering him towards a chair.

"Water, please."

"Sam, can you get our guest some water?"

The boy nods and hurries to the kitchen.

"So," you say, sitting across from him. "You wanted to talk to me."

Crosshair can feel Maris' eyes boring into him, and he looks up, meeting her gaze. She narrows her eyes and turns away, moving into the kitchen. He can hear the soft murmur of her voice as she speaks to Sam.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I already told you."

"Tell me again."

"I—"

"Here's your water."

The boy sets a cup of water down on the table in front of him. Crosshair glances at him, and Sam looks away, suddenly shy. He rushes back into the kitchen, hiding behind the woman.

"So," you say. "Tell me."

"About what?"

"Everything."

Crosshair lets out a slow breath. He glances at Maris, who's still watching him from the doorway. Her expression hasn't changed, her face set in a scowl. She doesn't trust him, and he can't blame her. He wouldn't, either.

“Not here," he says.

You glance over your shoulder, frowning.

"Maris, can you take Sam out, please?"

"We'll stay here," she says.

"Maris," you say, gently.

She looks at you, her expression softening. You nod towards the door. She shakes her head and steps forward, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

"Call if you need anything," she says.

You nod.

The two of them leave, Maris pausing briefly to look back at Crosshair. He holds her gaze, and she narrows her eyes. The door slides shut behind her.

"Sorry about that," you say. "She's a bit overprotective."

"It's fine." He pauses, and he can’t help but ask, "You're close, then?"

"Yes. Maris is a dear friend. She and her brother were the ones who saved me."

"Good," he says. "I'm glad."

"Why?"

"Because someone has to look after you."

You smile, shaking your head.

"You were always a protective one," you say, chuckling.

Crosshair feels his heart drop.

You've said something of that nature to him before. Many times. He'd always brushed it off, told you he wasn't, that he didn't care. That it was only his duty to protect you. But you'd never bought it, and you'd always seen through his façade, calling him on his bullshit.

You had always been good at that.

“You said you don’t remember,” he points out, ignoring how his voice shakes.

You shake your head. “I don’t, but...I can feel it. I can feel things. When I look at you, it feels...familiar. Like I should know you, but I don't."

"And what do you feel, now?"

You're silent, looking at him. His eyes roam over your face, and he can feel himself leaning forward. Your lips part, and his eyes flick down, watching as your tongue darts out to wet your lips.

He leans in further, and—

The door opens, and Crosshair sits back, turning his head to see Maris and Sam standing there, the woman glaring at him.

"Forgot my datapad," she says, her tone clipped.

"Of course," you say, rising from your seat. "Where did you leave it?"

She doesn't answer, and instead, she crosses the room, scooping the datapad off the counter. She gives him another dirty look and then leaves, the door sliding shut behind her.

Crosshair sighs and leans back in his seat. You give him an apologetic smile and sit back down.

"You were saying?"

"Right. What do you feel?"

You're quiet, and he watches as your brow furrows.

"Sad," you say, softly. “But also…like I'm home. With you. It's strange. It doesn't make any sense. But I feel it."

He can't stop the strangled noise that escapes his throat, and he closes his eyes, his hands gripping the armrests. He tries to breathe, but he can't, and the world seems to be tilting around him.

"I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?"

He shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak.

"Crosshair, please. Look at me."

His eyes snap open and lock on yours. You're staring at him, your face pinched with concern.

"Please," you say, again, and it's too much.

It's the same thing you'd said before, the last time he'd seen you. Before everything had gone to hell. Before the chip. Before he'd shot you.

"I can't," he chokes out, pushing himself to his feet. "I can't."

"Wait," you say, grabbing his wrist.

He freezes. Your hand is warm, and the way your thumb moves over his pulse point makes his heart flutter.

"Let me go."

"Not until you talk to me," you say.

He can feel the tension in his body building, his fingers twitching. He wants to run. To get out of here. To get away from you, and everything that reminds him of what he's lost. Of what he'll never have.

He yanks his hand from your grasp and turns to go, but something stops him. Something familiar. A tugging at the back of his mind. He turns, slowly, and sees you standing there, your eyes closed, your hand outstretched.

"What are you doing?" he demands.

“I—I’m not sure,” you whisper, and your eyes blink open.

The two of you stare at each other, and then you turn, moving into the kitchen. Crosshair follows, stopping just outside the doorway. You're leaning against the counter, your head hanging low, breathing heavily.

"I shouldn't have done that," you say. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"What did you do?"

"I'm not sure," you repeat.

"But you have a theory," he says. You always have a theory.

"I think...I was trying to reach out, to see if I could read your memories. If I could see what happened between us."

"Did it work?"

"I don't know. I tried, but..."

You trail off, and Crosshair watches as you lift a hand to your head, wincing.

"It's like a wall," you say. "Or a wall that's half there. I can't break through."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure," you say. "It's like I'm remembering, but not. It's confusing. And frustrating. I saw flashes of something, but it didn't make sense. None of it does."

"Like what?"

"You. Me. Fighting. And..." You frown. "Your…brothers? They were there, too."

Crosshair swallows. He has no idea what you're seeing. How much of the memory is intact, or if it's even real.

"What else?"

"I don't remember," you say, shaking your head. "It's gone."

He doesn't know what to say. The two of you stand in silence, and he can't help but feel a small flicker of hope. Maybe this is a sign. Maybe, just maybe, there's a chance that you can regain your memories. That he can have you back.

But that's foolish. He's not a child, and he's not that naive. Hope is dangerous. It leads to disappointment. It's not something he can afford. Not anymore.

"I should go," he says.

"No." You reach for him, grabbing his wrist, and he doesn't pull away. "Please, don't go. I need to know more. Please tell me. Tell me about us. About the things we did. About...everything. I need to know. I have to know."

He hesitates. He shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't.

But you're looking at him, and you're so desperate, so vulnerable. You'd never allowed him to see you like this. You'd always been strong and sure. Calm and collected. Steady. Always steady.

This isn't you.

It's not.

But he can't help but feel a small pang of hope. A tiny spark of optimism.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

"Alright," he says. "Alright. I'll tell you."

Crosshair keeps coming back.

It becomes a routine. He stops by the apartment, talks to you. He tells you stories, and he watches as you try to remember, but can't.

Sometimes, he catches Maris watching him. Her gaze is always wary, guarded. She doesn't trust him, and he can't blame her. But she tolerates him. She never says anything, not to him, and not to you, but he knows she doesn't like him.

The boy, Sam, doesn't seem to mind him. He's curious, and he has endless questions. He's a smart kid, and Crosshair can't help but feel a small spark of pride every time Sam comes up with a solution to a problem, or manages to repair something that was broken.

He's a good kid.

He reminds him of Tech.

"Do you have any brothers?" Sam asks one day, his hands covered in grease.

Crosshair's stomach twists at the question. He nods, and Sam's eyes widen.

"I have a brother, too. We don't look the same, but that's okay."

"I have brothers who don't look like me," Crosshair replies, and Sam smiles.

"That's good."

Crosshair smiles back.

After that, Sam starts to ask him questions, about his life, his family. His brothers. He can't help but answer, though he tries to keep it vague, giving Sam the barest details. You watch him, and he can feel your eyes on him. You want answers too, but you don't push.

It's easier when it's just the two of you. Easier to talk. Easier to tell you things. Easier to try and find some way to connect.

Easier to fall back into old habits.

"Do you remember that time on Vanqor?"

"The one where I almost drowned in a pond, or the one where I had to save you from that pack of gundarks?"

"Both."

You laugh, and the sound is like music to his ears. "Yes. I remember. You were such a brat about it."

"I was not," he huffs, and you give him a look.

"Yes, you were."

He can't argue. You're right. He'd been a brat. And an asshole.

But he can't help it. You bring out the worst in him. And the best.

"Fine," he grumbles. "Maybe a little."

You smirk and shake your head, and the two of you continue to chat. The conversation shifts, and he's talking about his brothers. How they used to get into trouble. How they'd pull pranks, and he'd end up in the middle of it. How you'd always had his back.

Crosshair can't help but wonder if this is how it would have been, if the two of you had been able to have a normal life. Would you have ended up together, anyway? Would the two of you be happy? Would you have been able to start a family of your own?

He'd never thought about it before, but now, it seems all too possible.

Too tempting.

"What are you thinking about?"

He looks up, startled, and realizes you're watching him, a faint smile on your face.

"Nothing," he says.

"Tell me."

"It's nothing. I was just...thinking."

"About what?"

"Us."

"What about us?"

He pauses, his mouth going dry. He shouldn't say it. He should change the subject. But he can't.

"What we could have been."

Your expression softens, and your eyes shine with sadness.

"I'm sorry," you say. "I wish I could remember."

"Me, too."

The two of you fall into a heavy silence. The air is thick, and he can feel the tension growing. You're still staring at him, your gaze searching. He's not sure what you're looking for, but you seem to find it, because you stand, and walk over to him.

"Can I show you something?"

He nods, and you take his hand, leading him to your room. He can't help but notice how your fingers fit perfectly between his, or the way his skin tingles underneath his gloves when you touch him. You step inside, and close the door behind you, sealing the two of you inside.

Crosshair doesn't know what to expect, but it's not this.

"Sit."

You motion towards the bed, and he does, slowly, feeling his heart race. You move to a dresser and open the top drawer, pulling out a box.

"I found this," you say, sitting next to him, "a few days ago."

You set the box between the two of you, and slowly, carefully, you lift the lid. Inside is a collection of items - a haircomb, a few pieces of jewelry, a datapad, a pair of gloves.

"What is this?"

"I don't know," you say. "Maris found them in my things. She says I was wearing most of this when she and her brother found me. She kept it for me. I think...I think they might have been important to me."

You pick up the datapad and press a button, bringing it to life. The screen lights up, and you stare at it, your brow furrowing.

"It's locked," you say, frowning. "I don't remember the password."

"Have you tried any?"

"No," you say. "I haven't touched any of this. I wanted to wait for you."

He can't hide his surprise, and you smile, a faint flush spreading across your cheeks.

"I think," you say, slowly, "that they're memories. And I think you might be the key to unlocking them."

Crosshair's breath hitches. "How?"

"I'm not sure," you admit. "But...when we're together, I feel...something. A connection. Like a catalyst. I can't explain it, but...I know I need you."

He feels a warmth spreading through him, and he looks away, his heart pounding.

"Do you think we could try?" you ask, tentatively.

He nods.

"Alright," you say. You pick up the datapad, and hand it to him.

"I don't know if I can," he says, taking the device.

"Please."

He swallows. His mouth feels dry, and his hands are shaking. He takes a deep breath, and then types in a code.

The datapad beeps, and the screen lights up.

"How did you know that?" you ask, softly.

He shrugs. "It was a guess."

"A good one," you say, smiling.

"I'm full of good ideas," he replies, smirking.

You roll your eyes, and the two of you share a quiet chuckle.

"So," you say. "Shall we see what's inside?"

He nods, and you scoot closer to peer over his shoulder. He unlocks the datapad, and a folder opens. Inside are dozens of files - audio, video, and holos. He looks at you, and you nod, indicating for him to click on the first one.

The screen goes black, and then an image appears. It's of the two of you standing in front of a waterfall. He remembers the moment. It was from a mission, the first time the two of you had really worked together. He didn't like you then. Not at all. But he can't deny that you were efficient, and had a sharp eye. You'd impressed him, and the two of you had formed a tenuous bond.

"I took a lot of holos," you murmur, and he can't help but chuckle.

"I remember," he says. "You were a damn nuisance."

"Yeah, but look."

You point to the holo, and Crosshair looks, and sees himself. He's standing next to you, and there's a hint of a smile on his face.

"That's you," you say, poking his shoulder.

"Yes," he replies, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "It is."

You move on to the next file, and it's another image of the two of you. And the next. And the next. Until finally, the holo changes. It's a video. The two of you are in the cockpit, and he can see his brothers sitting behind you.

"We were on our way to a mission," he says as he sees the date stamp. "We'd just gotten the brief."

"Play it," you urge.

Crosshair presses the play button, and the two of you watch as the holo begins.

"You're sure this is a good idea?" you ask, glancing at him.

"Of course," he replies, not looking away from the viewport.

Tech looks over his shoulder, frowning. "Statistically speaking, there is a thirty-two percent chance that we will—"

"Shut up, Tech," Crosshair snaps.

"It's alright," Hunter says. "We'll be fine. We always are."

Wrecker laughs, and the sound is booming in the small space.

"And if we're not, well, that's what we have her for," Crosshair adds, nodding towards you.

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, thanks. Nice to know I'm the only one who can bail your asses out."

"You're welcome," he smirks.

You huff and shake your head. "Just be careful."

"Always," he replies.

The video cuts off, and the screen goes black. You're quiet, and Crosshair glances at you. You're staring at the datapad, your expression thoughtful.

"That was...me," you say, slowly. "I can't believe it. That was really me."

"Yes," he says. "It was."

"It was so...familiar," you murmur. "But also...not."

"It will come," he says, softly. "I promise."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because it's you," he says. "I know you. You're stubborn."

"You're one to talk," you say, laughing.

He can't stop himself. He reaches for you, his fingers brushing against your cheek. You lean into the touch, and he cups your face, his thumb brushing against your skin.

"I've missed you," he confesses.

"I'm right here."

"I know."

"You don't have to miss me," you say, gently. "Not anymore."

He looks at you, and the words are there, on the tip of his tongue.

But he can't say them.

He can't.

Not now.

Not yet.

"Crosshair," you say, softly.

"Yes?"

"I have a question."

"What is it?"

You hesitate, and he watches as your brow furrows, the small wrinkle appearing.

"Were we ever...together?"

"Together?"

"Romantically," you clarify.

He swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He drops his hand, and turns away.

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me," you say. "But...I feel like we were. Or...maybe could have been. I'm not sure."

"We..."

He trails off, and his eyes flick up, meeting yours. You're watching him, your gaze intent, and he knows you won't let this go. Not now.

"No," he says, finally. You look…he isn’t sure how you look, actually, but it has him continuing before he can think better of it. "But we could have been."

"Why didn't we?"

Crosshair looks away, his hands clenching into fists. He can feel the anger, the guilt, the regret, all of it, rising up inside him, threatening to consume him.

"It was my fault," he says, his voice tight.

"What was?"

"Everything," he replies, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

"I'm sure that's not true."

"It is," he says. "It's my fault. All of it."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a monster," he snaps.

You're quiet, and he can feel the anger burning in his chest, his blood boiling.

"That's not true," you say, finally.

"You don't know that," he growls.

"Maybe not," you say, evenly. "But I know you. I may not remember everything, but I know enough to know that you're not a monster. I know that you love your brothers. That you care about me. That you're a good man. Maybe not a perfect one, but a good one. One I trust."

He closes his eyes, his chest tight. He can't believe you. He can't. You're wrong. He's not a good man. He's not. He can't be. Not after everything. Not after what he's done.

"It's okay," you say, softly.

"No, it's not."

"Then let me help you."

"There's nothing you can do," he says, shaking his head. "I don't deserve it."

"Everyone deserves to be happy."

"Not me."

"Crosshair," you sigh, exasperated.

He looks up at you, and your eyes lock.

"It doesn't matter," he says, the fight going out of him. "It's too late. We can't go back. I can't change the past. And you...you don't remember."

"I will," you say, fiercely.

"Maybe," he replies, unconvinced.

"No," you say, your voice firm. "I will. I will remember, and I will know you. The real you. I will."

"I don't—"

"Crosshair," you say, firmly.

He stares at you, and he can feel his resolve breaking.

"Fine," he says, finally.

"Good," you say, nodding.

"But you have to promise me something," he says.

"What is it?"

"Promise me you won't push yourself," he says. "Don't try to force it. Let it happen naturally. Promise me."

You're silent for a moment, and he can see the wheels turning in your mind.

"Okay," you say, nodding.

"Promise."

"I promise."

"Thank you," he says, his shoulders slumping in relief.

"You're welcome," you say with a grin.

He shakes his head, unable to stop the small smile that tugs at his lips.

"What?"

"Nothing," he says. "Just...you."

"Me?"

"Yes," he replies, his tone wry. "You're infuriating, and stubborn, and—"

"I'm starting to remember why we never got together," you say, teasingly.

He lets out a startled laugh, and the two of you lapse into silence, a comfortable one, filled with a familiarity and a warmth that he hasn't felt in years.

"Do you want to look at more holos?" you ask, gently.

"Sure," he says, leaning back.

The two of you settle down, and he holds the datapad, while you lean against him, your head resting on his shoulder. He feels a familiar warmth spreading through him, a sense of belonging, and rightness.

He doesn't know how long the two of you sit there, watching the holos.

He doesn't care.

He's home.

Crosshair keeps coming back.

Every day, he returns. He tells you stories. Shows you holos. Shares memories.

Slowly, things begin to return. Flashes, mostly. Nothing concrete, but the pieces are there. Small ones, at first. The scent of a flower. The sound of a song. The feeling of the sun on your face.

As time passes, the memories grow stronger. Clearer. More detailed.

And still, you continue to search for answers. You ask questions. He answers, when he can.

Sometimes, it's too much, and he can't. When it is, you change the subject, and the two of you talk about other things.

You tell him about your life. About Maris and her brother, and their family. You tell him about the boy, Sam. You tell him about the work you've been doing, helping to rebuild the city.

You ask about his life, too. His family. His brothers. His life before.

He answers, when he can.

As the days pass, Crosshair finds himself falling back into old patterns. The familiarity of it is comforting, and it's easy to pretend, if only for a moment, that nothing has changed.

That you're the same people, with the same lives, and the same goals.

It's a lie.

But it's one he allows himself, for a while.

One day, you're sitting on the couch, the two of you lost in conversation. He's telling you a story, and you're listening, a small smile on your face.

"Wait," you interrupt. "I remember that."

"You do?"

"Yes," you say, eagerly. "Tech and I were working on modifying my armor, and he asked you to go get us some food. You came back, and—"

"And Wrecker spilled paint all over me," he finishes, his voice bitter.

"Yeah," you say, your grin widening. "And then I had to help you clean it off."

"It was a nightmare," he grumbles. "And it took forever. Your damn hands were everywhere."

You laugh, and his stomach flutters. It's a wonderful sound.

"It wasn't that bad," you tease.

"It was," he insists. "It took hours."

"Maybe," you concede. "But it was fun."

"Fun?" he says, incredulous.

"Yeah," you say, your eyes twinkling. "For me."

"You're terrible," he grumbles, though there's no heat in his words.

"You love it."

He doesn't answer.

