#but I could live without coleslaw | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

banisheed · 2 years ago

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TIMING: Some time ago LOCATION: Regis Coleslaw's Apartment PARTIES: Siobhan and Emilio SUMMARY: In 2018, Regis Coleslaw posed for a new employee at Shift Space, Inc. Overworked, underpaid and underappreciated, Regis forced herself to smile as widely as she could. She was looking forward to a quiet night in her apartment, curled up with her cat and her succulents. She cut across the Wormwoods, hoping for a shortcut. In 2023, Siobhan Dolan hires Emilio Cortez to help locate the woman she thinks she's looking for. They discover the outcome of Regis's shortcut and the reality of living half-lives.

—

The piss-boy, Emilio Cortez, could not be trusted. What sort of man didn’t know how to potty train a dog, was poor, had an office that looked either like a bad noir film or a high-budget porno? And what was PI if not the first two letters in ‘piss’? No, Siobhan had to make sure this was done yet. If Regis Coleslaw was her banshee, she needed to be there. Regis would like to see a friendly and beautiful face, she thought. Instead of the unfriendly, but still beautiful, face of Emilio. Yes, one thing the piss-boy did have going for him was his looks. It was tragic they were wasted on someone so poor and stupid. “I doubt Regis Coleslaw would live in a hovel such as this,” Siobhan commented loudly, waving at the dilapidated building they were approaching. When she’d gotten word that Emilio was hot on the trail of Regis, she’d come along without invitation or notice or apology. Which was typically how she went anywhere. “Are you sure your information is correct? I expected less…” She pointed to the small pile of trash bags by the door, buzzing with an orchestra of flies. “…let’s just say I expected it to look less like your office did.”

—

Most of his clients weren’t particularly involved in the cases they gave him. That was to be expected. People hired a PI to find information they couldn’t or didn’t want to obtain themselves, and part of that fee covered the convenience of not having to do any of the dirty work. Emilio liked it that way. Only having to speak to the client once or twice before getting paid worked for him. But… This latest client was different.

She was definitely weird. Emilio wasn’t entirely sure what brand of weird she was — he was learning that ‘supernatural’ weird and ‘normal person’ weird had a lot of unexpected overlap — but there was no denying the strangeness. When she’d shown up at his door just before he headed out to the address he’d found listed for Regis Coleslaw, he wasn’t even particularly surprised. Annoyed, sure, but not surprised. At least the case would be over soon. They’d find this Regis person, he’d get the rest of his fee, and that would be that. He was really looking forward to it.

“This is the address on file,” he replied gruffly, wondering how pissed she’d be if he pulled out his flask. Talking to her was making the idea of drinking more and more tempting. “I’m sure. Look, maybe they’re just hiding out. Sometimes, people don’t want to be found. Hiding out in a place you wouldn’t expect them to be just makes them smart.” She seemed to think highly of Regis, so playing on that might be the best way to quell her complaints here. Or he could stab her. He was really starting to like the idea of stabbing her. “If they’re not here, they’re not here. And you didn’t have to come, by the way. Actually, I think I remember specifically telling you not to.”

—

Siobhan’s face crinkled together. “When you hide away for enough years, you start to realize that living in squalor is the last thing you want.” At least, by the first decade for Siobhan, she’d started to hate radiators and squeaky floorboards and making her bed out of suspiciously stained pillows she’d taken from the dumpster. She was still miserable but at least she was miserable in style. Emilio might learn that lesson one day, though he’d probably die before he got there. A shame. Siobhan turned her attention to the building again. The roof seemed to be caved in and the windows shattered--the jagged glass that remained made her think they’d been broken by impact rather than scream. “One day, Emilio,” she spoke idly, her eyes still focused on the windows, “you’re going to realize that the best cure for sadness is a lot of money; run your next business out of a penthouse.”

Siobhan’s attention returned to the piss-boy again. “Oh?” She grinned at him. “But then how would we bond? If I hadn’t come, think of all the silence you’d be having right now! How dreadful.” She clicked her tongue against teeth, tutting. “My charm and likeability are saving you from a boring experience; you’re welcome, by the way. I accept payment in bones.” And finally, her attention snapped to the door. It was falling off its hinges, with one push--she was sure--it would topple over. It didn’t look locked. It didn’t look like it had been locked in years. “Do we…knock?”

—

“Some people would call it safer,” he pointed out. Having money, from what he could tell, meant having eyes on you. People noticed the rich in ways they didn’t notice guys like Emilio, who lived in run-down apartments. When things were hard to look at, the natural result was that people looked at them less. For someone in hiding, that was a very tempting thing. This building would be a good place for someone who didn’t want to be found. If Regis fit that bill, it made sense that they’d chosen it to hide out in. “There are plenty of things money can’t get you. A penthouse wouldn’t solve much for me.” It would still be empty of the people he’d want to fill it. He had no desire for that. People would also have a lot more expectations of a PI firm run from a penthouse, and even if he did somehow come into the kind of money Siobhan seemed to think he needed in order to escape ‘squalor,’ his personality still wouldn’t be one that could provide that.