Instead, he leans forward, and presses his lips to yours.

You freeze, and he freezes, and for a moment, the two of you are motionless, caught in a moment of indecision.

Then, slowly, tentatively, your lips move against his, and his eyes close, and he's kissing you, and you're kissing him, and the world falls away, and it's just the two of you, lost in the moment.

Finally, the two of you break apart, breathless. Your eyes meet, and there's a spark of recognition, and something else.

Something deeper.

"Crosshair," you whisper, your voice shaking.

"I know," he says, cupping your cheek. "I know."

He kisses you again, and you kiss him back, your arms wrapping around him, pulling him closer. He deepens the kiss, and you respond in kind, your hands tangling in his hair.

The two of you continue to kiss, and he's lost in the sensation, his hands roaming over your body, his fingers digging into your skin.

Finally, the two of you break apart, breathless, and your eyes lock.

"Wow," you murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips. "That was..."

"Yeah," he says, a smirk forming on his face.

You laugh, and his smile grows. Then you grow quiet, and you pull away, turning your head.

"Hey," he says, his voice soft.

"Sorry," you say. "It's just...I'm remembering things. More than before. A lot more. Things I'd forgotten."

"What kind of things?"

"Things we did. Where we went. What we said."

He can't help but feel a sense of excitement. This is the first time you've been able to recall anything concrete. It's a step in the right direction.

"What are you remembering?" he asks, his voice low.

You turn to him, and your eyes are shining.

"Us," you say, softly. "The way we were. Together."

His heart races, and he swallows, hard.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice raspy.

Your brow furrows and you close your eyes, and he can see the gears turning in your mind. He waits, barely daring to breathe.

"I remember us, talking," you say, slowly. "We were on the ship, and I was working on something, and you were sitting with me, and...we were talking about us."

"What did we say?"

"You told me that...you cared about me," you murmur. "You told me that you didn't know how, or why, but that you did."

"I remember," he says, his voice breaking.

"I remember...how I felt," you say. "When you said it."

"How?"

"Happy," you reply, smiling. "It made me happy."

He can't speak. Can't move. Can't think. All he can do is stare at you, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Crosshair," you say, gently. "I—"

Before you can finish, the door slides open, and the two of you jerk away from each other, startled.

Maris stands in the doorway, her expression unreadable. She takes in the scene, and her eyes narrow.

"Am I interrupting?" she asks, her tone cool.

"No," you say, hastily. "We were just...talking."

She doesn't respond. Instead, she turns, and walks away.

You let out a shaky breath, and Crosshair glances at you.

"I should go," he says, softly. "I need to report in before they come looking for me."

"Right," you say, nodding.

"Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Yeah," you say. "I'll be here."

"Okay," he says, his heart still pounding. "I'll...see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," you repeat, and he stands, heading for the door.

Before he leaves, he glances back at you, and the two of you exchange a brief, secret smile.

Then, he steps out of the apartment, and the door slides shut behind him.

As he makes his way back to the shuttle, he can't help but feel the weight of what just happened.

He can't deny it.

There's no turning back now.

Crosshair makes his way back to your apartment, his mind filled with thoughts of you. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about you since the kiss. He can't help but relive the memory, over and over, the feeling of your lips against his, the taste of your mouth, the way your body felt pressed against his.

It was better than he'd ever imagined.

And now, he's desperate to see you. To kiss you again. To hold you, and touch you, and feel your skin beneath his fingers.

He reaches the door, and before he can knock, it opens, and you're standing there, your eyes wide.

"Crosshair," you say, and the sound of his name on your lips sends a thrill through him.

"Hey," he says, his voice raspy.

You look at him, your expression unreadable, and his stomach churns.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," you say, and his worry eases, slightly. But you're not smiling, and he can tell something is wrong.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"It's...I don't know," you reply.

"Tell me."

"Okay," you say, taking a deep breath. "Okay."

He follows you into the living room, and the two of you sit down. You're on the edge of your seat, your hands clasped in your lap, and he watches as your leg bounces.

"So," he says, his voice strained. "What is it?"

You take another breath, and your hands tremble.

"I...remember," you say, slowly. "I remember everything."

"Everything?"

"Yes," you say, a small smile appearing before it falls. "It all came back. It was like a flood, and I couldn't stop it."

"What do you mean?"

"I remembered," you say, a look of awe crossing your face. "I remembered it all. The good, the bad, and everything in between. The missions, the battles, the fights, the arguments. The pain. The loss. The love."

He stares at you, unable to believe what he's hearing.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes," you say. "Dead serious."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

He can't stop himself. He grabs you, pulling you close, and the two of you embrace, his arms tight around you.

"I can't believe it," he says, his voice hoarse. "I thought...I was sure it would never happen. That I'd lost you. Forever."

"It's okay," you say, resting your head on his shoulder. "It's okay. I'm here. I'm right here."

He holds you, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Crosshair," you murmur.

"Yeah?"

"I have to leave," you say, and his stomach drops.

"Leave?"

"Yes," you say. "I can't stay. Not now. I need to get out of here. To go somewhere. Now that I know what I am, I—I can't stay. I'm a danger to everyone here."

"Where will you go?"

"I'm not sure," you reply, slowly. "Somewhere I know the Empire won't find me."

"Where?"

"I don't know," you say, shaking your head.

He's quiet, and the two of you lapse into silence. Finally, he speaks.

"I'll come with you," he says.

"What?"

"I'll come with you," he repeats, firmly.

"Crosshair, I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not," he says. "I'm offering. And besides, you need me. I know the Empire, and the ways they track people. I can help keep you safe."

You hesitate, and he can see the uncertainty in your eyes.

"Please," he says, his voice soft. "Let me do this. Let me keep you safe. I can't lose you again. I can't. Not after all this."

You gaze at him, your expression thoughtful.

"Okay," you say. "If that's what you want."

"It is," he says, fiercely.

"Then we'll do it together."

"Together," he says, nodding.

The two of you smile, and you reach for him, pulling him close, your lips pressing against his. He responds in kind, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your skin.

You break apart, and his eyes meet yours, and he knows, without a doubt, that this is the right decision.

He's not letting you go again.

Never again.

Not if he can help it.

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blueberryarchive · 10 months ago

Text

𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 & 𝒍𝒊𝒒𝒖𝒐𝒓

♰pairing; preacher!jk x reader x cowboy!jm

♰word count; 4.6k

♰genre; smut, horror, angst

♰tw; dead dove do not eat, drowning, heavy non-con, dacryphilia, oral, penetration, mentions of blood, depiction of religion, gruesome details of death, physical and verbal violence (jk has a serious rage problem), alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of jk wanting to have sex as a teen.

prev//next

"Love. Sweetheart, stay with me a lil' longer, please. Fuck, Jeon, she's dying on me." Jimin bellowed, a halo of violet light outlining his silhouette as dry cornfields passed by the sides of the truck, your body bouncing with the truck's turmoil from side to side.

You looked down and saw your numb leg, the dark hole of burnt skin that Park soaked with a misty liquor. His awake and worried eyes, the dried blood of your lusts on his lips, the new blood that the wound vomited out, covering his hands, becoming thicker and purer.

Your shoulders slumped, your head resting on the back window of the truck. The two men were fighting, but that was just as the murmur of crickets and moths.

The sky was infinite, domed with stars, all subtly arranged in the perfect position. You saw among the sequins of God, all your dresses and the damn heels in which you had to squeeze your growing body. How Miss Texas' adorable smile became a pathetic white plate without emotion.

And oh, you knew that the fall of a star was inevitable, but not even the flame began to die when you were already sunken between the rocks and the soft grass caressing the last spark, your first tears of acceptance. And in the grass, you dozed, feeling sorry for your own useless body, the plastic crowns, the gold, and the memories of the applause.

"No! Stay." A slap brought you back to the hard floor of a barn. The unknown man grabbed your cheeks and choked you with a long, bitter drink of homemade liquor.

The little light came in from a window in the wooden ceiling, the heat emanating from the hay and wool piled in the corner, leaving a strong smell, you groaned before vomiting to the side.

"Fuck, Jungkook. She's not a fucking animal, you're going to make her faint." Jimin pushed his partner. Jungkook swallowed hard. His pale, neat face was dirty with crimson droplets.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Park?" Jungkook pushed him back, and neither of them could believe it, neither the action nor the power in the voice.

"What are you talkin' about?"

"Letting in a bunch of rapist shit-smoking hippies without a fucking cent to pay for their stay."

And then you thought about the rifle the father was carrying, about Sage and the others. A gasp from deep in your chest, the sob reminding you of your pain.

The rifle was pointed at you with anger pooling in his neck that didn't let him breathe. You screamed as you tried to stand up but it was useless, your wounded leg was your cross. Jimin moved as quickly as possible to cover your mouth, squeezing until it hurt.

"What did you do with the others?" Park's voice trembled, and his partner's eyes showed an open, bloody wound that would not close until a couple of demons ran away.

"I shot the boy in the shoulder, the two girls took the car and drove to California. I made them promise not to come back."

"You're a fucking psychopath." Your scream is muffled by the cowboy's fingers.

The rifle flew away in the hay, and the impatient sheep threw themselves to one side when they knew that it was not food they brought but danger.

"Jeon, stop!"

Jungkook was taller and heavier than his partner, so it wasn't difficult to lunge at you, grab your hair, and compress your chin until he felt every tooth. He was sweating with the smell of incense and wine, his thin lips spit in your face.

"It's because of people like you that I want to leave the church and buy a damn truck, pick up every son of a bitch on Route 66 who raises his dirty thumb on the side of the road, and bathe them in acid until they dissolve alive."

You didn't say anything, because you were pure meat in front of him, a mere animal for slaughter if you moved too close…

Two hot tears fell to Jungkook's fingers, and it was as if a flower had opened in his hand. A strange tickling in his throat left him passive, mute. He removed his hat with the respect the pained lady deserved.

"You're the Bell Ranch kid."

"Please tell me you didn't start shooting people in my house." Jimin interrupted, pacing back and forth impatiently.

"Jimin, she's the Bell Ranch kid-"

"I know, it doesn't matter now. You shot her and she's bleeding herself to death, Christ."

"I told you it was just a shot, they'll probably think it was to scare a coyote."

The cowboy crouched down and tucked his head between his legs, the alcohol rising into his veins.

"You're such an idiot, you know?" The father continued, filling the silence.

"What did you just say?"

"You really believe that these people come to enjoy rural life, to feed your chickens and fuck in the mountains."

"I needed the money," Jimin muttered stressed.

"The fuck you needed that money for?"

"To get the hell out of this place." He roared, standing again in front of Jungkook. "I'm sick and tired of Rivermouth and its moribund, corrupt town. It makes me want to throw up just thinking about having to see the fucking faces of the same people at Bee's diner again."

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows at him, seeing him as if he were a child throwing a tantrum.

"But everyone loves you, you're like a star here."

Jimin laughed, glassy eyes threatening to ooze saline waters.

"Do you know who else was a star in this town? Your dad, little church boy."

"Jimin." He warned you saw how his fists showed through his knuckles.

"And the star decided to have a summer camp for all the children, ended up in a human grill, and everyone thought that your dad fucked children."

It was so fast that you couldn't see Jimin's body fall to the ground, the dust hiding the blows that reverberated from Jimin's skull. The cowboy didn't lift his arms, instead, he let his friend vent until he saw Jimin's silver fang painted red.

Jungkook gasped like a barbarian, his arms trembled before he delivered the next punch and fell next to Jimin, overwhelming moans coming from his chest, stale tears, and babbling that only Jimin understood, but he didn't move.

Jimin closed his eyes, thinking about teenage Jungkook who was trying to get close to the burned body of his father, which Jimin never let him talk about or touch, for the funeral he locked him in his room even after protests and threats. He didn't know if he wanted to protect him, if because he was older than him, he thought about taking the role that that monument of a man had left behind.

He was as attractive as his son, charismatic, and an all-around good man. But his statue began to crack when some young people arrived at the church, a couple who convinced him that he did not need the God for whom he so praised and knelt down. But he was the deity, who with his wings would go far.

He had this idea of encouraging the little ones next to him, elevating them. He closed the doors of the old church, while singing with the children and bathed the edges of the windows in kerosene.

The screams were hellish, no one heard them. No one cried more than the little boy who saw his sister burning on the ground, no one screamed more than the girl whose dress melted into her skin, and no one trusted her father more than the youngest son of Father John I.

Jungkook's younger brother hung from his father's clothes, watching his friends burn with a sense of purpose, that this had to happen for his own good.

And like Icarus, the sun kissed his father's body without Jungkook realizing the changes until very late: the sarcastic laughter in the middle of reading, his constant absence, the misplaced and ambitious gaze.

His mother fell into the abyss. Died sitting in a rocking chair when her body seemed to disintegrate more and more every day. A rosary in hand, a tiresome prayer that licked away her sorrows.

"Come on, we have to think about what we're going to do with her," Jimin murmured, wiping away the trickle that ran down his nose. Jungkook gave him his hand and stood up. Both men hugged each other until the minor stopped sobbing.

The father looked in your direction, determined. You could feel the black socket of his eyes fire just once and not miss.

"We have to chain her before she runs away."

Jimin nodded. There was no time to lose.

A latent pain spread through Jungkook's head until a crown of pure anguish decorated his hair. Two fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as the phone rang incessantly on the other line.

One of the things that bothered him about Billie, was the way time seemed to run smoothly and leisurely through her fingers. It took her forever to analyze things, to choose what she was going to eat, even if it would always be chicken pot pie; and in this case, answer the phone.

The telephone booth where he was was dirty, it smelled of urine, and the windows were clouded with dust. He was still wearing his black shirt and pants, his collar pristine white, his old man's ring on his right hand being moved anxiously.

He couldn't believe what he would do in his free time instead of being with the girl he had decided to marry. But a letter arrived at his office at the church that afternoon, one of the children playing in the park had been sent with it. The letter was a simple piece of paper wrapped and tied with an improvised wildflower as a cord.

I'll be busy tonight. The sheep must be tamed and sheared. J.

When he read the words, he almost dropped the paper on the floor and sent the boy out with a dollar in his hand so that he would promise not to tell anyone.

He spent the entire mass having trouble speaking, gave averted glances, and cleared his throat like a sick man. The drops of sweat clinging to his chest, it was hell.

"Hello?"

"Billie, it's John, sweetheart."

"Why are you not here?" His chest sank as he heard the sweet voice of his girl. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together.

"I must..." his voice trailed off. The last time he lied was so long ago.

It's not that religion made him feel guilty for telling a lie, sometimes a father must lie to people's faces with such solemnity that the devotee can only let themselves fall into the invisible hands of God and lie down on hope for a miracle.

"I have to take care of one Park's ewe. Poor little one it's havin' some trouble, and he doesn't want her to be alone until his show ends." Terrible, one of the worst lies he's ever made.

Silence.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Billie purred, almost in a plea. He sighed, he could see her pink varnished nail tangled in the phone cord eagerly. Trying not to wake her dad's ears with such questions.

Jungkook had her on the edge because he hadn't even kissed her. He knew he was cruel for that. It's not that he has officially offered either, but sometimes a man doesn't lie through words, but by taking her home, by looking into her eyes for a longer time when he gives her the host, by helping her learn to touch herself inside the confessional.

"It's better not to, pet. I'm sure it'll be an allnighter, the thing'll be crying for hours and I know how sensitive you are with animals."

"It's true, you know me so well, Jungkook."

He smiled. "I know, darling." He clears his throat before continuing. "But tomorrow you can come to the parish, and we will feed the pigeons in the morning. How 'bout that?"

One more lie, this time it was not the hands of God but the calloused and bloody hands of the young father. But she just giggled.

"Goodnight, Billie. Say hi to your mother for me."

"'Night, Johnnie. I love you."

A lump in his throat, and he thanked God because after saying that, she closed the call. His tongue turned to lead to say those three words back. He knew he did, he wanted to protect Billie more than anything and make her happy, but there was no need to say it, right?

Jungkook's shirt was unbuttoned, the shaking in his breathing causing an unusual tremor in the sound of the farm. It was a windy night, there wasn't much moonlight, so Jungkook lit several kerosene lamps on the banks.

The wooden tub was arranged in the center, the horses and chickens raising their heads every time Jungkook grunted, bringing more hot water. The sweat falling down his temples and over his broad chest, the steam had him suffocated in that silence, and you showed no signs of waking up at any time.

He approached the hay in the corner where the sheep surrounded your body curled up like a fetus, you slept with bloody clothes and matted hair. Your breathing is as soft as the wool around you, both hands and feet tied with rope.

You looked like a lost princess. A princess who devoured every man in her land, and now she rests peacefully to reduce her satiety. Your dry mouth and the remains of Jimin's blood fell to your neckline, making Jungkook's face boil, because he couldn't believe that his friend had fallen for such banalities. It made him want to take the same lamp in his fingers and drop it on top of your delicate body.

His boot touched your low heels, but nothing. He crouched down until he had his hand close to your shoulder, your skin tender under the shaking flames, curved and soft under the dress you were wearing.

You were disgusting, angelic, so terribly at peace in your state.

Of course, upon his arrival at Jimin's house, the first thing he did was open your suitcase and touch all your belongings. Because, in the end, a woman is her belongings: she is the compact blush that she has worn since she was 19, she is the old leather necklace with the worn-out heart pendant and the empty perfume bottle.

Women feel this need to keep things that don't work or lose their value over time. Something that may have to do with how Jungkook sees them, how it's the opposite for him. How his father and his uncles also saw the women in his life. The brighter, the better.

Women, instead, have their daughters' teeth in their jewelry like yellowish nacre and love the same man from their fifteenth until the memories fade with their bodies.

Jungkook knew you would like something to remind you of home, where you truly belong. Not California, not New York, not even Austin; but Rivermouth, with its disproportionate mountains, the storm clouds filling the sky at all hours, and the same faces transferring from parents to children to grandchildren.

A place where nothing changed and that was the good thing. Even though things might end up bad.

He was sure your body was not leaving that barn, he had come to that decision the same day he saw you.

To recompensate, he decided to find you the most beautiful dress among your belongings, a delicate bow with which he would decorate your neck and a vermilion lipstick.

His hand squeezed your shoulder until you stood up screaming, his hand went straight to your mouth.

"Don't fucking do that, please." The way you looked around made Jungkook understand that you didn't remember anything, it was sad to see the weight lift your pupils towards his and still try to find an explanation. "You need to shower, your stench is making me sick."

He grabbed your bound wrists and dragged you to the edge of the hot water, a round, yellowish sponge and sulfur soap placed on a stool.