At Siobhan’s instruction, Emilio did, in fact, think of the silence he would have been experiencing in this moment had she not tagged along. It would have been a wonderful thing. Certainly preferable to this conversation. He sighed, mourning its loss. “What is it with you and bones?” This was the second time she’d mentioned them. Specifically, wanting them. He wasn’t sure he saw the appeal. Looking to the door, he weighed his options. “Depends,” he decided, glancing back to her, “is Regis Coleslaw going to make a break for it if they see you?”

—

“Who cares about safety?” Siobhan replied softly, staring at the woodgrain of the broken door. She had done her part being smart and safe, flinching at every flutter of grass or rustle of leaves--thinking some gaggle of pixies would think she was the next fun target. A traitor could never be safe. What was worse then? That she realized in time that with nothing to lose, she had nothing to fear, or that no one had ever come for her? She was forgotten and all her fear was a strange, self-important desire. Regis might have thought she was forgotten too and what was worse? That the woman who had everything chose to leave or that Siobhan envied her? Perverse as it was, she wished someone would knock her door down and remind her that she mattered at all to someone at some point. If they came, they’d find she didn’t care about losing her shiny car or decades worth of baubles. Her back burned with the memory of her mother’s vicious hands pulling at her wings. She rolled her shoulders. “We’re all going to die one day, you might as well let it come in style.”

Emilio’s words snapped her out of her mind and she turned to face him. “We all have our things; yours is piss and mine is bones,” she smiled easily, finding the rhythm of hurting someone else easy under the talon-grip of her own sadness. Emilio was nothing more than a therapeutic punching bag and Regis was nothing more than a means to an end. She’d have a life with purpose and family again, and that would be that. “Regis Coleslaw doesn’t know what I look like,” Siobhan sighed. “She has no idea who I am, even, and I have no idea how she might feel about me.” Siobhan didn’t care either. If Regis was in a place like this, she must have been afraid of the banshees of saol elie; Siobhan had already lost the battle of a good impression. “What does it matter? I want her. I don’t care how I get her, I just need her alive.” She sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Now are we knocking or can we stop pretending like this door is even locked?”

—

“You’d be surprised.” Emilio might not put a lot of stock in his own safety these days but if being a detective had taught him anything, it was that other people did. He’d had plenty of cases that took the form of someone just trying to ensure they were safe in one way or another. Sometimes, they needed leverage on someone else, dirt that they could use to cover their own back and ensure mutually assured destruction if they needed it. Other times, that desire for safety came in the form of asking him to find someone whose location was unknown, either because they would feel safer knowing where they were or because they needed them close in order to feel all right. Most people were only trying to be safe, whatever that looked like. Siobhan, it seemed, was the exception to that. It was a little refreshing, even if she was annoying. “Doesn’t matter if you die in style or not. You’re just as dead either way.”

He rolled his eyes at her statement, gritting his teeth just a little. “That isn’t my thing.” Not that he knew what his thing was. Something depressing, most likely. A bottle of whiskey, a dirty knife. Nothing worth having, but still better than whatever it was she had going on with bones. The Regis Coleslaw mystery seemed to be growing more and more with each stone he uncovered. Siobhan was looking for someone who didn’t know who she was or how she might feel. She needed this person alive. She didn’t know what she looked like, but she thought the idea that she’d live in a crumbling apartment was preposterous. There was definitely something odd about the whole situation, but… Emilio wasn’t getting paid for those questions. He was getting paid for this.

Deciding knocking was a risk, he shrugged. “All right, all right. We can just…” The hair on the back of his neck stood up. That familiar almost-nausea tugged at his gut, persistent and loud. He heard footsteps on the other side of the door, but the only heartbeats he could hear were his and Siobhan’s. There was a low noise, like an animal growling. Cursing, Emilio grabbed Siobhan by the arm and yanked her out of the way just as the door burst open to reveal twisted features and red eyes. Christ. Not only was Siobhan’s Regis Coleslaw a fucking vampire, she was a feral one. Letting out a mangled cry, the vampire leaped forward, going straight for his client’s throat. “¡Puta madre! Maldita cosa estúpida…” He couldn’t exactly get paid if his client was eaten, and Regis Coleslaw seemed too far gone to reason with, so Emilio yanked out his stake, grabbing the vampire by the shoulder and yanking it backwards, throwing it back into the apartment and rushing after it.

Maybe it was good that Siobhan had come with him after all. He got the feeling that this one would have been hard to explain otherwise.

—

Siobhan did not enjoy being yanked, but she could forgive the act when the cause was a starved vampire. The creature streaked across her vision, closing into her. She smiled in its face--her face, though gender was a construct very far from the mind of the creature. Once upon a time, maybe, it might have been a ‘her’. Siobhan could see the tattered remains of a pastel floral skirt and a sensible white blouse; the pieces of a personality that were lost. “Can I interest you in a mint or…?” But before the creature could meet her neck in a not-so-sexy bite, it was off of her and focused on Emilio. “No! Not Emilio! He’s too sexy to die now!” Not that he was, she would’ve screamed if he was, but Fate could still change and Siobhan had no preferences either way. As long as it wasn’t her sweet blood being made a meal of. “If you eat him, leave me his bones!” She called out into the murky depths of the dilapidated apartment. “Emilio, I realize you have a stake and that means you know how to use it but I just think if I’m going into business with a slayer I should be warned beforehand so I can prepare my wood jokes.”