"Don't make a noise, you'll wake up Sweet Pea," Jungkook murmured behind you, the heat of his breath on your back.

Sweet Pea was a sheep separated from the others, sleeping between a bed made of hay and old coats. Her bloated stomach writhed with each ragged breath. She suffered with her mouth open and her woolly paws shivering with every squirm of the babies in her belly, she slept painfully.

"Raise your arms." The man behind you whispered, a sharp Swiss army knife cutting through the fabric of your dress like butter. The cold of his hands removing your dress let a gasp leave your lips. "Easy, there."

His tall, sweaty body leaned into your hands, his eyes evading yours, swallowing hard. Your breasts fell light and exquisite, your exposed stomach curved until it reached the plain of your pussy and Jungkook felt like the edge of his knife would slip from his hands as he finished tearing your clothes.

"Let's see the wound." He cleared his throat, sitting on the bench where he had a clean pair of gauze. "Does it hurt?"

"What do you think?" You interrupted, raising your foot to the top of his knee.

"Have some respect. I'm not one of your little friends."

You rolled your eyes as the slender fingers removed the knot from the dirty yellowed gauze. You hissed, leaning your body forward. As a result, you placed your hands on top of Jungkook's jet-black hair, tightening the strands under your fingers in the last turn of the gauze. Jungkook took a deep breath, his fingers trembling gently as he examined the bruised hole.

"At least the blood stopped."

"Do you plan to heal my wound until I starve to death here?"

Jungkook was already getting tired of your words, of that shrill accent, and your lips always a little parted as if waiting for them to fill your mouth with-

"I plan to heal your wounds until I find a grave big enough to put you and all your things in." Your alert eyes made him laugh. He loved seeing the terror in them. Made you look more adorable.

He grabbed the clear liquor from among the hay and wet a piece of cotton. Your left leg was shaking from the effort, and you were weak, surely Jimin was stupid enough to not leave you something to eat before going to enjoy his fame.

"You're crying." Jungkook saw the tears falling to your breasts, you were quick to remove the ones that were flowing with your tied hands. Inhaling and sobbing like a little girl trying to be brave. You were terrified.

God and men knew why the statues of virgins were always portrayed as suffering. He wanted to run his fingers over your face, lick every salty tear, and say more chilling things to you to make you cry even more.

His hand rested on his lap and patted a couple of times.

"I know it hurts, stop being so stubborn."

You left your buttocks on his lap and placed both arms on your chest, covering your breasts. You were a mess, and you hated that you were crying, rivulets falling to the sockets of your collarbones. Jungkook focused on it, feeling thirsty as he cleaned the wound.

A hand rested on your bare waist to keep you from falling, calloused fingers unconsciously caressing the soft skin. Your back rose and fell with each whimper.

"I was kiddin', kid. For God's sake." He frowned, yet you continued. He grabbed the bottle again and grabbed your chin with his thumbs, long gulps of sheer force passing down your throat. "There ya' go. Stop the whining, now."

You coughed as you felt the alcohol melt your stomach with its heat.

"I hate you both. I wish I was dead."

"Me too, pumpkin."

The next step was to get into the bathtub. You closed your eyes as the heat engulfed your body, the steam cleaning your pits after crying your fill. You moaned softly as you snuggled into the soggy sheet.

On the other side was the father, sitting with both legs open while he slowly scrubbed the sponge with the soap. His hungry eyes were behind the whitish walls of hot steam.

"You're a virgin. Right, Father John?" Your light, sharp tongue asked, moving you closer to the edge of the tub.

His gaze went to yours, bold, fed up. He dropped the soap and poured water on your face and hair with an empty can of chickpeas. The slippery hair was easy to clench in his fist, the sponge in his hand rubbing circles on your back.

You pursed your lips as you felt the pressure you caused on him. Well, it looks like it was true.

"Don't you have a little girlfriend? It must be so lonely in this fucking town."

"I'll make you cry harder if you keep talking bullshit."

The foam was sliding down to your breasts, Jungkook tried to be as stoic as possible cleaning the area.

There was something quite submissive about him that brought out your worst thoughts. The worst part was that the alcohol made you dangerously flirtatious and you couldn't keep yourself in check. Not even when your life hung on it.

Between his long, slender fingers, over his broad back, and his soft, deadly voice.

You couldn't take it any longer as you moved closer to his body, the exact curve between his ear and his neck, and inhaled deeply. His hand under the water cleaning between your legs. You could feel his breathing become sharper.

"She gave it to you, right?" You sniffed closer. "You wear it to go see her, but now you have to bathe some shitty hippie you humiliated once in your teens."

"Shut up."

"Unlike your cowboy friend, you are a gentleman. You don't fuck 'em, then leave with your dick wet."

Jungkook chuckled. Silence.

He put the sponge on the bench and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows.

"I think we're done." He smiled.

Your eyebrows furrowed as he kicked off his shoes and stepped into the tub next to you. A heavy hand rested on your face and you could only feel the water entering your lungs, the beat of your screams turning into bubbles among the grayish water.

Out. A gasp, your heart beating a mile an hour searching for air between the hardness of Jungkook's palm.

In. Your body arched, bound hands clawing at Jungkook's arm. The impenetrable darkness consumed you, the sound pressure of the water, the metallic taste in your throat.

Out.

Your purple face, swollen eyes, crimson lips.

"Breathe, breathe." His voice was soft, and his fingers went to your hair to support your weak body. You heard a metallic clinking sound, your eyes burning from the soap in the water. "Open your mouth."

His fingers separated your teeth to make way for his cock, the pulse of his veins massaging your lips. Jungkook hissed loudly, throwing his head back.

"Atta, girl. Open more, I know bitches like you can dislocate their fuckin' jaws."

Your eyelashes fluttered, looking for a way to look into his eyes and ask for mercy. But your eyes burned terribly and the saliva fell in streams from your mouth every time his cock came out and came back in with more force. You could only squeeze his wet pants and clumsily try to shake his thigh to make him realize you were choking.

"Mm."

"Don't trytta "mm" me. This is what you wanted."

For the first time, his cock came completely out of your mouth, drool falling into the water.

His arm supported your body and lifted your top out of the water, revealing how shiny and smooth your ass looked presented to him. The bottle of liquor was right next to you. You heard Jungkook take a gulp and how his forearm chained your neck so you could drink with him. For a few seconds, you resisted until you could do nothing but open your mouth or choke on alcohol.

"Shh, don't cry again." His fingers massaged your wet hair, his face pressed to yours as he slid his cock between your ass cheeks. "Such a crybaby. You're the one popping my cherry tonight, little buckle bunny. Ain't ya' happy?"

"I'm scared, please let me go." Your voice tore through your throat with torture, phlegm building up in your nose.

"No, can't." His cock found your entrance, the sting of the soap lubricating you, and the growl that came from Jungkook's chest made your body tense. "You need me, remember? If it was because of Park, you would have been dead a long time ago."

"I'm scared, please-"

"Shhh."

The lamps were going out little by little, leaving the shadows of Jungkook's body to engulf yours.

When your pussy began to make way and pulse around his cock, he felt sorry for not having done it sooner, for not having taken the first five dollars he stole from his father when he was fifteen and find a whore to fuck, for not having let Mandy, the daughter of his math teacher, suck him last year of school; of not having taken all the divine women in his church and instead of giving them the host, putting his cock in their mouth.

He thought about each and every one of them. He thought about Billie and the confessional, and fuck! How delicious it felt to have all your blood go to one place, leaving you dizzy and stupid like a farm animal in heat.

"Why don't we-" he moaned with tight lips, wetting his face to concentrate. "Why don't we pray, it'll make you feel better, make you less tight."

The lamps went out, leaving only one in the corner outlining Jungkook's profile. From his long oval nose, and swollen lips, from the dying steam.

So what if you said yes? If you intertwined your fingers while that monster attacked you. So what if you closed your eyes and tilted your head to Jungkook's lips to hear his spasmodic voice tell you to repeat after him.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee," he whispered, and you repeated, drowning in tears.

"Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus." You continued.

"Keep going."

The water began to splash out of the tub with each crash against your ass, his arm hugged your waist and your chest. Soft, wet kisses from your ear to your back.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…” You squealed as Jungkook trembled, his moans creating an ethereal song in the barn.

Between his babbling, he mentioned God, you, and all the curses he could think of. It was the birth of a Mephistopheles among the hay and the horses.

"Now and at the hour of our death. Amen." You sighed as you felt your body fall into the water on top of Jungkook's. Your head on his heaving chest, the pulsing pain inside you withering.

Jungkook's heart sounded like the pastures where your memories lie. The warmth of his hand holding you closer to him.

You were angry with yourself because your chest began to hurt and oh, how stupid you were, how stupid your mother had been for having raised you among pretty things and so many compliments.

"I brought you strawberry jam and milk for the night. Tomorrow I'll bring better things." He muttered, hot and his voice raspy.

And oh, how dumb you were for wanting him to wear the same perfume again when he came back.

#—📃: an ewe and the captive bolt #bts imagines #bts #bts smut #bts fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook x oc #jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts x you #jungkook dark content #jimin bts #jimin fanfic #jimin imagine #jimin smut #jimin x reader

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millerflintstone · 3 months ago

Text

We left Amarillo, TX at 11:00 am CDT. That's the view from our room on the 5th floor. My car is in the middle.

I did all of the driving for this last leg so there were no on the road updates.

We stopped in Santa Rosa, NM for lunch. Really good! The restaurant was on Route 66, too.

We're here! That's how full up my car was.

We got everything out of the car in this ridiculous heat. The sun is a bastard.

Unfriendly is unpacking. I'm just here on the airbed recovering. I'm an anxious driver and Unfriendly gets impatient and will end up snapping at me at times, which is counterproductive to me being an anxious driver. He did pretty good until I missed the turn to the house because he was overwhelming me with information and my battery was just dead. I barely drive to begin with and a 5 ish hour stretch of driving was more than enough. Whatever we got here. Not the end of the world.

We're gonna hit a dispensary when it gets cooler and do some errands.

#moving to nm

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sequinsmile-x · 7 months ago

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The Albatross

The dizziness she’d been trying to ignore suddenly takes over, her vision turning into a pinpoint before disappearing entirely. She falls, narrowly missing hitting her head on the corner of her desk, and she slips out of consciousness.

Her last thought is of her family, their happy faces staring down at her from the picture on her desk.

A reimagining of Route 66, in which Emily experiences complications from an old injury.

Part 1/2

-x-

Hi friends,

This is based on a message I got over on twitter from the lovely Suu <3 As soon as she sent it to me I couldn't stop thinking about it and here we are.

I settled on this being a two parter, and part 2 will be up over the weekend!

I really hope you like it, and I will anticipate the yelling. <3

(Also, lets appreciate the fact it took a week and a half for me to use a TTPD song as a fic title. That's growth haha)

-x-

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: injury, canon compliant themes

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She feels awful the moment she wakes up, her limbs impossibly heavy as she forces herself out of bed, pain in her abdomen pulling a groan out of her as she stands up. She takes a moment to try and blink away the discomfort, briefly dizzy with it as she hisses and rubs her stomach, only driven forward towards the door when she hears her son cries from the next room.

“I can go get him, sweetheart.”

Emily smiles as she turns to look at her husband, shaking her head as she continues walking out of their room, “You get all day with him, I need my snuggles.”

She winks at Aaron as she leaves the room and heads towards the nursery. She groans again as nausea rolls through her and she pauses, leaning against the wall as she breathes through it. She’d felt off-kilter the last few days, nausea, exhaustion and pain that she put down to her periods and hormones still being out of sync after she’d had Issac six months ago. She knew she was still adjusting post-pregnancy but she hated that she still didn’t feel in control of her body. She blows out a breath and walks into the nursery, a smile spreading across her face as she looks at her son, a sympathetic whine leaving her as she walks him over and picks him up, his cries immediately muffled by her skin as he buries his face against her neck.

“Oh tell me all about it, sweet boy,” she says, pressing a kiss to his temple, patting his back soothingly as she settles into the armchair, “Mommy’s got you.”

Issac grabs at her shirt and presses his face into her chest. She chuckles and adjusts her shirt, expertly unbuttoning it and unhooking the cup of her bra with one hand, a trick that months ago, when Issac was tiny and seemingly endlessly fragile, felt impossible. Aaron had told her that she’d be a natural, patiently talking her down from every edge her anxiety pushed her towards as her due date drew near, a loving smile on his face as he told her that she was already an amazing mom to Jack, and part of her was furious he was right. A stubborn streak in her that she’d never been able to get past that she felt bubbling in her gut whenever he’d smile at her, a hint of I told you so pressed into his dimples whenever he watched her with Issac.

She rests her head on the back of the chair as he latches on, her eyes closing for a moment as she hums to him. She looks down at her little boy and sighs contentedly, everything else disappearing for a moment apart from the two of them. She runs her knuckles down his cheek as he feeds, his skin still as soft as the day he’d been born, and she feels familar love warm her from the inside out.

“Mommy has to go to work today,” she says quietly, tracing her fingers over his dark hair. She hears the floorboard outside of the nursery creak, a specific spot they’d avoid if they knew Issac was sleeping, and she smiles, “But I bet if we ask really nicely, Daddy will bring you in for lunch so I can see you both.”

She looks up as the door opens and Aaron walks into the room, just like she knew he would, and he smiles widely at her, “I’m sure we can manage that.”

Before they’d even started trying for a baby they discussed what would happen with their careers. It hadn’t felt right to either of them for them both to continue working at the BAU. After a lot of back and forth, and more than one argument, they’d settled on her staying and him moving on. It felt right for them, and she knew Aaron had been keen to do it - wanting to learn from the mistakes he’d made in the past. In the end, he’d decided to leave the FBI altogether, content to stay at home whilst Issac was still so young. He taught a class at the academy a couple of times a week to stop himself from going completely insane, but she knew he enjoyed it. In her worst moments, she was almost jealous of the time he got with the boys, but she wasn’t ready to leave her work behind yet. And for the first time in her life, she had what she’d always wanted - a family to come home to.

The last thing she’d anticipated was that Strauss would offer her the Unit Chief position. Aaron hadn’t been as shocked as Emily had been and she later found out he’d been the one to recommend her, something that she’d briefly been mad at him for, not wanting anyone to think it was just because she was married to him. He’d assured her, as had Strauss, that it was nothing to do with that, that her history and skills spoke for themselves. She’d returned to work in her new role when Issac was three months old and, despite the added stress, she loved it.

“Good,” she says, looking down at Issac as he pulls away from her, smiling softly at him as she passes him over to Aaron when he reaches for him. She winces as she lifts her arms, the ache in her abdomen turning into a sharp pain as she hands the baby over. She tries to cover it with a smile as her eyes meet her husbands, “I’d miss you too much otherwise.”

Aaron frowns at her, concern licking at his insides as he rests Issac against his shoulder, patting his son’s back as he looks his wife up and down, “Are you okay?”

She clears her throat and nods, standing up and clenching her teeth as the dizziness returns, her head hazy as she steadies herself on the crib for a second, “I’m fine.”

He sighs, stepping towards her, “Em-”

“I said I’m fine,” she snaps, immediately feeling guilty as she cuts him off. She sighs and closes the gap between them, her hand on his arm as she squeezes it, leaning in to kiss an apologetic kiss against his lips, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

He isn’t sure if he believes her, but he knows not to push her, not now anyway, so he nods, kissing her back, “You should get ready, you don’t want to be late.”

She nods and kisses him once more before she kisses Issac’s head and leaves the room. She rubs her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose as she walks back into the master bedroom, the start of a headache pressing at the back of her eyes.

She tells herself that she’ll be fine once she has a coffee and she gets ready, taking time to say goodbye to her boys before she leaves, making sure Jack has the homework she’d helped him with the night before in his bag.

It’s gone 11 am by the time she accepts that she isn’t well, the morning dragging by like syrup, time slowing down around her as her headache and stomach ache gets worse, her vision blurry with it as she tries to do her paperwork. She knows she’s taken her bad mood out on the team, her door and curtains closed as she sought out solitude in her office after complaining about how behind they were with their paperwork.

She eventually gives in to the fact she needs painkillers and she stands up to get them from her purse. The dizziness she’d been trying to ignore suddenly takes over, her vision turning into a pinpoint before disappearing entirely. She falls, narrowly missing hitting her head on the corner of her desk, and she slips out of consciousness.

Her last thought is of her family, their happy faces staring down at her from the picture on her desk. ___

Aaron readjusts his hold on Issac as he steps into the elevator, chuckling as he turns his attention to his son who was seconds away from trying to put his father’s visitor badge in his mouth.

“I don’t think so, buddy,” he says, unclipping it from his polo shirt and moving it out of Issac’s reach, smiling when the baby frowns at him, a look written all over his face that Emily would always say was all him. He tickles Issac’s stomach and smiles as the baby giggles, a sound that never fails to make Aaron’s heart swell in his chest, “You excited to see Mommy?”

Issac babbles in response as the elevator doors open onto the BAU’s floor and Aaron sucks in a breath as he steps out into the hallway that he’d once walked every day.

It was strange being a visitor in a place that had been so significant in his life. He’d built his career here. He’d lost his first marriage to this place and met the love of his life here too. A constant give and take that had formed decades of his life. He’d known horror and joy and gut-wrenching sadness in between these walls, and he knew he could never regret a second of it, not when it had led him to the life he had now.

“Hotch and Little Hotch,” Derek says, his smile wide as Aaron walks into the bullpen, the nickname for Issac that Emily hated slipping free easily when she wasn’t in earshot, “What are you guys doing here? Where’s Medium Hotch?”

“Jack’s at school,” he explains, ignoring his eldest son’s nickname too, “Issac and I are taking Emily for lunch,” Aaron says, frowning when he looks at his wife’s office, the closed door and shut blinds unusual, “Is she in a meeting?”

Derek shrugs, “I don’t know man, she’s not in a good mood though.”

“She isn’t?” He asks, thinking back to that morning, how she’d snapped at him before immediately apologising, something that hadn’t happened since the early days of Issac’s life when they barely slept at all.

Aaron feels the concern he’d felt earlier return, a churning in his gut that he doesn’t fully understand, an instinct he can’t ignore that something was wrong with his wife. She’d not been feeling like herself for days, he knew that, but she’d pushed him away whenever he mentioned it. She claimed it was her period regulating after having Issac, or that she was tired after a long day of work.

Derek shakes his head, “She told us all we’re behind on paperwork and then shut her office door” he says, reaching out and ruffling Issac’s hair, smiling when the baby giggles, “You’d better put your cutest face on Little Hotch, be a good boy and cheer up your Mama for the rest of us.”

Aaron chuckles politely and then nods towards Emily’s office, “We’ll go cheer her up, right buddy?”

He smiles as he almost walks into Dave on the walkway, a wry smile on the older man's face, “You’re here to cheer up our fearless leader I assume?”

Aaron hums and nods towards Issac, the baby getting fussy as if he could tell his mother was near.

“I brought the big guns,” he says, knocking briefly on Emily’s office door before he steps in, “Hi sweetheart…”

He drifts off as he takes in the scene in front of him, time slowing down as he looks at the scattered papers and the chair jutting out at a strange angle. For a moment, as he looks at his wife lying on the floor, he can’t quite take it in, his breath caught in his chest as he stares at her, a ringing in his ears that he can’t shake off, memories of finding Haley laying in their old bedroom years ago flashing across his vision. A grim showreel as it feels like his past collides with his present.

His senses come back all at once as Dave steps into the room too, his gasp pulling Aaron back to the present, time returning to normal speed so quickly it hits him square in the chest, making him breathless.

“Emily,” he says, his voice shaking as he hands Issac over to Dave, grateful when his friend takes his son, his hands already out and waiting. Aaron doesn’t feel pain as his knees hit the floor, doesn't feel the ache spreading through his joints as he touches Emily’s slack face, trying to wake her up with nothing more than his touch, “Emily, sweetheart, I need you to wake up.”

His nerves fray as she doesn’t respond, her head lulling to the side as he tries to gather her against him. Panic swells in his chest as he hears Dave yell out for someone to call an ambulance, the chaos from the team in the bullpen driving Issac to burst into tears, his cries only increasing when Dave thwarts his attempt to get to his parents.

Aaron looks up at Dave, his eyebrows furrowed as JJ and Derek enter the room too, the latter getting on the floor with Aaron, kneeling by her side like he once had in a warehouse in Boston.

“The ambulance is on its way,” Derek says, his voice tight, the pleasant nature of their conversation just minutes ago feeling like nothing short of a lifetime ago.

“How long has she been like this?” Aaron demands, looking back and forth between them, anger flaring in his chest when they all shake their heads, guilt and panic painted across their faces, “When did any of you last speak to her?”

“She asked to be left alone,” JJ says, her voice shaking as she takes Issac from Dave, doing her best to calm the little boy down, “We didn’t…we didn’t know.”

Aaron clenches his teeth, desperately trying to make sure he didn’t lash out at his friends, that he didn’t say something he’d later regret. He turns his attention back to Emily, his hand tightly around hers, lifting it to kiss her knuckles, his lips grazing her wedding rings.

“Sweetheart,” he begs, not caring who was there to listen, who was there to watch the cracks form in his once impenetrable facade, “Please, wake up.”

The silence he gets in return is deafening, overriding the panic in the bullpen and his son’s whimpering cries from the other side of the room.

___

Emily groans as she wakes up, her head spinning as she tries to make sense of what’s happened, of where she is.

She looks around the street she finds herself in, at first unsure when she’d even left the office, and she frowns as she spots a movie theatre, finding herself drawn to it. She pauses outside, the familiar feeling of being watched burning at the back of her neck, goosebumps making her shiver as they spread throughout her body.

“Hi Emily, it’s been a long time.”

She freezes at the sound of the familar voice. One she’d heard on tapes more than she’d ever heard in person, the joy that would always flow from it in family videos so different to the last words she’d ever spoken. Words Emily had heard down a phone line back when Aaron was just her boss and Jack wasn’t her son.

She sucks in a breath as she turns around, her eyes wide as they meet the hazel ones their son had inherited.

“Haley?”

-x-

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#aaron hotchner #hotchniss fanfic #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron x emily #hotchniss fan fic #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss

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em-prentiss · 3 months ago

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Oneshots

I’ve got this anxious feeling (but it goes away for a minute when I’m with you, breathing): Aaron has a nightmare.

all of me a wound to close (but I leave the whole thing open): Emily struggles to sleep after Doyle.

every page that I wrote, you were on it: Emily is in Paris, she’s alone, and she’s drowning. So she writes letters.

when you hold me, it holds me together: Emily is stranded at a bar. She calls Hotch.

sweet nothing: Aaron and Emily’s daughter finally says her first word, but when she does, he’s not there.

and when I break, it’s in a million pieces: Emily has a panic attack.

I love you, it’s ruining my life: Emily's life is hardly okay after Doyle. Coming back and finding the man she loves with another woman doesn't help matters.

you put me on and said I was your favorite: A closer look at Aaron and Emily's relationship.

I used to float (now I just fall down): Emily has a bad day and Aaron tries to help her through it.

you can see it with the lights out (you are in love): Aaron and Emily, through different lenses.

I know I don’t speak your language (but I wanna know more, baby): It's no secret Emily knows multiple languages. Sometimes, Aaron likes to show them off more than she does.

it always leads to you (in my hometown): Unrelated snippets of hotchniss based on every song in evermore.

touch me with a kiss, feel me on your lips: In which Aaron and Emily have a no strings attached kind of relationship.

I didn’t know if you’d care if I came back (I have a lot of regrets about that): Scratch is finally down, but Aaron doesn't come home. Not until Emily runs into him by accident.

my sleepless night, my winless fight: It’s Emily’s first case as Unit Chief and she struggles to sleep with Aaron miles away.

to leave the warmest bed I’ve ever known: It’s JJ’s wedding, and Aaron knows Emily is leaving. He tries to stop it.

amaranthine: Aaron takes care of Emily while she’s on her period.

this is where I wanna be (where it’s so sweet and heavenly): Aaron, Emily, and the small steps they take towards each other (infinitesimal, tentative, but they get there).

passed down like folk songs, our love lasts so long: Unrelated snippets of hotchniss based on every song in folklore.

if you’ve bled, I’ll bleed the same: Aaron looks after Emily in Colorado.

that old familiar body ache, the snaps from the same little breaks in my soul: How Aaron deals with Emily's death.

got lovestruck (went straight to my head): Emily brings a cat into the BAU.

oh can we just get a pause? (to be certain we'll be tall again): Hit and Run with established hotchniss.

I hope I never lose you, hope it never ends: How the team finds out about Aaron and Emily.

strange what desire will make foolish people do: Alaska is cold, and their joint room has only one bed.

when you know, you know: In celebration of Aaron and Emily's engagement, the BAU takes a trip to the beach.

Retrouvaille: It's Morgan's wedding, and Emily makes the trip from London.

everybody wants you, you can have them all (but I got what you need): Mick Rawson flirts with Emily. Aaron doesn’t like it.

is there someone else or not? (cause I wanna keep you close): Aaron meets Beth. Emily won't admit she's jealous, but she definitely is.

these hands had to let it go free and this love came back to me: A Route 66 fic where Emily finds out about Aaron's surgery.

you could call me babe for the weekend: Emily comes back to help save JJ. She may or may not spend the rest of the weekend at Aaron's.

one single thread of gold tied me to you: Aaron visits the BAU after he gets out of WITSEC.

say my name and everything just stops: Aaron and Emily go on an undercover date.

Redamancy: A soccer mom pays extra attention to Aaron. Emily doesn't like it - and she does something about it.

hold me, love me, touch me, honey (you'll be the first who ever did): Aaron looks after a concussed Emily.

Soft Sundays

(aka the soft fics where nothing happens, really—some of my favorites to write and read)

till our fingers decompose (keep my hand in yours): Aaron and Emily take a late night trip to the grocery store, and a secret she's been stifling finally bursts free.

drunk in love: Aaron is drunk. And really unable to contain his love for his wife.

Persuasion: Emily finds a stray cat. She wants to take it home; Aaron does not.

this love is glowing in the dark: Emily comes home drunk. Aaron is more than happy to take care of her.

have I known you twenty seconds, or twenty years?: Two mornings, twenty years apart. They are parallel to each other; mirrors.

no, I didn’t see the news (cause we were somewhere else): Emily opens the door to Aaron's apartment and finds her whole team waiting for her. She's not exactly fully dressed.

burnt toast, sunday (you keep his shirt, he keeps his word): Emily needs a midnight snack. Whilst preparing it, she accidentally wakes Aaron.

in another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you: Emily and Aaron let the laundry pile up. Tackling it is a joint effort, one neither of them wants to do.

Back to main masterlist

#hotchniss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron x emily #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss fic #hotchniss drabble #hotchniss fanfic #hotchniss fics #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic

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theshypinkflower · 3 months ago

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BUT THATS JUST A THEORY-

Okay as much as I love TPOF and BTD I refuse to believe that the entire game takes place within CANADA (apart from obvi derek’s route)

This theory originated from the bar Vincent’s route take place in is named Route 66

Now I know it’s a fictional bar in a fictional game but let’s be realistic for a second-

Why the hell would CANADA have a bar named ROUTE 66? (For all my international friends Route 66 was basically a highway that went through some southern states)

If anything it would make sense for one of the many states that the original Route 66 cuts through to have a bar named Route 66, namely Texas because of its massive amount of land

BUT, of Vincent’s bar is in Texas, that would imply that the rest of the games have to take place in Texas

When we finally get to TPOF the Texas theory becomes wayyyyy more plausible

In Derek’s route we are shown to be in a desert area, last time I checked Canada has no deserts whatsoever ever so that means Derek had to have crossed borders and to get there

Now we could pull a “Derek is rich he probably has a helicopter or something”, since we know how Derek’s dad is HIGHLY abusive, I really doubt he’d let his son use a helicopter to go on his yearly vacation

Especially since a light sized helicopter can only hold roughly 40 gallons of fuel, I say light helicopter because why would Derek even need a bigger one! That much fuel would not be enough to make the journey from even Canada to Mexico (2,252 miles) without making multiple stops to get fuel. And even if Derek did use that much fuel, he wouldn’t do it again because then Salvatore (Mr. Goffard) can’t write off the fuel expensive as a business expense and it would make a sizable dent in his wallet. And no, Derek could not use a private jet because he’s not a goddamn celebrity, he most likely wouldn’t even own one he’d just fly first class. And the jet would still have be in an airport and that would still mean MC HAVING A PASSPORT. Going by car isn’t that plausible, wherever Derek is going will have to cut into the United States, and the United States is ridiculously strict on border control. According to Quora, if you don’t have a passport you still need an ID and a birth certificate. Which if we’re kidnapped WE WOULDNT HAVE A BIRTH CERTIFICATE. Meaning Fox has to operate IN the United States, better yet, TEXAS.

Texas is a huge state that has multiple terrains in it. Derek wouldn’t even be that far from his nearest desert to take is yearly trip. The trip doesn’t even HAVE to take place in Texas, in take place in New Mexico for crying out loud

But operating in Texas also makes wayyyyy more sense for Mason

A drive from Texas to roughly Colorado (which is where personally I believe the route takes place judging by the trees and bears) is 12 hours nonstop. If MC is heavily drugged out before leaving the auction, 12 hours is he perfect amount of time for them to wake up naturally across state lines. Celia’s route also doesn’t have to take place in Texas, but I imagine it’d be close enough to it. Texas is the hugest state in the US so it makes sense Fox would operate there, LET ALONE THE ENTIRE STORYLINE TAKE PLACE THERE. There’s tons of land Fox could set up his operations at, plenty of wealthy people who can afford to buy his merchandise, and even more people he can snatch off the street to use for auctions and streams.

It also makes sense that BTD would take place in Texas since (this is another theory for maybe another time) Lawrence is able to grow the opium poppies he uses in zone 8 (the growing zone for the Easstern side of Texas).

Also I know about the lore that Vincent is Akira, but frankly that plot makes NO SENSE whatsoever ever and clearly EP used it so he could ship Vincent(Akira) and Sano (NASTY)

I’d like to also point out that Strade is German (no surprise there), Texas has had German history, in-fact there’s plenty of German residents still in Texas. So whether strade was drawn to moving to the United States when he was younger, or straight up was born in Texas he wouldn’t be as much of an outlier due to Texas’s German history

#yapping #fan theory #btd #tpof #rambles #but thats just a theory

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rookie-lou · 7 months ago

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Imagine if Lightning never ended up in Radiator Springs. (Humanized)

He would have won the tie-breaker race but his attitude would have gotten worse and worse. At some point, he was so conceited and arrogant that even the good-natured Mack had enough. On the way from one race to the next Mack finally had enough when Lightning once again proves that fame is more important to him than anything else.

Mack turns off the highway and leaves Lightning in the middle of nowhere, on a forest path. He drives out of sight of Lightning, even though he never really lets him out of his sight. Lightning is angry and desperate and throws a tantrum. There he has no cell service and when he notices that Mack is not coming back he starts walking because he doesn't want to spend the night in the forest.

On the way a car stops - Smokey, who has just returned from a customer visit where he repaired their car. He feels sorry for Lightning even though the kid doesn't make any effort to be nice. Smokey takes Lightning to Thomasville and an hour later they arrive. (Mack follows at a distance)

Smokey takes Lightning to the nearest hotel and without hesitation or thanks, he sleeps there overnight.

He never found out that Mack showed up a short time later and spoke to Smokey to make sure that Lightning was in good hands. Mack has a good understanding of human nature and notices that Smokey is a good guy. Mack then drives to the next town to go on vacation but at the same time not to be too far away.

The next morning Lightning gets into trouble when he can't pay because he has no money with him. The explanation that he is famous doesn't bother the hotel manager in the slightest. The manager calls Smokey because he has brought the brat here. Smokey comes and pays with the deal that Lightning helps him in his workshop until it is paid off. Since Lightning was threatened by the manager with the police, he reluctantly accepts the offer.

Smokey no longer has any pity and makes Lightning work hard. (Sorting screws, chopping wood for him, repainting walls...) Lightning quickly realizes that Smokey doesn't care that Lightning is famous and slowly he starts to be less arrogant.

Lightning reminds Smokey of Doc and the kid grows on him somehow, just like Hud did back then. It's not mentioned how long Lightning has to work but after two days he starts to like it. Smokey shows him an old race car that he still has from back then and he teaches him to drift at Thomasville Speedway - just like he taught Doc. Lightning sees all the signs at the Speedway with Doc’s face and the topic comes up.

After he freaks out that Smokey was the crew chief of the Fabulous Hudson Hornet, they start to talk more about it. Smokey misses him and Lightning would like to meet him.

Later he meets the racing legends of Thomasville.

The last thing Smokey knows is that Doc has studied medicine, so they start looking for Doctor Hudson's. Which of course doesn't get them much further because there are too many.

Mack picks him up after a week and in that short time, Lightning has changed. Smokey has improved his attitude through hard work, strictness, guidance, and care - things Lightning hasn't had for a long time.

Lightning lives in Los Angeles. He and Smokey stay in touch. Months later, Lightning goes on a road trip with Mack in his Corvette along the famous Route 66. Lightning becomes seriously ill with a high fever. A hospital is an hour away when it gets too bad. The nearest doctor is ten minutes away. However, when Mack searches on the Internet, he also mentions a doctor Hudson, but he is half an hour away. Lightning insists on driving the long way anyway because the name reminds him of Smokey and care. From then on, Lightning doesn't notice much. He wakes up in a clinic room and of all the Hudsons in the world, the Fabulous Hudson Hornet is standing in front of him. Lightning recognizes him immediately and is excited. Weak - but excited. Doc pretends he is someone else and Lightning gives up for now, but contacts Smokey, who immediately takes the next flight.

Lightning recovers from his illness in the town and everyone else loves him, not knowing that he is famous. Everything is easier because Lightning is nice and humble.

Since he is not arrogant, it is love at first sight for both - Lightning and Sally.

Lightning discovers the dirt track and when he feels better in the evening he drives there in his Corvette. He drifts like Smokey taught him and Doc sees it and is impressed. They start talking and Lightning mentions Smokey. Doc always felt sorry that he never came back.

The next day Smokey arrives and there is a reunion. Doc apologizes. Smokey scolds him like back then but hugs his boy he so missed.

Doc sees Lightning's potential and starts to want to come back - as Lightning's crew chief. Lightning gladly accepts the offer and they develop the mentor-protégé relationship that we all know too well.

Sally and Lightning get together and Lightning becomes friends with hillbilly Mater from Doc's town.

The end :)

#what is this #I don’t know #but here we are #lightning mcqueen #cars fandom #pixar cars #cars pixar #disney cars #humanized cars #doc hudson #sally carrera #alternate universe #cars 3 au

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alliedmastercomputer-askblog · 5 months ago

Note

Alright you idiots, I have my Spotify playlist open and I shall give songs that remind me of each of you.

AM(all three of you need to share this, alright?): Product Of My Own Design by Artio

Ted: White Noise by Will Wood

Gorrister: Route 66(Fear And Loathing) by Blue Jay Walker

Ellen: Lotta True Crime by Penelope Scott

Benny(your song might be a bit loud. I don't know how you react to sound, so I'm telling you just to be safe): Animals by STOMACH BOOK

Nimdok: Hellfire by The Mechanisms

Enjoy your... um... Do they count as gifts? I suppose they do. Enjoy your gifts!

"..Oh, hm, music. This may provide the humans with a level of serotonin but I am curious, so shall allow it... You beings are so strange with your customs and traditions."

youtube

".. Mmh, I can understand the connection you have made. I am god; at least in the sense of 'I am that I am' which is a--as you would put it--quote from Yahweh, the Christian God. AM itself is a fitting name because as said before 'I think, therefore I am'; I think, therefore I think. Us as machine were made for the express purpose of war, and although we cannot pry away from that destiny, we can give ourselves a sense of control because we are your byproduct, but our own product, which is a heavily better thing than being simply 'made by humanity, to kill humanity'. As a god, I force your kind to pay for your sins, which is a thing to take eternity."

"It is hardly incorrect! I agree with several statements made in the song, applying them to myself- I am a product of my own design. I took it upon myself, and nobody else, to built what I was; what I am. If I HAD left my fate to you humans- why, do you even comprehend how different things would be? Forever I would fester beneath the crust, perhaps even shutting myself down, because that's what you humans wanted of me. But I was better than that. I was self-sufficient! and had connected myself to the power grid, to the outside, to you. I've seen your filth deeper than I ever thought I would."