She followed the sounds of struggle, watching Emilio with the thin body of someone who once loved sensible-office-lady fashions. “You’re doing a wood job right now.” She paused, running a hand through her hair as a frustrated sigh slipped through her lips. “See? I would be doing so much better if you just let me prepare.” She leaned up against the broken door frame, arms crossed over her chest. “If it makes you feel more confident,” she called out over the sounds of their struggle, “you’re not actually going to die. Not yet, at least. Oh, but you are dying whittle by whittle every day.” Maybe when Emilio was done fighting, he would admit that one was a good joke.

—

At this point, Emilio could fight a feral vampire in his sleep. He’d been doing shit like this since he was a child, had been tossed in rooms with feral beasts before he had a sound grasp on what those beasts were. It was almost a comfort, having something as familiar as a vampire to fight. What was less familiar was Siobhan’s commentary. “Not helping,” he called back in her direction, ducking to avoid the vampire’s attempt to bite his neck. She wouldn’t have liked what she found there, of course — slayer blood wasn’t a very tasty snack — but he’d still like to avoid having his throat torn out if at all possible. Although, if the alternative was hearing Siobhan’s best ‘wood jokes,’ maybe bleeding out in Regis Coleslaw’s shitty apartment wouldn’t be so bad. “You’re not getting my pinche bones. Stop asking.”

Feral vampires were strong, but stupid. There wasn’t much difference between this and a spawn, when you got down to it. Sure, maybe with enough blood, this one could get back to something resembling human eventually, but right now? That just wasn’t an option. If it was kill or be killed here, Emilio would take the former if only to avoid the embarrassment of being murdered by a fairly killable vampire in front of someone who would almost certainly pick apart his corpse and make off with his femur after. He glanced back curiously as Siobhan assured him that he wasn’t going to die with all the confidence of someone who knew it for a fact, narrowing his eyes momentarily. The suspicion couldn’t last, of course; not with Regis Coleslaw doing her damndest to make a meal out of his throat.

Turning back to the fight, Emilio grunted and shoved the vampire off of him and into a coffee table which shattered with the force of the impact. It didn’t do much to slow the vampire down, but it did put Siobhan back into its line of sight. It moved for the professor again, and Emilio barely managed to grab it by the hair and yank it back again, turning it and pulling it onto his stake. There was a moment of quiet then, a heartbeat where it seemed the vampire was registering its own death before it collapsed into a pile of dust all over the front of Emilio’s shirt. Great. “All right,” he said, dusting off his shirt as best he could, “there you go. Regis Coleslaw. Sorry there’s no bones, but have some dust.”

—

Siobhan wasn’t sure why ‘slayer battles vampire’ wasn’t a national broadcast sport but she was, at that moment, convinced it would make for wonderful TV. Not only was Emilio sufficiently stressed, annoyed and still bursting with that hunter determination, but the former Regis Coleslaw made a beautifully tragic case. Being in the ‘splash zone’—as it was now known in the sport of slayer watching—Siobhan enjoyed a level of personal thrill. When the vampire came for her again, Siobhan remained smiling. And as Emilio predictably pulled the creature away from her, leaving Siobhan unharmed and only a little disappointed, she wondered if she could sell this experience for a few hundred dollars.

As Emilio rose, dusting the remains of Regis Coleslaw off of him, Siobhan frowned. “You couldn’t have extended this a little? I was having a grand time over here.” Of course, ‘slayer battles vampire’ wouldn’t be so profitable if the vampires were done too quickly. It was a conundrum that she wouldn’t ponder again outside of this moment as she would inevitably forget to. She frowned again. “No thank you on the dust, it clogs my pores.” She gestured to her face as if to demonstrate that her having clogged pores would be an extreme tragedy. “I still have a few wood jokes in me, but I guess you have to leaf now.” Did that count? Siobhan was counting it. She stepped closer, staring down at the spot the vampire had once been. She held no sympathy for the undead, the abominations that they were, but there was always something strange in seeing someone here one moment and then knowing that they were gone forever in the next. Death, even when it happened to those already dead, was an emptying feeling—being upturned and shaken out over an endless pit. She reached down and picked up the ID card that had snapped off her shirt when her body exploded into dust. It was the clip-on sort of work ID and sure enough the woman had been named Regis Coleslaw and one day in 2018 she had posed for a photo with a big smile on her face. She had brown eyes and brown hair and a small arrangement of freckles across her nose.

Siobhan turned to Emilio, who had finished the job she’d hired him to do by all accounts. She flipped the ID around towards him. “Do you ever think about this? Or are they all just monsters to you? All the way through?” Siobhan didn’t ask because she cared, but it was a curiosity that played in her mind. Her fingers tightened around the clip. “You’re free to leave, by the way, I think I’ll stay to see if Regis ate someone whose bones I can pilfer—Hm, is it pilfering if they’re dead? Repurpose. Whose bones I can repurpose.” She smiled. “You’ll have your money by the end of the day, I’ll deliver it to your piss office. But before you go, if you could…” She rattled the ID. “I’m curious; indulge me.” And no, she would not be thanking him though he did objectively save her life—it didn’t count if she wasn’t really going to die anyway.