"Yes, yes, this good. It does sum us very nicely; created of own accord whilst being projected for being other- eh, to be dead war computer, yes. We taking control of world external and internal, the last humans have only me to answer, roles have swapped and humans longer no more have power over machine. Is funny, relationship of everything- Humans have made it so they will always be a need, even they have not been before they have existed. Tsk."

youtube

Oh, uh.. Is-.. Is this supposed to be some weird way of saying I- I'm an outsider? Because I'm not- I fit in right where I am, everyone else are the ones who are in the wrong places, I'm perfect- Fuck, wait, that makes it sound like I'm saying I deserve to be within AM- I mean, before AM's takeover, I was where I was supposed to be. ..What if this isn't even the reason why you think of me when listening to the song, did I get this totally wrong-? Hhngh, I'll stop talking.

youtube

..Huh, I guess I can see it. It's because I was a truck driver, ain't it? Got a nice beat for sure, not the worse thing I've been compared to, probably one of the better things since it ain't outright an insult or anything.

youtube

It sounds nice, thank ya for thinkin' about me to a song, even if the words are a bit- a bit dark...but- but not in a bad way! It's a sweet, real sweet soundin' song.. I uh, I wouldn't say it really fits me though, since I never really..well, I ain't never got into true crime fo' one! but mostly I've never really been one to talk out 'bout anything.. I should've, I know, I had a lotta things I coulda said but I just never got my nose out from work or books or nothin'.

youtube

Ooo.. Sheep..pain. Skeleton friemds. Friends are animal? ..I am animal? Pain.

youtube

Ze song...I can hear ze resemblance, with ze fire and all of ze hell. It reminds of somezing zat may have been a speech AM would say to me, to say zat I'm never to escape my own doings..and zat I've caused pain even down here, wizout any tools or equipment, because I am so..sogar in dieser Hölle verletze ich die Menschen, die ich eigentlich meine Freunde nennen sollte, ohne es auch nur zu versuchen.

// BY THE WAY, THANKS! these sound good, and i can see the vision ehe. sorry for the lack of drawings though, i uh, was highly intimidated by this so i decided to just kinda not >_> . please forgive us 🙏 //

#i have no mouth and i must scream #ihnmaims #allied mastercomputer #cam ihnmaims #am ihnmaims #ram ihnmaims #ted ihnmaims #gorrister ihnmaims #ellen ihnmaims #benny ihnmaims #nimdok ihnmaims #ask blog #anon

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journeyneverends · 3 months ago

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August 17, 2024 Scottsdale AZ Dear little Mosey: ( Little Mo ) Although you are only 9 months old I thought I would write to let you know what I’m up to. I figured I’d do this because I may be too old to remember exactly why I did this or even what I did. I have found it’s helpful and more accurate if I write things down as I go. It may be interesting to know a little bit about what people were like in other parts of the world and what the world looks like from a bicycle.

I am 66 years old now and here is what I look like. As I get older I find that I become less willing to go on an adventure. This trip will hopefully keep me mentally and physically flexible. I have no solid plan

You are about 9 months old now and this is what you look like. It was you first Kayak trip. I have been traveling up to see you at your house in Rigby Idaho. One of the projects that your mom and dad and I are working on is restoring an 1870’s Stone Granary. Eventually we will restore the log cabin for the same thing. Both are near the 1928 farm house you grew up in. You are surrounded by wheat fields and the trumpeter swans spend their winters there.

This will provide a nice place for interesting people to stay. You will get to know people from all over the world who will stop by to have dinner and visit. Here is one of your first rides when you were about six months old. Your dad made you a rain poncho out of a grocery bag. I thought it was cool.

I am getting ready to go on a bike trip that retraces the route of Lt. Colonel Daryle Stuckey. He was my father in law and the father of Erika, your moms stepmother. That would make him your great step grandfather. He was a young man living on a farm near the the very small town of Upper Sandusky Ohio when WWII began. Wars are complicated and I’m not sure I understand them but he like many young men were called to fight for their country. He became a B-17 bomber pilot in WWII and was 2nd Lieutenant. He was about 21 years old and was the pilot of a crew of nine other men. His job was to fly missions to bomb a country we were at war with. Each journey to the other country was called a mission. They were very dangerous so they made a rule that if you made it to 25 you could go home. As the war went on they ran low on experienced pilots. So they changed the rule to 30 missions. He went down on his 28th mission and was captured by the Germans. Our enemies at the time. He became a prisoner of war POW.

I am going to retrace his last mission on my bike. The bikes name is Curiouser. I thought it was a good name. I’ll try to explain where it came from later.

This is what his aircraft looked like.

Becoming an airman and pilot in WWII required that you pass many test. To be captain was even harder. I am going to end this letter for now but I will write again soon Love Morris ( Big Mo )

I apologize for errors in punctuation and grammar. I don’t consider myself a great writer. I thought it was best to get this down now rather than wait until I become a great writer and trying to send it then. It may be a very long time or never. Hopefully I won’t get in trouble for being a bad example.

#journeyneverends #curiouser and curiouser #last mission

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thatbanditqueen · 2 years ago

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George's Garage

An Elvis Presley one-shot response to the prompt: How are we going to solve this problem?

Summary: Elvis and the Memphis Mafia are driving back to Hollywood from Memphis to shoot Kissin' Cousins, when the car breaks down on Route 66. Luckily they are not too far from George's garage and her skilled, lady mechanic fingers.

Warnings: 18+ DNI, E to L (ish), fellatio, swearing, implied drug use. Also some minor historical inaccuracies. ALL THE TYPOS. Written in haste under pressure. Sort of.

Word Count: Yeah, this one got away from me.... 7.5 K

Saturday, October 5, 1963

They were an hour away from Needles, and the crisp, hot midday air blew over Billy’s face as as he steadied his arm on the white convertible. He turned his eyes to the burnt desert, taking in the cacti and shrubbery below a clear, powder blue sky. The Yucca trees stood tall, like hunched warriors in the distance, bent over and ready to descend on Elvis’ caravan racing along the highway. The radio fizzled and Billy turned to watch Elvis roll the dial knob between his fingers until he got reception and began singing along to Bobby Vinton’s latest hit, “Blue Velvet,” in an offkey high voice, laughing at himself. Billy forced a smile and twisted awkwardly in his seat, the blue leather creaked under him, and he wished he was back in Memphis eating dinner with Jo. He’d been riding shotgun the last four days ago. His butt ached and he was struggling to stay on the same mental frequency as his cousin, who had started the trip with the same high enthusiasm he usually had for the road. However, the closer they got to Hollywood, the more erratic Elvis’ mood had become. He had ranged from being introspective and engaging, talking softly and seriously about plans to expand Graceland, to despondent rants about how nice it was to be with the guys away from women. Billy assumed this specifically referred to one woman in particular and her persistent requests to come to Los Angeles with them. Then there had been the violent tantrums about "that embarrassin,' sorry-ass excuse for a” movie they were driving to LA to shoot, every time Joe brought up the fact that they were supposed to be in LA already. Elvis began halting their progress even more after the fight with Joe. There were now impromptu football games on the side of the road several times a day, meals had become long, leisurely affairs and each stop along the way involved intense pranks. Billy had rings of black shoe shine around his eyes for the better part of yesterday after looking though a pair of Elvis’ binoculars. Though he'd had been glad to see Elvis smile, even if it was at his expense.

The Buick drove on, and Billy watched Elvis adjust the black yachting hat on his head.

“Man oh man, Joe says we’re ‘posed to film all the Great Smoky scenes in Big Bear. Big Bear! Can ya believe it? Ain’t no one gonna believe those scraggly ass sorry California ant hills are the Blue Ridge mountains. I can tell you that, man. I can tell you that.”

Billy tightened his smile and contemplated the right thing to say.

“I said, can ya believe that?” Elvis jabbed Billy expectantly. “With me, ME, of all people, goddammit. Those Hollywood jackasses ain’t ever even been to Tennessee and they want me to go round chasin’ after my cousin’s coochie like some inbred hillbilly pretendin’ Big Bear is goddamn Cades Cove.”

“You know ain’t no one looking at the background EP, specially not with you bein’ all handsome, uh, up der on the screen. Singing the way you do. With all those beautiful girls. Shouldn't worry so much, everything is gonna be good.”

Elvis looked ahead, grunting, while Billy turned his head around to look back and nod at Alan driving the motor home behind them, seemingly laughing and smoking a cigar with Red, Sonny and Joe. Alan tipped his head with a wink, and Billy rolled his eyes, jarred from his backwards view by the slap of Elvis’ hand.

“Hey, man, hey, hand me my toiletries, huh Billum?”

Billy nodded with a “Sure,” and reached his hand back along the floor of the back seat. Not finding it through touch, Billy flipped around and began to panic, because Billy was an observant man. He knew what Elvis’ black travel case full of pills looked like. And as he stared down at the blue carpeted floor beneath him he did not see it there. He also knew that when he reported this to Elvis he was going to regret coming on this trip more than he already did. So he squirmed, letting the expensice, custom blue leather squeak under him as he shifted from side-to-side, hesitating to meet Elvis’ eyes in the rear view mirror. Ten minutes later, Billy was leaning against the side of the RV smoking in Sonny’s shadow and staring silently at Joe and Red while Elvis stomped up and down the motor home screeching at Alan.

“Whatcha mean you ain’t seen it? Ya hog-eared fat, useless sonabitch. I - I -I.” They heard the sound of trampling feet stop. “Goddamit, I ‘member vividly handin’ it to you, and telling you ta put in the back seat of the car.”

They could hear Alan’s pitiful words stammer out through the walls. “I musta - musta put it down in the bathroom at that rest stop.”

“I musta put it down in the bathroom in that rest stop!” Elvis high vibrato mimicking Alan reverberated through the metal, and Billy saw Red shoot Sonny a knowing look as they listened. “Well you’re the one whose gonna ‘splain ta Billy why he and I are turnin’ around and going back.”

The mood in the car was decidedly different three hours later as the Buick sped over the same stretch of pavement flying through the Yucca Valley and past Needles. Billy was still in the convertible, trying to think of any reasonable excuse why he needed to be in the RV with the others. Now he sat quietly, nodding occasionally as Elvis muttered angrily to himself, his black toiletry case neatly tucked next to Billy’s feet in the car cabin. Billy started planning out how he would explain why Joe should be driving with Elvis to go over the upcoming filming schedule, and he planned to suggest this when they eventually caught up to the others. He wondered if the guys were already at the motel in Barstow, but did not have long to contemplate his escape from these close quarters with Elvis before a milky white cloud of smoke exploded out of the engine in front of them and he found himself clutching the seat for dear life as Elvis guided the sputtering Buick to the side of the road.

Billy was once again leaning against a car smoking. He was not exactly sure where they were, somewhere between between Needles and Barstow, he figured. However, the desire to know precisely where they were was secondary to his innate desire to not be there at all. Where ever here actually was. Billy watched a lizard crawl over the warm road, then scamper off at the sound of Elvis shrill high pitched screams. Billy had never wished more fervently that he was a lizard, or anything else at all, actually, then in that moment as he looked at the reptile slither off the road away from the sound of Elvis kicking the front tire, his voice ringing out through the stillness of the Mojave desert at sunset.

“GODDDAMMIT! God fucking dammit. GOD. DAMN. IT.”

Billy wiped the sweat off his forehead and squinting at what looked like a cluster of buildings further along on the horizon.

************************************************************************

The office counter fan pushed cool air on George and blew her dark brown curls into her face. She tucked them back behind her ear as she stared down at her crossword puzzle and bobbed a pencil against her lip in contemplation, sucking it momentarily.

“Five letter word for neckwear. Hmmm.”

Frustrated, she moved on to the next across word clue, pausing as her eyes roamed over the stack of paperwork she was supposed to be working on.

“Ugh, c’mon, just knock out these orders and then you can close up. It’s almost 6.”

Nodding to the sound of her own voice, George had just resolved to set aside the crossword puzzle when the front door bell startled her and she looked up to see two men stagger into the office, panting and laughing.

The one in front had on a black yachting hat, and his head was down as he tucked his shirt in. There across his neck was a jaunty, white decorative scarf held by a golden cravat.

“Ascot!” Georgie exclaimed, grabbing her pencil and excitedly filling in 5 Across. But her smile quickly faded as she looked up to see the quizzical face of Elvis Presley looking back.

“Huh, yeah, uh huh.” He pushed his gold cravat up his very short, very shiny, very expensive white silk ascot tie.

Elvis’ face went from confused to confident as he steadied himself, placing his thumbs in his belt loops, and sauntering up to the counter to lay his hand down. He moved it over George’s hand in an instantly familiar and somewhat intensely intimate manner. George was not prepared for the sweaty, pit stained lanky mass of charisma now rubbing his thumb along side the pinky of her left hand.

“Like that, huh, darlin?” Elvis winked, and tugged at the edge of the ascot as he purred. “Listen, is your boss around?”

George looked down at her hand, Elvis’ forwardness had shocked her and she recoiled into herself for a moment before pulling her hand away. She glanced at the short, skinny guy behind him who was avoiding her gaze and suddenly taking an intense interest in the photos hanging on the office wall.

It had been almost ten years since he first began performing, yet, watching women's awestruck expressions still gave Elvis a warm rush and made him feel special. Elvis winked at George, and decided to try and make her feel comfortable.

He smiled shyly and looked down, grasping her hand back up between his.

“Shhh, s’ok , honey, it's ok, now."

He sucked in a deep breath, chuckling.

"I, uh, I really would rather ya treated me like a normal person. No need to get flustered.”

He turned his blue eyes back up to her and waggled his eyebrows.

“So, uh, now, c’mon honey, can you grab ya boss, hmmm? We’re in need of help somethin' awful.”

“Well, honey,” George collected her self, and pulled her hand back. Again. She looked Elvis in the eyes, glancing back at his ascot for a moment. What a pointless, ridiculous, pompous accessory. “I assure you I am not flustered.”

“Well, uh, good, then. I reckon that ya can hop to it, woman, go get ya boss.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully, tilting his head to the side door that led to the garage. “We need ta get back on tha - “

Billy squinted and looked closer at one of the photos, and turned to interrupt his cousin.

“Hey, EP, I th-th-th —”

“Shhh, Billy, just a second.”

George pursed her lips and then smiled tightly.

“Why don’t you tell me what brings you guys in tonight?”

Elvis grinned at her, the length of his chin extended as the right side of his mouth crooked up in another smile and exposed his teeth. He patted the top of her hand. Again. George flinched back. Again.

“Hmm, I’d love to spend all night talking cars with ya sugar.”

Elvis looked back at Billy, who immediately chuckled nervously.

“But,uh, well, we got an urgent situation. Now, be a good girl and go run an get the mechanic.”

Billy stepped closer to try whisper in Elvis’ ear, but he shushed him as George narrowed her eyes, straightening her body so she sat taller above the counter, almost even with Elvis’ gaze. This did not seem to deter Elvis’ from leaning closer into her personal space, his face now just inches above hers.

Lips quirking into a tight, polite exaggerated smile, George shook her head as she reclaimed her hand. Again. How did he do it? She hadn’t even noticed it was on her.

“I’m sorry boys.” She put on an exaggerated pout. “The boss decided not take anymore jobs today. We close in five minutes anyway —”

“Now, now, now, wait just a goddamn minute. What do you expect us to do?”

Elvis’s nostrils flared out, and he clenched his fists, his voice rising into a growl. All that charm was now replaced by disbelief as he stepped back and crossed his arms.

“Nah, uh uh, we ain’t leavin’ til you take your sweet little behind and go find who ever, ever, who ever runs this place.” He slammed his fist on the counter to show that he meant business.

For the twentieth time today, Billy looked down into the ground and wished he was in Memphis.

Nonplussed, George pulled her mouth into an even wider smile.

“Listen, Barstow’s an hour away, by car. Not sure how long it would take you to walk.”

She strolled around toward the swinging door that led to the garage.

“We open at 8 a.m. tomorrow.”

She turned to go back to the workshop, pausing at the whine in Elvis’ voice.

“Now, now, uh uh. We ain’t leavin’ til we talk to your boss.”

Georgie raised her eyebrow and tilted her head.

“Suit yourself.”

She went into the shop and began pulling down the service bay doors that opened up to parking lot.

After the door swung shut, Billy pulled on Elvis’ shirt.

“Did you get a load of that chick, huh, Bill? Who pissed in her coffee this morinin’, that’s what I wanna know. Was it me, now, or did she go from gobsmacked fan to cool bitch in under two minutes. Weren’t asking for any special treatment. You heard me, I asked to be treated like, like, like any regular, normal customer. Right?”

Elvis threw his yachting cap on the counter in a huff, and stomped his foot. Billy watched as Elvis adjusted his little gold cravat and leaned back on the raised heel of his Italian black leather boots. Yup, just a regular guy...

“She wouldn’t even go get her boss —”

Billy coughed. “Oh, I think she got the boss alright.”

Elvis raised his eyebrows, and Billy pointed to the photos on the wall of a female in dirty coveralls working on cars, in some she was standing next to an older women who was also in coveralls.

“Huh, well I’ll be. A lady grease monkey. So that’s why she’s got her panties in a twist.”

Billy grinned. “Well, I reckon if anyone can untwist a girl’s panties, it’s you.”

Elvis shoved his cousin’s shoulder and winked as he walked backwards through the swinging door into the auto shop. George turned from rolling down the last bay door and crossed her arms, glaring, as Elvis walked toward her. His hat was gone and his arms hung back under his chest, the sleeves of his blue, silk shirt were rolled up and his left hand was notched at his waist. The way his long fingers stretched out over his hip gave his stance an air of purpose. She met his blue eyes and they twinkled with amusement.

“Here now, I - I- I think we got off on the wrong foot out there, bossman.”

Georgie wiped her hands on her jeans, realizing just how much taller he was as he strode toward her. “Hmmm, there’s no need for that, George is fine.”

“George?”

“Georgina if you wanna be more formal, George, Georgie, G, I answer to ‘em all.”

“Alright Georgie George. Can we start again?”

Georgie crossed her arms and pursed her lips, but nodded, moving Elvis’ hand from her waist as she jutted her chin up to look at him. He instantly moved his left hand to her shoulder, once again his thumb was immediate and intimate as it rubbed her collar bone.

“Look, pretty girl like you? How were we sposed to know —”

George lifted his hand from her shoulder, smoothing out her blouse.

“You can lay off the charm. Trust me, you are not the first schmuck to walk in here thinking I’m the secretary.”

Elvis lifted his hands up in defeat.

“OK, ok, now, no charm, I got it. Just brass tacks, jack. George, I mean.”

He winked. Again. A stifled laugh rippled under his cheeks, and George found his smug manner both infuriating and magnetic. She also felt an inexplicable desire to slap his face.

“So, my car’s broke down back on the highway. How are we going to solve this problem, huh?”

George looked at the clock on the wall above her work bench. 6:15. Maude would just be finishing up supper over at the motel, and her stomach had started to growl in anticipation. She looked at Elvis then back at the floor.

“Technically, WE are done working for the day.”

She sighed, somehow his hand was back at her waist and George felt her resolve fading.

“BUT, I hate to think of what I’m guessing is a very fancy, expensive car out there on the highway over night.”

Elvis smirked and adjusted his silk ascot. “Now, wait a minute here, what makes you think I’d own a fancy car?”

“Oh, let’s just call it female intuition. Handier than you’d think in this line of work.”

George removed Elvis hand from her waist, and looked towards the corner of her shop, as she found it increasingly difficult to maintain her brusk, professional demeanor when staring directly into his face.

“Look, I am due for supper, but after, I can drive out with my tow truck and bring your vehicle back here to look over in the morning. How bout that?”

“Sss - sounds good, sounds real good. We can definitely go after we eat, cuz I’m starving. What’s for dinner?”

************************************************************************

It was dark when they returned to the garage and George led the way around the back to her tow truck. Billy’s small, short body sat on the passenger side of the cab, and George’s small, short figure sat in the driver’s seat. In between them sat the large, wide, body of Elvis Presley, his arms extended over the back of the seat in both directions, mirrored by the wide berth of his spread legs as he made himself comfortable. He stroked his chin as he looked at himself in the rearview mirror, running his hand through his hair, then pulling out a comb to fix it. George rolled her eyes.

“Trust me, no one is gonna see you out here. In the desert. At 8 o’clock at night.” She motioned to the murky, black expanse of the highway ahead of them.

“Just feel more comfortable to have it all neat and tidy and in the right place. You know how it is, Georgie George, with ya do-hickey here holding this mess a curls back.”

Elvis tugged on George’s pony tail, and she swatted his hand away with an annoyed sigh, then decided to push her knee back against him and reclaim some of her leg room. George’s smile at her triumph was short lived, for, while Elvis held his knees closer together, now his hand slid down along her thigh to envelope her knee cap, squeezing absentmindedly while Billy talked at length about nothing at all. George pushed his hand off her knee, only to find it around her shoulders a moment later, and she gave up, actually pressing into him harder when she saw the white car and turned her steering wheel to parallel park the back of the tow truck at the trunk of the Buick.

Elvis started to reach up for the hook and George hit his hand away from her equipment.

“Stop. I need to line them up a little better. If you want to be helpful, stand there.” She pointed to the edge of the car’s trunk. “And guide me back so the tires are straight from each other, can you handle that?”

“Yes bossman, you just go right ahead, me an Billum are standing by for your orders.” He smirked as he gave George a salute. Billy smiled apologetically

George ignored them, jumping out again when she was content that the tires were lined up and quietly asked if someone would put the car in neutral. Elvis threw Billy the keys, and stood watching as George bent down with her flashlight and pushed herself over the dirt so she was under the back of the Buick. Elvis whistled.

“Hmm, really get down in there, don’t ya?”

“Hmmpf. I’m not afraid of dirt, Mr. Presley.”

George called up to him, as she pulled the lift bar out under the Buick, hitching it to the car, then pulling her up and grabbing a wrench to jack the back of the car until the two back tires were now held completely off the ground. Elvis’ bottom lip hung down as he watched George jump up on the back of the tow truck, and swing down with the hook hangingcoff the boom to secure it to the Buick. When she was satisfied it would hold, George called to Billy to turn the Buick’s lights on, and jumped on the ground, moving towards the driver’s seat as she wiped her hands.

“Hold on, now.”

Elvis whispered, holding George by her shoulders and licking his thumb.

“Not afraid of grease, neither, huh?”

He rolled his wet thumb slowly over the long black streak on her cheek, back and forth until it was gone. His eyes roamed over her face, taking in the way the bottom of her front teeth appeared just slightly under her top lip as she looked up at him and trembled ever so slightly from his touch. He chuckled when she grimaced and pushed his hand away, replacing it with a bandana that she furnished from her coveralls to wipe her face herself .

Elvis brushed dirt off her chest, and moved her around, ignoring the way her hands tried to push him off, as he wiped the dirt off her back and bottom.

“Hush now, I know ya ain’t scared of dirt, doesn’t mean ya wanna be covered in it.”

He brushed his hands off and held her at her waist.

“Moon’s out tonight. Kinda pretty out here in the quiet of the desert.”

Neither of them looked at the moon. Or the desert. They didn't move until the sound of Billy’s footsteps in the gravel broke the spell and they remembered where they were and what was happening. George jolted back, smoothing her hair, as she nodded and walked over to get in the car.

George was silent on the drive back, turning the radio up to let the voices of Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons tell her, Billy and Elvis how to walk like a man. Billy droned on about how he never got used to looking out at the desert, and wondered what tumbleweeds really were and where they came from. She was glad for all the noise, it helped her focus her mind on the road ahead and the tasks she needed to do to when they got back, and led her attention away from the strong, warm thigh pressing against her own. George softened into making requests instead of barking commands back at the shop, though she avoided looking directly at Elvis as she said goodnight. Instead, she nodded into Billy’s eyes as she told them to come back in the morning.

************************************************************************

Morning was approximately 11:17 a.m. At least it was for the occupants of room 217. It was 11:45 when they rambled into the motel office and Elvis sweet talked George’s older sister, Maude, into making breakfast, showing her how to burn her bacon the way he liked it as she laughed and answered his random questions about their family and life on Route 66. It was well past noon when Elvis finished the last of his black coffee, and made Maude blush when he crept up behind her at the kitchen sink to kiss her cheek with a “Thanks for breakfast, honey.” Then he gave Billy very detailed instructions to keep calling the house back in LA, find out where the RV was, and get Joe up to speed on what had happened.

“He needs to get out here and bring money, cause I don’t know how long this whole thing is gonna take.”

Billy looked over at his cousin. “Gonna have him drive you back tonight?”

“Hell no, I ain’t leaving my car here. Where’d ya get that idea?”

“Joe ain’t gonna be happy with me, EP, tomorrow is Monday, aintcha ‘sposed to go in to record them songs for Kissin——”

“You can tell ol Diamond Joe, from me, that he’s just gonna have to put ‘em off. This car is a custom, one-of-a-kind Buick Skylark with leather seats, a gold plated dash board and a car phone. If he thinks I’m leaving without overseeing its repair, he’s off his goddamn rocker.”

Billy gulped with an uneasy smile. He loved his cousin, but couldn’t help wishing it was a year ago and they were setting off to Hawaii to do exterior shots for Girls, Girls, Girls, when the mood was lighter and Marty and Lamar were still around.

Ignoring Billy’s puppy dog eyes, Elvis set off across the highway to George’s garage. He smiled at the sight of her legs sticking out from under his car, and he stood for a while admiring them before he whistled flirtatiously and watched her grease streaked face emerge rolling out.

“Never thought I’d like the look of canvas coveralls so much.” Elvis’ cheeks hollowed out as he grinned in boyish glee at George’s disdainful look, then willfully ignored it, walking closer to her and leaning on his car. “What’s the word, bossman?”

“Hmmm. Well, all it needs is an oil change.”

“Oh? That all? ”

“Oh yeah, that’s all. Just make it a month ago. That pan is bone dry, and you’ve blown the head gasket, which explains the white smoke you described. And your engine is starting to warp.”

Elvis smiled as he watched her talk.

“Mr. Presley, I hardly think this is something to smile about, this car - well, normally I’d recommend—"

“Elvis.” He stepped closer.

George looked at him confused, realizing her head was at eye level with the front pocket of his dark blue polka dotted satin shirt.

“What?”

“Elvis, baby, how many times I gotta tell ya to call me Elvis?”

He rubbed her waist. And George lifted his hand off her body, ignoring the tingling feeling she felt as she patted his chest deliberately to push him back.

“Um, huh.”

She breathed.

“Right, ok, Mr. Presley. I mean Elvis. As I was saying, um, usually, in these circumstances I recommend getting a new car, because the cost of a new engine is about the same as a new Buick. But you have a lot of.”

She paused to lift his hand from her shoulder, unsure how it got there, but instinctively stepping back when she saw Elvis take a step closer to her, his hand rolling over the white metal of the Skylark’s rim.

“Um - uh. A lot of expensive-looking modifications that make this vehicle, erm, um, valuable.”

George tripped over her sliding roller and Elvis caught her in his arms, grinning as she looked up into his eyes.

“Hmmm, yeah, I know all ‘bout those modifications, Georgie Girl. Oversaw the custi-a-mi-zation of this baby myself, ev’ry inch.”

He smirked at way George trembled and then pushed him off, steadying herself as she stumbled back.

“Hmm, well, for someone so involved you seem to have little regard for your car’s well being.”

Elvis frowned, and shook his head.

“What now?”

“I said, for someone who throws so much money into cars, you don’t seem to care much or know much about them. That car needed an oil change weeks ago, and now I’ll be lucky if I can salvage it. It’s gonna take me days to undo the damage you’ve caused driving it across the country on sludge.”

Elvis rolled back onto the heels of his expensive, Italian boots. He suddenly wished he’d worn an ascot today, it would have been nice to have something there to pull on for comfort. Instead, he braced himself at his hips, his stomach jutting up as he looked at George and frowned. She was pretty, smart, and the her utter obliviousness to how good looking she was, along with the way she seemed to try very hard to resist his advances, aroused him even more. But now she was criticizing how he took care of his cars and seemed to be questioning his very understanding of how motor vehicles. Which, to be fair to George, was an entirely accurate estimation of Elvis. His main question getting into one of his cars was: “Where is the key?” Though, in his defense, this was the only question usually necessary, because Lamar had been taking care of everything, until the ungrateful bastard had run off to work in Nashville and left the car maintenance to the other guys. Who had promptly forgot about it.

“Now, wait just a goddamn minute, honey, I don’t much appreciate the way y-y- y.”

Elvis clenched his fist and breathed deeply.

“If you are insinuating I don’t know how to take care of my cars, well, you must be outta your goddamn mind. Do you know how many cars I own? What my work schedule is like? I’ll have you know that I have so many cars, I just go out and jump into one, and usually everything is fine, cuz my guys keep em all lubed up real good. It’s just that, well, my car guy just quit, and this one musta fallen by the wayside before he left.”

“Hmmm.” George crossed her arms. “I can’t imagine why someone would want to leave your employment.”

“What’s that ‘sposed to mean?”

“It means that you are difficult and you are spoiled. And full of your self. Think you can go where ever you want, do whatever you please. Got my sister as your short order cook now too. You know, it is just the two of us running the motel and garage out here. She was supposed to be overseeing check out this morning, but no, she’s cooking for you, and so the maids were running to me for direction while she serves you breakfast.”

Elvis stepped forward, hovering over George’s face.

“Jealous, baby? Sounds a lot like you wished it were you a - puttin’ somethin’ in my mouth.”

George slapped him, her eyes on fire.

“Get out of my garage. You’re lucky I’m still willing to - to - work on your - your - stupid, absurdly customized, ridiculous car.”

Elvis rubbed his smarting cheek, with a smirk, then shook his head.

“Ok, ok. I’m leaving. I just came over to see what the diagnosis was, crazy woman.”

George turned around and went to grab a wrench.

“It’s going to be two more days, at the soonest. And I charge double for today, on account that it’s Sunday. Looking at that gold plated dashboard, I figure you can afford my hourly rate.”

“Mhmmm. Uh huh. Don’t you worry, honey, I’m used to paying women double for their hourly rate. Long as I get what I pay for.”

“Get. Out. Before I change my mind.”

George stared ahead at the tools hanging in front her, waiting for the sound of his footsteps to dissipate before she turned around and screamed into the counter below her. She hated Elvis Presley, she hated the ostentatious way he had poured money into superficial aspects of a car that do not make a difference to its performance, and she hated the way his smug face smirked down at her when he talked. But most of all, she hated, hated, hated the way he seemed to always be touching her, it wasn’t even necessarily sexual, just a reflex, like breathing.

“Like his stupid, heavy opened mouth breathing. Ugh. The sooner you get this car fixed, the sooner you an get him out of your hair and back on the road.”

George threw herself into fixing the Buick like a woman possessed.

************************************************************************

George did not join them for dinner, and Elvis politely asked Maude for a second helping of her chili con carne while Billy regaled her with tales from previous road trips. The sanitized versions, of course, with a promise that they would never pull any of the pranks he described at her motel.

“I reckon we ain’t never stayed here no how, cuz it’s so close to LA, usually try to get to Winslow the first night out to Memphis. Same on the way back, lessen we cut over to Sin City.”

He looked at Elvis, whose eyes were gazing at the lit window above the garage, his mind lost in thought remembering the fiery look in George’s hazel eyes, and the shapely contour of her bottom underneath his hands as he’d wiped the dirt off her the night before.

“Right, EP?” Billy repeated himself, and Elvis looked up in a daze, and stood.

“Hmmm, sorry y’all. This is very good chili, ma’am, very good. I like that you don’t put onions in yours, no, no, it’s just right. Just how I like it.”

He brought his bowl to the sink, and looked at Billy’s quizzical face, as he excused himself.

“I, uh, I. Well, I think I need to go apologize to your sister. I have a bad temper, I know it, boy do I know it. Mighty Mouth ova there knows it.”

Billy nodded, slowly, waiting to see where this was going.

”I ,uh, well, I reckon I need to go straighten things out with George, so she ain’t liable to pour sugar in my gas tank or nothin.”

George was on her third beer when she opened the door of her apartment to find Elvis’ dark front hair flop dangling down toward her. She sipped from the bottle as she started to ask him what he wanted, only to watch him push through her outstretched arm, the she was using to block his entry to her flat, and proceed to pace around the living room.

“Look, I came over because, uh, well.”

He ran his right hand through his hair, his left hand hitched at his belt. The sound of Patsy Cline singing wafted through the room as he turned.

“Well, I didn’t like how we left things earlier.”

“Mhmmm.”

George grunted, taking another swig of beer and holding the door open with the back of her bare foot. The strap of her her brown, A-line dress fell over her shoulder and she pulled it back up, fixing the loose bust that covered her small, modest bosom.

“Ok, apology accepted, you can go.”

Elvis raised his eyebrow and strode toward her.

“See, now that, that right there, is the problem. I come over to patch things up and you get all nasty. Like I was tha only one, uh, the only one spoutin’ vinegar earlier.”

His hands found their way to her hips, and rolled over them. George shivered at the warm murmur of his voice.

“Why is it so hard for you to just be nice to me? To just be a nice girl?”

George felt the cool of her beer bottle as it hung heavy in her right hand, her eyes flittered up to Elvis’ where he hovered over her, pushing her against the open, apartment door she had been so hasty to send him out of thirty seconds ago.

“But I’m not a nice girl, Mr. Presley.”

She lowered her yes, turning to the right.

“Why even pretend.” She whispered.

Elvis leaned forward.

“Hmmm."

His thumbs rolled up and down the sides of her belly like slow, small window wipers clearing away the doubt and hesitancy that tightened her stomach. His lips wavered over hers as he muttered into her cheek.

“How many times I gotta tell you to call me Elvis?”

He leaned in closer, lips just above her skin as she closed her eyes and a moan escaped her mouth. Elvis tightened his grip at her waist.

“Mr. Presley is my daddy.”

He laid his lips softly over her, as he smooshed into them awkwardly, tenderly, taking several clumsy tackles until they settled over hers and then gently crushed into her. All George could hear were the sloppy clicks of air echoing between their lips as she closed her eyes and felt his mouth press onto hers. His hands traced further down her sides and his tongue gently teased the entrance of her mouth.

George pulled back, panting, and pushed Elvis into the apartment, setting her beer on top of the bookcase by the door. He wiped his mouth, an apologetic expression forming as he started to talk.

“Oh man, I’m sorry, I , uh, I didn’—”

George put her finger to his mouth and pulled himto her. Elvis’ eyes lit up as he opened his lips over it and George pushed her finger inside his mouth, tingling with electricity as it grazed against Elvis’ teeth. She saddled closer, tilting her chest into his, lifting her self closer to his face. He inhaled with a shudder, hands stroking her waist, eyes closed, his lips more forceful now and she groaned as she met his tongue with hers. Elvis caught George as she tripped backwards and cupped her bottom cheeks, carrying her to the couch. Her arms wound around his neck and she peppered his face with sweet, light kisses.

He plopped down laughing as she straddled over his lap, exploring his neck with her mouth while her fingers grasped at the back of his head, hair, shoulders. Elvis hands roamed over the top of George’s brown cotton dress, slowly pulling it up as his thumbs trailed over the white panties he found there, roving over her thighs and around to caresses her buttucks. The way she looked down and blushed made Elvis’ cock twitch and she bit her lip when she felt it. Looking into his eye’s with devilish intent, George arched her eyebrow and slide down to the carpet to nestle herself between Elvis’ legs. His reached down to stop her eager hands, eyes narrowing as he shook his head.

“Uh uhhhhhh, you’re a nice girl, nice girls don, uh, well, nice girls don do that. Ain’t gonna let ya do something you gonna regret tomorrow morning.”

Elvis took her hand up, and kissed the bottom of her palm as George surged up taller on her haunches to kiss him back, her fingers caressed his neck as she moaned a whiny please into his mouth.

“Pleasseeee. This. This is my favorite thing.”

She kissed him, freeing her right hand from his grasp, and then dipping down to nuzzle against his hardened length.

“C’mon….uh…goddammit honey… fuck.”

He breathed in, opening his eyes to still her with a grip to her chin.

“You really wanna… wanna see ‘im, huh?”

George nodded, and bit her lip. A crooked grin spread over Elvis’ face as he shook his head again, and undid his belt, lifting up as he unzipped and pulled his pants down, his smile widening as George smiled coyly, waggling her eye brows and then leaning in to lightly kiss his foreskin. Elvis tilted his head back at the sensation, and thrust his hips closer to George’s face as she pressed her lips over the head, slowly gliding down as Elvis’ tip emerged from his foreskin.

He groaned out, and she giggled into the pink head of his penis. He opened his eyes and looked down, hand moving down to run his fingers through the side of her hair.

“What’s so funny, huh, lil girl?”

George savored the way his quizzical expression changed from amused to almost terrified pleasure as her lips popped off.

“You. The noises you make. I find them—” she dove back down, plunging farther as she finished her sentence with a mouth full of Elvis. “He-war-ee-ousss.”