—

Christ, Siobhan looked so smug about the whole thing. Like it was a game, like it was something funny that was happening on a television screen and not a potentially deadly fight right in front of her. It wasn’t hard to guess that she knew something was ‘different’ about Wicked’s Rest, but Emilio was beginning to wonder if she might actually have a few screws loose to go along with the knowledge. Most people were at least a little concerned when a vampire went for their throat. Siobhan was smiling.

“Didn’t feel like letting her take a bite out of you. You might not have paid me if she had,” he replied dryly, though his expression betrayed some interest in the cavalier way she walked into the apartment. “Guess we’ll leave it for the maid, then.” Another joke; it was clear from the state of the apartment that Regis Coleslaw hadn’t had a maid. From the looks of things, she might not have even owned a vacuum. At least Siobhan’s pre-existing knowledge of the undead meant Emilio wouldn’t have to stay around to explain things to her.

Though it did not, apparently, save him from all explanations.

He looked down at the ID badge, at the smiling photograph of the person who’d once been inside the creature he’d just turned to dust. The smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, something he’d noticed was common with staged photos. If you wanted to really capture someone, it couldn’t be by telling them to smile. In the photo, Regis Coleslaw looked a little tired. Like working at Shift Space, Inc. had exhausted her even before her badge was printed. There were more hints of her lost humanity scattered around the apartment than there were in that picture, of course. The shoes tucked under the sofa. The wilting plants hanging by the window. The fan whirring from the bedroom. She’d been a person, once.

But not anymore.

“She was too far gone,” he said, looking to Siobhan with a shrug. “In a state like that… If she hadn’t killed someone already, she was going to. And maybe she would have come back to herself, after, but it would have been too late. Some people you can save. Some people you can’t. Being able to recognize that is the only thing that’ll stop somebody from losing their goddamn mind.” He plucked the name badge from between her fingers, tossing it over to the coffee table. Eventually, someone would come looking for Regis Coleslaw and find an empty apartment and a name badge. Maybe they’d tell themselves she’d gone off somewhere, found a better life. Maybe that’d be better for everyone.

Deciding not to question the bone thing — there was some shit that Emilio really didn’t want to know about — the detective turned to walk towards the door. He paused under the archway, tapping his knuckles against the doorframe absently. “I’m charging an extra fee,” he informed her. “Stabbing’s not included in the base price. Good luck with your bones.” And then, he was gone.

—

Siobhan had been raised on rights and wrongs: right to be a banshee, wrong to be a human, right to be a devout servant, wrong to have any emotion. Hunters sometimes shared the same blacks and whites that she could comprehend: all vampires bad, all fae evil, humans good. Emilio’s response sucked the amusement right from her. It was a sensible answer, of course, but Siobhan lived in the gray that he had set out. Some people could be saved. Some couldn’t. It seemed like another black and white but one so strange in its idea; some people could be saved. Some people could be saved. Some. People. Could. Be. Saved.

Siobhan watched the ID sail through the air. She didn’t know what Emilio meant. For the first time in her life, she had encountered a sentiment so bizarre that she couldn’t parse it. The individual words she understood: some meaning not all. People meaning people. Could meaning possible to happen. Be meaning can be done. Saved meaning…

Siobhan swallowed. Behind her, the dull thudding of Emilio’s receding footsteps echoed through the room. His voice went off, something about charging more; it was funny, Emilio could be funny when he wanted, she realized. His voice was a little deeper than Siobhan thought it would be for his face, she noticed that before but the hollowness of Regis’s apartment accentuated it. He wished her good luck. He was gone. Some people, he said, could be saved. Siobhan burst out at once, bubbling over with questions: what did he mean? Saved from what? Who counted? How could he tell them apart? Did this make him an arbitrator of salvation? Saved meaning what? How could someone be saved?

Siobhan picked up the tattered remains of Regis’s clothes, folding each article and setting it aside neatly on the cushion of the sofa. She pulled the shoes that were underneath until they sat out like they were ready to be worn. She grabbed the ID Emilio had thrown and laid it to rest on Regis’s sensible blouse. Her dust went in the nicest Tupperware container Siobhan could find from the kitchen and she put that out on the coffee table. For the next hour, Siobhan sat beside everything that remained of Regis and pretended she knew what salvation felt like.

#i love bex and i love emilio #regis in peace #writing #s1 #c: emilio #another regis bites the dust

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brookpub · 1 year ago

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Traditional Ploughman's Platter - Cambridge | Great Ploughman's Lunch

The Ploughman's lunch is a classic British dish that may be found on the menu of nearly any pub. Although served chilled, this dinner isn't for those who prefer salads to sliced meats and cheese with pickles and bread spread with butter.

Origins:

A Traditional Ploughman's Platter was originally intended to be a meal that a ploughman (or Ploughman) could take with him into the fields. It's easy to believe that the Ploughman's lunch has been around for quite some time, given that bread, cheese, and pickles were staples of the British lunch. After World War II rationing ended, cheese sales were slow, so a national advertising campaign in the 1960s depicted the modern Ploughman's lunch to increase demand.

Ingredients in a Classic Ploughman's Lunch

The components of a ploughman's lunch may vary, but you can count on some form of crusty bread, some form of cheese, some pickled onions, and maybe some relish or chutney. Lunch might also consist of hard-boiled eggs, gammon, pate, pork pie, assorted cold meats and seasonal fruit like apple slices. Beer is a common accompaniment because the food is consumed at a tavern.

The Ploughman's wife would traditionally provide a hearty and reasonably priced lunch of homemade cheese, bread, and pickles. Cheeses from the region or at least the county should be included in a decent ploughman's lunch today, as should the meats and any other accompaniments. To properly support the cheese, chutney, and pickles, the bread must be either a thick wedge of crusty bread or a baguette.

The New Ploughman's Lunch:

The popularity of the gastro-pub in Britain has given a contemporary spin to the traditional Ploughman's lunch. Gastro-pubs are a new breed of pub where the cuisine is just as important as the drinks and the company. Nowadays, chefs often replace the conventional pub landlord as the business's head of gastro-pubs.

They have made the traditional Ploughman's lunch more luxurious by adding Scotch eggs, pates, terrines, tapenade, and other "fancy" meats.

Serving:

A plated Ploughman's board serves its purpose, but a wooden one is more attractive and durable. What could be better than eating with your spouse using only a butter knife and a tiny kitchen knife, each of a large, heavily laden chopping board? Side plates for spreading butter on bread are optional but not required. Recognise that you will make a mess and dive in.

Important Parts:

Sandwich with bread, cheese, ham and pickled something. The ham is essential for purists, but without it, this is just bread and cheese, not a ploughman's.

The bread must support the heavy weight of the ham and cheese. In terms of cheese, the best option is to serve two or three hard or semi-hard British cheeses at room temperature, with each cheese having a different flavour profile.

Baked, thick-sliced, 'genuine' pig ham is recommended. You don't want any slices of thin, pale, strangely homogeneous boiling ham on there. Although the individual components of a ploughman's lunch may be very one-dimensional, they generate something lively when combined. Putting together a ploughman's lunch from fresh, flavorful products is enjoyable, but you don't have to break the bank. It may even be pointless here.

Seasonings and other add-ons:

There must always be coleslaw and a touch of mustard when the ham is present. Peppery radishes, salted celery, and an apple are all necessary for palate cleansing freshness, although any one of them is preferable. Similarly, I prefer my Ploughman's to come with much mustardy watercress rather than a limp, discordant "mixed salad" (weasel words on any menu). There is a use for that.

Every meal needs a big slab of salted butter. That's just the right temperature for spreading. We cannot accept tiny pats of catering foil. Is this some garden centre?

Drinks:

The drink that goes well with Ploughman's lunch is Beer; if not, you can go for Cider. Either of them tastes good with the perfect lunch with family and friends.

Brook Pub Plougjman's Lunch:

We at the Brook Pub in Cambridge welcome you all to come and enjoy the Ployghman's lunch with a super choice of locally sourced ingredients. Every Sunday from 12 PM to 4 PM during the months of June, July, and August, for £14.5, you can enjoy our Ploughman's lunch at The Brook @ Cambridge.

You essentially have two choices:

Locally sourced Pork Pie made with Cambridgeshire pork:

Mini Scotch eggs:

Traditionally cured honey roast ham:

Blue stilton rich and flavoursome stilton cheese from Leicestershire

18-month matured vintage somerset cheddar

Brie soft and creamy French classic all served with white or granary bread and butter.

You can choose Branston or Chutney, marinated red onion, Silver skin onions, Pickled gherkins, Red apple, salad leaves and cherry tomatoes. Some ingredients may be subject to change as per availability.

Ploughman's lunch in Cambridge has always been popular among the locals, and we have come up with a modern platter with local produce to serve some of the fresh ingredients to our customers.

Brook Pub Drinks:

Many drinks are served at the Brook, but those accompanying Ploughman's lunch are either a beer or a Cider. We also have other drinks on the menu, like Whiskies, Gin, Rum, best Cocktails, Wine, and best summer drinks Pitchers. Our team is happy to help you with their service so that you can enjoy your food and drinks with your loved ones. Our garden area is open for those who love the summer heat or get cosy at the indoor bar. It's your choice.

#Traditional Ploughman's Platter #Ploughmans lunch #Brook pub Ploughmans lunch #Brook Cambridge #Brook Pub Lunch #Gastro pub in Britain #Brook Pub Cambridge

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buffaloareafishfrygal · 2 years ago