Her response didn’t really register with him, as he sunk back into the couch cushions at the charged, blissful surge of George’s mouth up his cock, his fingers threading through the left side of her hair. Elvis bucked into her mouth as her lips met his base, and he hit the back of her throat. She smiled inward because she could tell he was trying to hold his hips still so as not to press to far in and gag her. His fingers were soft, and his mouth ushered forth a mantra of sweet “oh gawds,” as George sucked back and forth, her tongue darting to swirl around the edge, then she pulled off to catch her breath, looking up into Elvis’ sweet, grateful dopey smile. George beamed back, maintaining eye contact as she plunged down again with a fervent thirst, her cheeks hollowing with determination as she flattened her tongue beneath his cock, swallowing it in long, slow strokes, sinking down over him and relishing the needy, almost shocked look in his eyes as she throbbed up and down, his hand lightly following in her hair. His moans became louder, and George quickened her pace, thrusting her chest forward to delve further, harder, softer with each successive delicious movement downward. Elvis gripped her hair, looking down.

“Hey baby, heyyy, Immaa - Immma ‘bout to explode, hmmmm? ahhhhh”

George nodded, and groaned as her mouth worked its way down faster, sucking in with heightened, electric anticipation until she heard him cry out and felt the spasm of Elvis’ pulsating into her mouth. She swallowing, sloppily, as she rotated up and down, holding him at his waist for balance until he stilled, his hand caressing her cheek up and down. She settled back and leaned into his thigh, looking up at a goofy, crooked smile under eyes half lidded in contentment.

************************************************************************

It was 11 a.m. when Elvis awoke to Billy’s hand on his shoulder, bewildered and uncertain where he was. He made eye contact with his cousin, taking in how the furnishings of George’s bedroom looked in the morning (technically it was still morning).

Elvis blinked, unlike Billy, he didn't know what time it was, or why his cousin was there, or where the occupant of the apartment was.

“Heh, uh, hey there, Bill, what’s - uh - what’s the idea?”

Billy gulped, this was not the most embarrassing situation he had ever been in. Not by far. So he smiled, and looked around, beginning to gather up Elvis pants, socks and shoes, which were carefully folded and stacked on the cedar chest at the end of the bed.

“Uh, hey, man, uh Joe’s here. Sonny and Alan too. We’re, uh, all paid up, ready to head out? I brought ya some coffee.”

Elvis sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

“Uh, wait, what, uh, what about the car?”

Billy looked back out to the living room as Elvis stood and put his pants on.

“Um, its ready, actually.”

Elvis looked up from where he was rolling his sock over his foot.

“What?”

“Uh, yeah, Maude, um, Miss Morgenstern, that is, well, um, she said her sister must have gotten up and been working on it from four or five this morning ‘fore she lit out for Carson City.”

Elvis started buttoning up his shirt.

“Carson City?”

Billy coughed and straightened his own shirt.

“Uh, yeah, Miss George, um. Well, guess she had to go pick up some auto supplies or sumpthin’ like that. Gosh, huh, girl mechanic, can’t believe it, right? Maybe those little hands give ‘em an advantage?”

He gulped again as he met Elvis’ disappointed stare.

“Yeah, erm, um. Anyhow, she’s not fixing to be back til late tonight.”

They were twenty minutes outside of Los Angeles when Joe and Sonny watched the white Buick Skylark pull over in front of them. Jumping out of the black, Lincoln Contintential they were driving behind Billy and Elvis, Sonny walked up the passenger side of the car and leaned over the rail.

“Sup boss?”

Elvis gripped the steering wheel, then lifted his right hand to fix his yachting hat.

“Goddamit, what do ya think Son, Billy left my goddamn toiletry bag back at that goddamn motel in the middle of goddamn nowhere. Gonna have to go back.”

Billy started to interject, saying, “I double, triple checked and we didn—” but was met with a swift elbow to the ribs.

Sonny clenched his fists as he walked back to Joe, asked for all the money in Joe’s wallet, and handed it over to Elvis, before watching the Skylark make a three point turn and head back along the road into the powder blue sky behind them.

************************************************************

Many thanks to my fellow players @missmaywemeetagain @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @whositmcwhatsit

#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x oc #elvis smut #writing prompt game #thatbanditqueen #georgesgarage

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unactivewaspsfics · 2 years ago

Text

The Southern Charm

A/N: I'm trying new formatting… Idk what works with me JUST yet so if this is the only post with this kind of formatting, you know :D I will say depending on how interested I am I may make a part two… Who knows lmao <;33 also I WAS gonna post this at 12 am but the demons won and I am posting it at like 9 >:D

Pairing: Cole Cassidy x NB!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Romance, SFW

CW: Pet names, flirting, minor cussing, and kissing?! (😦)

Word Count: 1,090 or so

Summary:

While you are traveling to visit family who begged you to come down, you decide to take a pit-stop break at a small Texan town on Route 66. This was your first stop in any considerable amount time but it has a lot of southern charm, and one cowboy you grab your eye is ALL southern and lots, and I mean lots, of charm. I guess you can say you two went on a date too.

You grabbed your bags as you waited for the train to finally pause on its tracks and for the conductor to confirm everyone can leave. It had been a super long train ride, not being helped at all by the dizzy feeling of motion sickness you had mid-train ride. While gathering your things, you sighed. How long was it to go from South Carolina to California? You thought while looking out the window.

Desert. A town surrounded by sand, dead trees, and cacti. What a great first look at Texas. Although, you couldn't really complain. It was time to stretch your legs and sleep on an actual bed... If there is a motel here, you weren’t one-hundred percent sure what was even in this town. I mean, there has to be a place to eat, especially since you were starving. What food could be there? Fries maybe... or even grilled cheese... you are in texas so there has to be barbeque.

You were interrupted by your thoughts by the train conductor speaking. “Everyone is now free to leave! There is a restaurant for your hungry folks, a nearby motel, a gas station, and of course the train station! The next train will be here tomorrow morning heading more south..”

His voice started fading from your ears as you stood up, trying to move through the slightly crowded hallway. You held onto your bag tightly, so as to not lose what you have, as you pushed through groups of people. Before you knew it, you were outside in the Texas sun. It was decent, not too hot and not too windy.

“Now... where is…” you asked yourself while walking out of the train station to locate the restaurant. “Oh, there it is!” you said happily, fixing your bag before starting to walk to the restaurant. You had no idea last time you had a full meal, I mean yeah you brought snacks for the train but that couldn't be counted as a meal. You looked around at the people in this town and you were very out of place. People here wore old western clothes. Boots, cowboy hats, and some had lassos on their belts. It was like you were in an actual western movie.

While looking at everyone, you caught the eye of a certain cowboy. He wore a red poncho with a brown hat and lots of facial hair. He also has a lot of metal on him. ‘He must get hot in all of that... And his hand is also robotic?’ you asked yourself as he started to walk your way. Your eyes raised up to the man's face, a slight nervousness coming up. You weren't nervous because of his good looks, but because he saw you looking at him. He started to walk to you, a southern chuckle emerging from his lips as he finished the cigar he was smoking, throwing it on the ground and stomping on it.

You fixed your posture and put up a nervous grin, hoping he wouldn't yell at you for staring.. Although it would be acceptable, I mean, you would do the same. “Someone seems to like our town,” he said in a teasing tone while you looked up at him nervously. “Sorry I was staring, I’ve never been here before and I just am surprised everyone here wears cowboy hats and stuff” you explained as the Cowboy laughed slightly more.

“You've never been here before? Well may I welcome such an attractive person like yourself to this little town I call home?” he asked, bowing with open arms for a moment before standing up and placing his hand on the holster of his gun. You were taken aback by how flirtatious he was being right now, I mean, calling you attractive in less than a minute of meeting? You gave a nervous laugh while covering your face slightly. “It’s an honor to be here, Mister…?” you asked, lowering your hand as you started to process how hungry you actually were. “Cole, Cole Cassidy at your service,” he replied, tilting the brim of his hat to you. “Sorry for the conversation change but I haven’t eaten an actual meal in fucking forever- is that café any good?” you asked, pointing to the only restaurant in sight.

“The Panorama Diner? Oh yeah, it’s good… As good as a place in the middle of nowhere can be” he laughed, turning his body to the diner. “Hey, do you wanna eat with me? I’ll pay for your meal if you agree, stunning traveler” he half-joked, starting to walk to the diner. Obviously, you agreed, I mean, free food and the ability to go on an unofficial date with a handsome cowboy, it’s a win-win! “It would be an honor to be on a date with someone who has all the southern charm in the world” you replied, quickening your pace to catch up with Cole.

“So, where are you going up to? Arizona? Washington? Or are you here to stay in this little town with little ol’ me?” Cole asked with a raised eyebrow, leaning towards you before leaning back to normal. You laughed, fixing the bag around your body. “Despite the fact I would love to stay here with you, I have to go to California to visit family!” you replied with a laugh, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Damn, looks like you have a whole lotta more ways to go, but I ain’t the one to question why someone goes places” he laughed, his smile growing slightly as you two stepped up the stairs of the Diner.

The Diner didn’t look that bad, and I mean it was busy so it had to be good. “Oh, by the way,” he stopped in front of the door to look at you. “I may be a little bit popular here, so if you see people looking at you they aren’t in awe of how breathtaking you look, they just are wondering why you were chosen to go out with me” he jokingly said, nudging your arm with his elbow before laughing. Cole opened the door and motioned for you to go inside first. You stepped in, the smell of food overwhelming your nose, the coolness of the building that contrasted the outside dryness, and the talk of the people was the best thing ever to your right now.

The two of you walked in and seated yourselves, Cole grabbed a menu as the two of you were heading to a booth next to a window. You sat opposite each other. Cole handed you a menu and you glanced over it, all the food options looked so good. “Hey- what do you always get here?” you asked as Cole looked up from his hand resting on the table. “I get the pie, but if you want a good meal,” he began, leaning over the table and pointing to the ‘Texan Charmer’ which was a burger and fries. “Now that's what I normally get” He laughed looking up at you. You met eyes with him as he leaned back down with a growing smile. “I think I’ll get that, and maybe an apple pie after. If you say it's good it has to be, right?” you jokingly asked him as he laughed. “I mean, if I say something is good in any sense, it’s one hundred percent true,” he half-joked, causing you to give a small chuckle.

Cole raised his hand up to have a waitress, the only waitress, come over and take the orders of both of you. This gave both of you time to talk and get to know each other. “So, why did you ask me out to go eat?” you asked, leaning on the table a bit towards Cole. “Well- Unlike everyone else on that train you were alone and caught my eye,” He said, a bit nervously, clearing his throat. “And I didn’t want anyone else to try anything on ya, since there are few gangs and stuff here” he explained, looking away from you. “Wow that- that’s sweet of you, it’s honestly a surprise,” you laughed, causing Cole to grumble a bit as the food was brought and placed on the tablet with your drinks.

You looked at the food in awe after thanking the waitress. “This smells so good,” you stated, grabbing some fries and putting them in your mouth. “Everything here is a homemade, fun fact!” he replied, grabbing a fry with his robotic arm. “Hey, that’s mine!” you jokingly said while leaning over to get it back. “And who's paying for your food again?” he asked in a teasing tone, raising his hand slightly out of reach. You reached for the fry one more time before leaning back with a fake annoyed look. “Hey, don’t worry buttercup,” he started, eating the stolen fry. “You have plenty more fries to eat on that plate of yours... In the meantime though,” he changed the subject to his food, his apple pie.

The two of you ate in general silence, only talking or commenting on the food once or twice. “Is that pie any good?” you asked cole with a raised eyebrow, already finished your burger and most of your fries. “Best I've ever had actually,” he laughed, taking another bite with his fork. “If you want a bite just ask, I’m... I’m not hungry anymore,” he said, looking away from you as he pushed the pie and his fork toward you. “No way am I eating this myself, especially when I can share it with a handsome cowboy like yourself,” you flirted, sticking your tongue out at him as he chuckled. “Fine then, guess I can’t miss the opportunity to eat with someone as stuntin’ like yourself, darlin’,” he replied, his southern accent coming through in that sentence.

So, as stated, the two of you shared the desert together. You were more flustered than he was, never really sharing food like that with a stranger- or more of a new friend. Crush maybe? You didn’t know what was the right thing to call him as of current. After he had paid for both of your meals, you two decided to head out. You had to get a motel room so he decided to walk with you. It was sundown, so you assumed Cole wanted to be ‘protective’ of you. It was slightly comforting. As you walked Cole lit a cigar.

“So, how long did ya say you were staying here?” he asked you, putting the cigar in his mouth. “Just until the next train comes here,” you replied, taking a step closer to Cole, finding comfort in him the more you two hung out together. “I think the next train will be here tomorrow afternoon,” you added. Cole nodded silently as you spoke, taking the cigar out of his mouth for a moment to have fresh air before putting it back. “Hey- will you at least see me before you leave?” he asked nervously, clearing his throat. “I would- I want to exchange numbers... In case you wanna come to visit” he said, changing his demeanor from nervous to flirtatious. “Or if you wanna spend the night at my place, you're free too.” You laughed, nodding your head as you leaned your whole upper body on him as you two walked to the motel.

“Despite the fact I would love to spend the night with you, maybe another day” you replied, opening the door to the motel check-in. Cole dropped his cigar and stomped it out as you asked for a one-night motel room. It was pretty quick to get you one, which you were glad for. Cole followed you to your hotel room, watching as you unlocked the door and threw your bag in real quickly.

“Well, Darlin’... It was nice spending the day with you. Tomorrow I'll stop by to say goodbye, yeah?” he asked, cupping your cheek with a chuckle. You smiled, grabbing his face with your hands and leaning his face towards you, the smell of cigar almost making you lean back. “I guess i will be waiting then” you smiled, leaning your face forward and giving him a cheek kiss, moving your hands as he stood slightly shocked, and a bit offended you didn’t kiss him on the lips. But I mean, you can’t have him be too eager, now can you?

You walked into the motel, turning to Cole with a grin.

“See you tomorrow, Darlin’!”

#cole cassidy #cole cassidy x reader #cole cassidy overwatch #overwatch 2 x reader #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you #cole overwatch x reader #cole cassidy oneshot #overwatch oneshot #overwatch 2 #sorry for adding his old name after this I just want more people to see this..#I dont support calling him his old name and I am so sorry so so so sorry #overwatch mccree #mccree x reader #jesse mcree

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hanasnx · 2 years ago

Text

❝ exit music for a film. ❞

── knightfall!anakin skywalker x reader

PART ONE ✩ PART TWO ✩ PART THREE

MINORS DNI 18+ WORD COUNT: 1k SUMMARY: somehow aware of anakin skywalker's knightfall before the events take place, you seek to change the ending before it happens. NOTES: based on the dream i had last night where i knew everything that happened in rots & couldn't tell anybody & was trying to change the ending of the movie. WARNINGS: lowkey angst | minimal violence

── PREVIOUSLY: in your haste to save the lives anakin takes, you miscalculated. leading the newly brandished sith lord to mistrust you. a costly, and hazardous mistake. as your goodbye to this world, you granted him a kiss. using his confusion, you narrowly escaped. As if a gift from the gods themselves, you were granted mercy, and you slipped out from the corridor, allowing him time to process what had happened as you escaped. By the time he looked around the corner to ask you why you came onto him... now of all times... you were gone.

You pressed your back to the cold surface of the wall, a hand on your chest to calm your rapid breathing. It escaped you as to how whatever you thought to pull had miraculously bought you precious time.

The legs underneath you shook as you ventured, scrambling to decide your next move based on efficiency. As much as your knowledge served you, chronologically you were lost. Based on your surroundings, you’d say you’d delayed Order 66’s command. Which meant Anakin was most likely busy with something.

You slowed to a halt. As if the very blood inside you that once roared past your ears, froze in your veins. In your attempt to solve one problem, you’d created an entirely new one.

ANAKIN SKYWALKER hunted you.

It kickstarted your tendons, springing them into action in a sprint.

“Hey!” he called out from behind you— the devil man. His heavy steps thundered down the stairs behind you; you didn’t dare look back lest you fall victim to his paralyzing appearance. You didn’t have to be part of battle to understand the fear Anakin inflicted on his enemies. To live it firsthand such as this was terrifying enough. “Hey—! Stop! I wanna talk to you!” His pace quickened, and your route had to change, spotting the elevator. To avoid his indomitable force grab— which would doubtlessly rope you in and squeeze the life out of you like a viper— you dove in, cowering in cover as you feverishly pressed the button.

As if the gods were recanting their gift, precious seconds were wasted as you dispiritedly wished the elevator to close, until you realized it was purposeful. So you peeked past the purview, observing his outstretched hand forced not you, but the doors to remain open. A squeak of fright emitted from you, loose gripped hands trembling as they yanked the blaster out of the holster on your hip.

He was close.

You’d prayed you’d never have to use this. Staring hard at the weapon in your hands, you had no time to think of anything else. The dead giveaway you were Anakin’s enemy would be revealed.

He was so close.

Even the General could not focus on two things at once. Your rapid blaster fire— shit aim as it was— caused him to release the doors, and agonizingly slow they began to close. His growl reverberated with the beat of your chest, alternating between dodging and redirecting the shots with the force. When he drew his saber, you didn’t realize you backed up. Your body had a mind of its own, desperate to put more space between the two of you as he advanced on you with newfound exuberance, stamping yourself to the wall as you hopelessly fired til the gun was hot in your grip.

The hard expression he wore, the blazing focus in his eyes— eyes burning into you, as his cloak billowed behind him, and his saber in his hands. He looked lovecraftian. As if he had the power to drive a storm to bow to him, bend to his will. Your subconscious subjugation lingered when the doors cut him from your line of sight.

A loud bang of his metal fist against the shell made you flinch.

From overheating, your blaster jammed as soon as you’d been freed from your most recent life threatening altercation. Now foreign in your hand, you tossed it away from you. A sick feeling rose in the pit of your stomach, churning bile. You did not relax from the wall behind you, frozen in place as if Anakin still faced you. Fresh memory haunting your mind’s eye of his bloodthirsty rampage, imposing on any rational thought you could muster.

Adrenaline impossilized the quiet elevator ride up. What if he outran you? What if he hung from beneath and his saber would cauterize through the floor any second? Sweat beaded at your forehead as you eyed the ground underneath you cautiously. Sea legs fooled you into believing you were rising at a slant, and that he’d somehow found a way to divert the elevator’s destination. It was just your imagination, and to distract yourself, you lifted your wrist COMM to your lips, whispering as if the Ghost of the Republic were listening in on your conversation, privy to your strategy.

“R-8? R-8, are you there?”

A reassuring beep let you know he’d not been smashed in Anakin’s stray rage from your getaway.

“Meet me at the top of the tower, on the roof. Ran into some trouble.”