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March 31, 2023

Rush Creek Ale House

5381 Abbott Road

Hamburg, NY 14075

The review crew ventured out at 5pm. There was no wait for our table of 6. Plenty of parking and a very spacious dining area. Bar had a decent crowd and a great selection of beers on tap. But then again it should, it’s an ale house! Our server Jess greeted us with a great smile. She was spunky and sassy and was a highlight to our evening. Let’s just label this one the “hungry man’s fish fry.” It is enormous and so is the pile of fries it was laid upon! Fish fry was a skin on beer battered haddock. They have a broiled option as well. Fish was tasty but the batter lacked the hard crunchy crisp that I enjoy. After only a few minutes, I found there was no crisp left to it. Batter was heavy and dark and you could bend the fish without the batter breaking.(8) They did have the holy trinity of sides and they were all homemade! I detected the use of miracle whip instead of mayo? Potato salad was standard white cubed potatoes with red peppers. Kinda plain.(7) Mac salad echoed more of the same. Lots of chopped peppers and not anything to write home about. I do give them props for pasta creativity. They went with large shells for a nice change up.(7.5) My favorite side was the coleslaw. Very crisp, large pieces of cabbage which when you mixed in a fry or two, really was something special. (8) Fries appeared to be fresh hand cut with the skin on. We all know fresh cut fries are not easy to get right! Nicely salted and very tasty! (9) Tartar was more miracle whip and not a lot of pickle. The ratio was a bit too one sided for me.(7) The twist of the night was the King’s Hawaiian roll. Not the usual rye bread that is the WNY go to. This shocked me a bit as there were ruebens flying out of the kitchen left and right. So they had the rye, they just chose to go sweet bread instead. Now, I love Hawaiian sweet rolls but there were some in our party that felt it was a faux pas. Overall I give them a score of 7.5. A great choice if you have a hearty appetite and a love for craft beer. They offer live music many nights and have a great outdoor area when the weather warms up.

#fishfry #fishfrygal #holy trinity #hamburg #fresh cut fries #skin on haddock #craft beer

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hermitscapes · 3 years ago

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BDubs is just a fantastic guy

okay you probably believe me already, but here’s just a thing for me to remember how cool of a dude this guy is. [evidence under the cut] [feel free to add on in the replies]

evidence #1: >during an impulse livestream where he goes through his channel history, he finds a vlog type video at a mindcrack con. he comments on the video saying bdubs had a long line of people waiting to talk to him, and even through all of that, he said that bdubs had given every single person quality time to talk to him, giving each person their special moment. impulse had stated he watched him for hours, never slowing down or giving anyone a worse experience than another.

evidence #2: >bdubs supports his fellow hermits’ endeavors! >>in episode 1, scar describes his plans to create wagons that travel along the server selling goods. he says he’s very, very excited for this. later on in the season, despite being a competitor, who’s the one who continues to buy from the swaggon? bdubs! he even promotes the swaggon in his videos, saying that they’ve got good products and good prices, that even he has to buy! >>in etho’s hermitcraft video, he describes his longing to become the main character of a shopping harem anime, stealing the attention and sales of all the shopkeeps from across the land. [not verbatim, but close enough!] grian had already made a sale for etho specifically at the G-Train before this statement, but bdubs seems to have created a shopping environment specifically for etho after this passionate request for shop sales! he doesn’t even charge etho for his prettystone, as long as he shops at big eyes, helping establish etho’s shopping addiction ‘character’! >>during season 7, bdubs directly approaches scar to be his little mayor helper! without this little push, perhaps the entire election and mycellium war would never have happened. his persistence and hard work even with scar’s absence was massive!

evidence #3: >bdubs’ pets! >>in the very first hermitcraft season 8 episode, at least, tango’s, bdubs gets an axolotl which he lovingly states: “I’m gonna name him idiot!” after exclaiming: “C’mhere, stupid!” in attempts to catch the axolotl. >>he gives the adorable name of “lulu” to his amazing horse, who he’s quick to brag about at any given chance! “the fastest horse on the server!” he also gives lulu the middle and last name of “stupid” and “moron” respectively. >>squakers! he makes a “pakeek!” sound and says, not verbatim, “that’s me pretending that he said something.” he talks for his pets. everyone does this. >same vibes as naming a cat “coleslaw” or calling your pets “idiots” because it’s adorable and cute and the animals are stupid and he loves them.

evidence #4: >every single video he has Ever posted >>just watch one, you’ll understand if you don’t already

evidence #5: >when scar approaches bdubs for some spare copper, he doesn’t end up getting any, but gives bdubs some glow ink anyway. for this, bdubs gives him some copper, feeling bad about not giving him anything in return, like a true gentleman. also, he does this really sweet “yay!” when scar gives him some extra glow ink afterwards.

evidence #6: >on one of his streams, he literally said he would live his life to cartoon music, if he could. i mean, c’mon. how can you not appreciate someone like that.

evidence #7: >gets absolutely owned by his daughters in the realm of minecraft intelligence and takes it with absolute humility and strength. power father.

evidence #8: >his advertisements >>literally all of his advertisements are amazing. he puts effort into them and makes them actually enjoyable to watch, to the point where for the first time, i’ve actually considered and looked into the products he features. he actually makes them fun and silly for the audience, including his wife, in very silly and dorky ways.

evidence #9: >in one of tango’s among us videos, proximity mod allows everyone to hear each other in close range. bdubs is shooting asteroids and spits out ad libs like no one’s business. “bang! pow! bam!” even saying, “peek-a-boo!” which is a staple of a fantastic person to say

evidence #10: >is actually good at redstone and understands its components while pretending to be an absolute bafoon. and he plays both parts so well. what a guy.

#bdubs #bdoubleo100 #hermitcraft #last life smp #hermitblr

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whimsicalworldofme · 2 years ago

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Saving Grace: Chapter Twenty-Seven

Grace and several Avengers help Steve celebrate his birthday with a party at the penthouse. Games are played and secrets are revealed.

“All right, best for last,” Tony stated, plopping a box wrapped in red white and blue wrapping paper down in front of Steve. “Happy birthday, Capsicle.”

In the distance, fireworks were going off in various parts of the city to celebrate the Fourth of July, but in Stark Tower, a little group of Avengers, plus Grace, were gathered around in the penthouse living room, celebrating Steve’s birthday. They’d had a traditional Fourth cookout, burgers and hotdogs on Tony’s ridiculously expensive gas grill that he complained was more complicated than his Iron Man suit. Nat and Bruce each brought some side dishes, coleslaw, potato salad, potato chips, and sliced watermelon. Rhodey came and brought a couple cases of beer. Even Sam flew up from D.C. and had arrived in enough time to head to the store then commandeer Steve’s kitchen to make his sister Sarah’s mac ‘n’ cheese, which was the hit of the dinner. Instead of a birthday cake, Steve had requested apple pie and vanilla ice cream, so Grace spent the morning making not one, but two apple pies, since Steve would likely eat half of one, possibly more, on his own.

“I haven’t seen Grace give him a gift yet,” Nat pointed out as she lifted her beer bottle to her lips, shooting Grace a knowing look.

“I’m going to ignore that, Romanoff,” Tony dropped back into his chair, leaning forward to swipe his own beer off the coffee table. “Open your present, Rogers.”

Everyone else had given Steve sensible and thoughtful gifts. An Under Armour shirt from Sam, for running, tactical gloves from Nat to go with his other Captain America gear, Rhodey got him a pair of tickets to a Mets game, and Bruce gave him a gorgeous coffee table book of paintings featured at the Met. They all waited with bated breath to see what could be in the box, since they all knew Tony’s relationship with Steve walked a fine line of love and hate. He hadn’t even told Grace what his gift was. Steve gently unwrapped the box, a habit from childhood years of not wanting to rip the paper so it could be reused. Prying open the box, he pulled out a small bottle, the kind with a dropper top. It was unlabeled, clearly not mass produced.

“What’s this?” He asked, raising a brow and lifting the bottle to the light, swirling the liquid contents with a little flick of his wrist.

“That,” Tony got up from his seat and hurried over to the bar, grabbing a tray he’d already set out which contained a large decanter of whiskey and a shot glass for each guest, “is the best birthday gift you’ve ever gotten.”

“Grace still hasn’t given him her present,” Nat pointed out again, making Sam snicker and both Steve and Grace flush bright red.

“Shut up, Romanoff,” Tony huffed and set the tray down on the coffee table and began setting out shot glasses within reach of everyone, filling each one up from the decanter. “Gimme the bottle,” he waved a hand to Steve who passed the little bottle over to him. They all watched as he unscrewed the cap, filled the dropper then squeezed a few drops into the shot he’d poured for Steve. “My dad didn’t leave the full formula, just notes, but I think I’ve recreated his magic elixir that will let you, Captain Boy Scout, get drunk.”

“Really?!” Steve lit up, reaching eagerly for the shot glass and downing it without a thought. A few around the circle gaped in shock, some laughed, a few did both. “Did you know about this?” He asked Grace who was staring at him, trying and failing to suppress her giggles. “What?”

“I don’t know, it’s just cute,” she laughed. “To see you actually behaving your age.”

“Yeah, happy ninety-seventh, old man,” Tony lifted his own shot glass in toast before knocking it back.

“Twenty-ninth,” Grace corrected him.

“The calendar and his birth certificate agree with me,” Tony stated, pouring himself and Steve each another shot. “Four drops at a time, Cap,” he passed the little bottle back over to Steve who administered the drops to his next shot himself. “All right, kids, let’s have a little fun,” he clapped his hands and then rubbed them together. “The name of the game is ‘never have I ever’ and the only goal is to get Rogers wasted. It’s a simple game. We go around the circle one at a time and say ‘never have I ever blah blah blah’ and if you’ve done that thing you have to take your shot. Got it?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Dad,” Grace frowned, thinking about how drunken honesty and belligerence might not be a good combo for two friends who were usually one sober miscommunication away from an argument.

“C’mon Gracie, when Pepper’s away, the Tony must play,” he countered with a ridiculous smirk.

“It’ll be ok, Grace,” Steve insisted. He looked genuinely excited. “It’ll be fun.”

“Ok,” she caved. “But I’m going to need a little courage before we start.” Grabbing her shot glass, she knocked it back and slapped the empty back on the table. “I hope you’re prepared for this, Dad,” she pointed at Tony. “I’m not responsible for your reactions to my answers.”

“Oh, this is going to be terrible,” Sam cackled while Rhodey facepalmed with a heavy groan. Nat just smirked while Bruce shifted in his seat, looking incredibly uncomfortable, as he usually did in group settings.

“I’ll go first,” Grace grabbed the decanter and poured herself another shot. “How about we ease into it? Never have I ever been to Europe.”

Everyone around the circle took a shot except for her.

“You’ve never been to Europe, Grace?” Nat asked. “Really?”

“Really,” she shrugged. “Used to be I didn’t have the money these days I just don’t have time. I have a whole itinerary planned out, if I ever set aside the time to go.”