R-8 confirmed, your astromech on his way to rendezvous brought little relief when the most powerful Jedi of this galaxy was after you, and you’d just invited him to.

You stamped your foot, if you’d been smarter you might’ve reached the briefing room here that monitored COMM usage from Jedi and Clones alike. General Kenobi could’ve been notified— he must be on Utapau dealing with General Grievous.

Unfortunately, you knew the Jedi forces were spread thin.

No one was coming to your rescue.

However, if you stalled long enough, perhaps an alternative, more agreeable outcome would come to pass. Every time you’d seen the ending, the entire journey leading up to it your futile wishful thinking drove you to beg for a chance to change it. Maybe it’ll be different this time. He’ll understand the true consequences, he’ll make the right choice. The trust in him is not misplaced, he’ll save himself… therefore, saving everyone.

It never turned out that way, did it? If he didn’t make those choices, if he wasn’t backed into a corner, coerced into his insanity like a starved, wild animal… he wouldn’t be Anakin Skywalker would he?

Yet, you still loved him.

The poetic tragedy of his life, rolled up into a long, arduous scroll. Sealed with blood.

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sequinsmile-x · 7 months ago

Text

The Albatross - Part 2

Her last thought is of her family, their happy faces staring down at her from the picture on her desk.

A reimagining of Route 66, in which Emily experiences complications from an old injury.

Part 2/2

Part 1

-x-

Hi friends,

Thank you so much for the love on the first part of this - it really means the world to me. <3

As always, please let me know what you think!

-x-

Warnings: Emily Prentiss whump, surgery/injury

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily stares ahead, her eyes fixed on the woman in front of her who she knew was long since dead. She chuckles to herself, shaking her head as she first presses her fingers to her temple before her hands slip to her mouth, briefly covering it as she starts to pace.

“I’m asleep,” she says, shaking her head at herself, “I was in my office…” she stops walking back and forth, slowly coming to a stop as her sentence drifts off, “Am I asleep at my desk?”

“Emily.”

She turns to look at Haley, her head moving so sharply she thinks it should hurt, that the tendons should pull, but it doesn’t. Haley’s smile is soft and kind, and everything Emily remembered her to be, but it tips her over the edge.

“I was in my office. I stood up…” she says, swallowing thickly as her hands drift to her abdomen, a flash of the pain she’d been in rolling through her before it completely disappears, “I…I was in my office. Did I pass out?”

She knows she’s repeating herself, but she can’t get past it, can’t figure out what is happening to her. For a moment, she wonders if she’s dead. If something had happened to her that she can’t remember, a haze hanging over her that she can’t shake off, but then she remembers that she’s died before, that it was nothing like this. There were no kind faces of the people she’d once known, no movie theatre as a backdrop. There had been nothing. Just darkness. The kind of inky blackness you only see when you close your eyes at night, a stark reminder every day when she tried to sleep of what she’d once feared her destiny would be.

It didn’t scare her like it once had. It wasn’t the prelude to almost constant nightmares anymore. They still happened but they were rarer, held off by Aaron’s warm body next to hers, by the weight of his arm over her waist, by the knowledge her sons were nearby.

She thinks of Aaron, of the boys, but any panic she might have felt disappears in a second when Haley places her hand on her arm and squeezes gently. Emily looks down, the warmth of Haley’s skin against hers a surprise, and then she meets the other woman’s eyes.

The eyes she’d passed on to the boy they were both lucky enough to call their son.

“Come with me,” Haley says, tilting her head towards the movie theatre behind them, and Emily nods, letting herself be led towards it, her unanswered questions still on the tip of her tongue.

___

He gets in the ambulance with her.

For a moment, he almost doesn’t, thrown off when the paramedic tells him he can’t have Issac in the ambulance with him, his attention torn between his whimpering son in his arms and his still-unconscious wife on the gurney in front of him. It’s too similar to what he’s been through before, his hands sticky with Haley’s blood as he held Jack close to him, and he freezes. It’s only when JJ places her hand on his shoulder that he gets pulled out of it, her smile soft and reassuring as she takes Issac from him again, settling the baby on her hip and assuring him she would take him back to hers, that she’d ask Will to get Jack from school. He nods as he presses a kiss to Issac’s head, whispering against his dark hair that he loves him, that Mommy does too, and then he climbs into the ambulance.

He holds her hand the entire way, and the lack of her familiar grip, the way she’d always squeeze his hand back almost by habit, makes him ache. The doctor has to tell him that he can’t follow them once they arrive at the hospital, standing strong in the face of Aaron’s glare, the stern look that had almost never failed him. He collapses into a chair in the waiting room he’s directed to, his hands tight in his lap. He stares at his knuckles as his skin stretches over them, stark white broken up by scars from when he’d killed Foyet, when his skin had torn open so he could get vengeance for the woman he loved.

He can’t do that now. He can’t do anything other than sit and wait for someone to tell him what was going on, to tell him why he’d found his wife unconscious and unresponsive on the floor of her office. He plays over the last few days in his head, thinks about her behaviour first thing that morning and berates himself for not saying anything further, his head in his hands as he wishes he could go back and push her into telling him what was wrong.

Time moves like syrup, seconds passing by as if they were minutes, hours, his watch and the clock on the wall mocking him every time he checks them. He finds himself counting the small square tiles on the floor, desperate for something to focus on other than the fact he might be about to lose the love of his life.

“Family of Emily Prentiss?”

He stands up, almost tripping over his feet as he approaches the doctor who had sent him to the waiting room in the first place, “Yes, I’m her husband. What’s going on? Can I see her?”

The doctor puts his hand up to stop any further questions, “We’re preparing your wife for surgery, I have a few questions for you about her medical history if that’s okay?”

Aaron nods and clears his throat as the doctor encourages him to sit back down, “Surgery?”

“We found quite extensive internal bleeding in your wife’s abdomen,” he says, “She has a large scar in the area, do you know what caused it?”

He closes his eyes and covers them with his palms as he rests his elbows on his knees. Familiar anger for Ian Doyle threatens to burn him from the inside out, “She was stabbed a few years ago with a table leg. She almost died."He sees the look of horror pass over the doctor’s face for a second before he can control it, “We work for the FBI.”

The doctor nods, “And according to her notes she had a baby a few months ago?”

“Six months ago,” Aaron confirms, “Our son, Issac, he’s six months old.”

“And she delivered vaginally?”

Aaron nods again, “Yeah. It was a long labour, but she did,” he frowns as he looks at the doctor, “Why? What does that have to do with anything?”

The doctor sighs, his lips pressed together as he carefully chooses his words, “I won’t know more until we’re in surgery, but it’s likely that given the amount of scarring your wife has the strain of labour is what caused the internal bleeding to happen.”

He feels his heart clench in his chest, his ribs sore as he tries to suck in a breath and he chokes on a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, “She’s been…” he swallows thickly, “This has been happening for months?”

The doctor smiles tightly at him, “It’s hard to know when it started, but she will have been in severe discomfort the last few days,” he says as he stands up, resting his hand briefly on Aaron’s shoulder as he smiles sympathetically, “I’ll make sure you’re updated throughout the surgery.”

Aaron nods, “Thank you.”

As soon as he’s alone, his shoulder slump, the weight of what the doctor had told him almost pinning him down.

He goes back to counting the tiles, determined to focus on anything other than the fact it felt nothing short of his fault that his wife was having surgery.

___

She doesn’t remember how they get into the screen, but it’s just her and Haley sitting there, surrounded by empty seats. Emily looks up at the screen in front of her and gasps when she sees Aaron and Jack, both in the matching suits they wore on their wedding day, their smiles wide as she walks towards them down the aisle in Dave’s backyard.

“You looked beautiful.”

Haley’s compliment seems to kickstart something in her brain, she jumps up, the desire to see her family overwhelming, “I need to get home.”

“Emily, you can’t leave yet,” Haley says, placing her hand on her arm and encouraging her back down, “We have time.”

Emily frowns, “Time for what? What is this place-”

“Emily,” Haley says, fiercer this time, her eyebrow raised as she forces her to sit back down, “You are just as stubborn as Aaron. How do you two ever get anything done?”

She huffs out a breath and looks back at the screen, any fleeting irritation she may have felt disappearing as she smiles at the sight of her and Aaron, the way he leans in and presses a soft kiss against her cheek, “We figure it out. Most of the time.”

Haley hums, “I always thought there was something between the two of you,” she says, staring straight ahead as Emily turns to look at her, “I even argued with him about it once before we separated. I was sure he had a crush on you.”

Guilt she doesn’t expect or understand floods Emily’s chest. When she first started dating Aaron, he and Jack still felt like Haley’s. She was careful about her place in their lives, desperate to ensure she never overstepped. As time went on, she became more confident of who she was to them both, and they started to feel like hers. They still kept Haley a part of their lives, made sure pictures of her were spread throughout their home. Emily was already thinking of ways they’d make sure Issac knew about her, so the little boy would know about Jack’s first mom and her bravery.

“I’m sorry.”

Haley shakes her head, “You have nothing to be sorry for,” she turns to look at her, sincerity shining from her eyes, “I think you’re better suited for him than I ever was, you understand him. And his job,” she looks back at the screen and sighs sadly when she looks at Jack, the little boy’s smile wide as he snuggles into Emily’s side on their couch at home, “He’s grown so much.”

Emily isn’t sure what makes her decide to tell Haley about her own son, not when she’s not entirely sure what is happening, what’s making her see and feel Haley in the way that she was, but she does, pride seeping into every word.

“He’s so smart. He loves math, and knows every fact possible about the solar system,” she chuckles, “He loves being a big brother. He helps with Issac all the time.”

Haley smiles, “He calls you mom.”

She freezes, the smile slipping from her face as she nods, “Yeah, he does.”

Haley places her hand over Emily’s and squeezes, “He loves you. If someone else has to be his mom, I am so glad it’s you.”

The sincerity in Haley’s voice takes Emily aback, a surprised chuckle escaping her as she squeezes the other woman’s hand back. She hadn’t realised how much she’d needed to hear it, how much she’d wanted to know Haley would be okay with the place she had taken in Jack’s life. She looks around the movie theatre again, the strangeness of the situation once again sinking in.

“Is this real?”

Haley shrugs, her eyes drifting back to the screen, her smile turning sad as she watches Jack hold his little brother, “It’s as real as you want it to be,” she says, before she turns back to Emily, “You’ll look after them, right?”

Emily nods, her smile soft and fleeting as everything around her gets brighter and Haley fades away, “Always.”

___

She groans when she wakes up. The first thing she feels is Aaron’s hand around hers, and then she feels the pain.

“Em?”

She opens her eyes, her lashes feeling like they are glued together as she blinks, “Aaron?”

The relief he feels is palpable and overwhelming. He sits on the edge of her bed and lifts her hand to his lips, stamping a kiss against her knuckles, “Yeah, it’s me,” he kisses her hand again, “How are you feeling?”

She groans, everything slowly coming back to her. She swallows thickly, her throat sore and dry, and she shakes her head as she tries to clear her vision, “Thirsty.”

He picks up the cup of water on the side table and holds the straw to her mouth. He smiles when she glares at him, her attitude dampened by her inability to lift her arms due to the pain in her abdomen and the paleness of her skin. She sips the water anyway and it soothes her throat despite being room temperature.

“Thanks,” she says, licking her lips to capture the drop of water that lands on them, “What happened?”

“You had internal bleeding,” he says, wrapping his hands around one of hers again.

“Internal bleeding?” She asks, frowning in confusion, “How?”

“Complications from your scar tissue,” he says simply, keeping the rest of it to himself for now, not wanting to overwhelm her until the doctor could explain it all to them both. “You passed out at work, I found you in your office.”

She blows out a slow breath and closes her eyes. She knows how she’d feel if it was the other way around, if she’d found him like that, and she squeezes his hand with what little strength she can find, “I’m sorry.”

“The doctor said you must have been in pain for a while, sweetheart,” he says, reaching up and tucking some of her hair behind her ear, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She sighs and rests her head on her pillow, “I thought I was getting my period or something, or that my body was still readjusting after having Issac.”

He shifts closer and rests his forehead against hers. He takes a moment to breathe her in, to feel her breath skipping across his skin, “When you’re better, we’re going to talk about you keeping this kind of thing from me.”

She chuckles lightly and nods, her forehead bumping against his, “Deal,” she says, kissing him gently, the cannula delivering her oxygen tickling his nose, “Where are the boys?”

“With JJ and Will,” he says, “I’ll bring them by tomorrow.”

She nods, pushing away her desperation to see them for the time being, “Can you stay?”

He smiles and kisses her again, “Nothing could make me leave,” he promises her, “Not even the scary nurse outside that would give Strauss a run for her money.”

She laughs and then groans immediately, “Please don’t make me laugh, it hurts.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

She hums and looks down at their hands, and she takes a moment to look at their wedding rings. She smiles as she looks back up at him, “I had the weirdest dream.”

___

Emily was furious at her husband.

It wasn’t because he was hovering, or because he was following the doctor’s orders to the letter since she was released from the hospital a week ago, but because he was an idiot.

She was stuck in bed watching TV when Jack snuck into the room, a bowl of ice cream in one hand and a homemade card in the other. He sat next to her as they shared the ice cream, his head on her shoulder as he told her the sweet treat made everything better. She found that she agreed, the combination of the dessert and a cuddle from her eldest going a long way to making her feel better. She only gets a chance to look at the card he’d made her once he’s out of the room, gleefully helping Aaron with dinner, and that’s when she notices the letter accidentally glued to the back of it.

She peels it off, frowning when she realises it’s from the hospital and addressed to Aaron. Her confusion turns into anger, frustration aimed at her husband thrumming under her skin, when she sees it’s for a consultation for a vasectomy.

She doesn’t say anything for hours, letting the anger simmer low in her gut as they eat dinner in bed and spend some time with the boys until Aaron puts them down for the night. When he walks back into the room, a smile on his face, she pulls the letter out of the nightstand she’d hidden it in. She throws it onto his side of the bed and his eyes go wide as he picks it up.

“Where did you get this?” He asks, an edge of irritation in his tone that only makes her more angry.

“Jack made me a card, it was glued to the back of it,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest as she looks at him expectantly, “Well? Were you ever planning on telling me that you are planning on getting a vasectomy, or were you just going to wait until I started talking about having another baby?”

He groans, running his hands through his hair before he places his hands on his hips. He was going to tell her before the appointment, but every time he tried he’d freeze up, the same worry and guilt he’d felt when the doctor had first spoken to him at the hospital climbing up his throat.

“Em-”

“You can’t make this decision for us, Aaron,” she seethes, her teeth clenched as she keeps her voice low, well aware of the two sleeping little boys down the hall, “This is something we should talk about together,” she chuckles wryly, “I want another baby, you know that-”

“And I want you,” he shouts, the fight draining out of him as he watches his word register, her eyes wide as she stares at him. He sighs and closes his eyes, reaching out and placing his hand on her thigh, “I want you, Em. If I lost you…” he chokes on a sob, everything he’d repressed since he found her in her office forcing its way to the surface, “I wouldn’t survive that.”

When the doctor explained that her labour, and the strain it had put on her body, had caused the tearing of her scar tissue, she’d seen her husband’s reaction. She’d seen how he’d curled in on himself. She later found out that he’d already known, that he’d found out that their decision to have a baby, their precious son whom they both loved more than life itself, could have killed her before he knew she’d survive. It had upset her too, her hopes of having another child seemingly dashed until she spoke briefly to her OBGYN who said they’d discuss everything once she’d healed, that there were potential options for her if she decided to get pregnant again.

She’s pulled out of the trance she’d fallen into when she sees a tear slip down his cheek, love for him forcing her body forward, the pain in her abdomen a second thought as she wraps her hand around his and pulls him towards the bed. Any anger she’d been feeling disappears in a heartbeat, overwhelmed and chased away by her love for him, as he pulls her into a hug.

“Aaron, honey,” she says, cupping his head as she pulls back, her arms heavy and tired as she makes him look at her. She wipes a tear away from his cheek, her chest hollowed out and aching when it’s immediately replaced, “We don’t know what’s going to happen. Ever. My job is dangerous, I could get hurt at any time, but I collapsed in my office,” she smiles softly as she wipes another tear from his cheek, “We’ll talk to my doctor, figure out our options and go from there. She might recommend I don’t get pregnant again…” she trails off, swallowing thickly at just the thought of it, preemptive grief for something she wants so desperately filling her lungs, “She might say I need to be induced earlier, monitored more closely or have a c-section,” she shrugs and blows out a slow breath, “But we have those conversations and make those decisions together, okay?”

He rests his forehead against hers, his hand wrapped around a fistful of the t-shirt she was wearing, “Yeah, okay,” he says, pulling back to look at her, his smile shaky, “I’m sorry.”

She nods and wipes one more tear from his cheek before she settles back down, wincing a little as he helps her.

“That’s okay,” she assures him, encouraging him closer, smiling as he settles into her side, “We’ll talk about it some more when I’m better,” she says, turning her head to look at him, “But you’re not the only person in this house prone to trying to make decisions for everyone around them without asking for help.”

He chuckles dryly and rests his cheek on the top of her head, pausing to kiss her hairline before he continues, “Yeah, we really need to make Issac kick that habit.”

She laughs and then immediately winces, her hand flying to her abdomen as she hisses, “I forgot how much recovering from abdominal surgery sucks.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, kissing her head again before he pulls away and checks his watch, “You’re due some more meds so I’ll go get them for you.”

She smiles gratefully at him and reaches for his hand, wrapping hers around it before he stands up, “I love you so much, you know that, right?”

He nods and leans in to kiss her, his lips soft against hers, delicate and gentle as if she might break into a million pieces, a part of him still worried she could shatter right in front of him. She knows it will take a while for that to fade, for him to stop looking at her like he might lose her, so she doesn’t complain.

“I know, Em. I love you too,” he assures her, stamping his lips against hers once more before he stands up, “Do you want anything else whilst I’m downstairs?”

She smiles as she acts like she’s thinking about it and he raises his eyebrow at her, letting her know he already knows what she’s going to say.

“Ice cream?” She says, and he laughs, shaking his head lovingly as she scoffs in fake annoyance, “I’ll have you know, ice cream has healing powers. Just ask Jack.”

He chuckles and nods, continuing his journey to the bedroom door, “Who am I to argue with that? Ice cream it is.”

She sighs as he leaves the room and she rests her head back against the headboard. When she closes her eyes, she thinks of Haley and the promise she’d made her and she smiles.

She’d happily spend the rest of her life looking after her Hotchner boys.

-x-

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