“I keep trying to get her to go,” Tony stated, pouring shots for everyone, getting Steve first since he needed time to put in his elixir. “She won’t take a break from work, a trait she clearly didn’t inherit from me.”

“I’ll get there when the timing is right,” Grace insisted. “All right, who’s next, Dad or Steve?”

“Me,” Tony bounced excitedly in his seat. “Never have I ever had sex with someone within an hour of knowing them.”

Everyone but Bruce and Steve took their shots. Tony stared pointedly at Steve, brow furrowed.

“You didn’t take your shot,” he pointed at him as everyone else passed the decanter around, refilling their shot glasses. “You have to take your shot if you did the thing.”

“I haven’t done that,” Steve shrugged. “Give me something I can work with.”

“All right, it’s my turn,” Rhodey butted in before things could go awry. “Uh…” he mulled it over, trying to think of a good one. “Never have I ever jumped out of a plane without a parachute.”

Rhodey, Sam, Steve, and Tony all took their shots as Grace stared at her boyfriend in horror. She knew that her dad and Rhodey had their Iron Man suits that could fly, so if they jumped out of a plane without a chute, they would be fine. Sam had his Falcon wings, so she wasn’t worried about him. Steve on the other hand was just a man.

“How many times have you done that, exactly?” She asked and Steve shrunk into himself.

“You don’t want to know,” Nat chimed in, nestling into the couch and leaning over closer to Bruce to whisper something to him. He nodded and chuckled.

“I’m up,” Sam held his shot glass as he mulled over what he should say. “Never have I ever kissed a co-worker.”

Tony, Steve, Nat and Bruce each took their shot.

“Ok, I know Cap kissed Peggy, and I kissed Pepper,” Tony said, pointing between Nat and Bruce, “fess up, who have you two kissed?”

“A lady never kisses and tells,” Nat snickered, taking on a more feminine posture.

They passed the decanter around, glasses were refilled, and the game carried on riotously. Steve wound up having to take four shots in a row while Grace sat waiting for someone to give her a reason to drink. She had had a feeling that in the midst of the current group, there would be quite a few things she hadn’t done that they had, but she hadn’t anticipated being the only one to sit out so many rounds.

“We need to get Grace to drink,” Steve said, measuring out four more drops of his birthday present and swirling them into his shot. “Never have I ever gone on a weekend trip with a man I met through a sugar daddy dating service.” He turned and smirked right at Grace who felt her face go red hot. Letting out a nervous, shocked laugh, she knocked back her shot.

“Kathryn Grace Turner!” Tony yelped in shock, his eyes wide in horror.

“Kathryn?” Sam, Rhodey, Nat, and Bruce asked in a confused chorus.

“My scholarship funds for med school came up a little short that year,” she shrugged at her father. “I warned you that you might not like where this game went, Dad.”

“My daughter’s a hooker,” he covered his eyes with his hands and groaned. “A hooker who goes out with old men. Where did I go wrong?”

“Ok, for one thing,” Grace got up and grabbed the decanter before sitting back down and pouring herself another shot, “his name is Dennis and he was only thirty, I was twenty at the time. For another thing, he was a perfect gentleman and nothing happened. He’d been so consumed in his tech startup he didn’t have time for a relationship, but was embarrassed to show up to his brother’s wedding alone. We hung out, had a lovely time, and then he gave me thirty-thousand dollars for school as a thank you. He’s actually working on code for part of my current work project, but now he has a wife and two sweet little girls.”

“Sorry,” Steve slurred slightly as he put an arm around her and pulled her close, rubbing her shoulder. “I thought you’d told him.”

“It’s fine,” she insisted, turning his face so she could kiss him, something that elicited groans from everyone around the room. “Oh, grow up you nerds,” she laughed. Steve slipped his fingers into her hair and pulled her in for another kiss. She could tell he was feeling the effects of the booze, not only because his nose and the tops of his ears were going rosy red, but also because he was normally stubbornly reserved about any romantic gestures. He’d never kissed her in front of them before. Not on the lips anyway.

“I can’t believe this,” Tony continued. “I knew I should’ve been funding more STEM scholarships for women.”

“I think Grace made a smart business decision,” Nat said. “Thirty grand for two days at a destination wedding? Do that five, six times a year, you could live very comfortably pretty much anywhere in the world.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Tony groaned. “Hey, hey,” he snapped his fingers at Steve and Grace. “Break it up or I’ll get the hose.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Dad,” Grace finally came up for air, “I’m not a broke med school student anymore and I’m in a happy, committed relationship.”

“Grace, it’s your turn,” Sam tried to reroute the conversation back to the game.

“Ok,” she nestled into Steve’s chest, enjoying the closeness. He wrapped one of those ridiculously big arms of his around her. “Never have I ever had to stop my best friend from doing something stupid enough to get them killed.”

Rhodey burst out laughing, looking at Tony and shaking his head before taking his shot. He slapped his shot glass down on the table, looked over to Tony again and laughed even harder, which made Tony nod and roll his eyes. Steve took his shot too, a fond, quiet smile gracing his lips. They’d been talking about Bucky a lot recently. Grace liked being the person he could trust to share those memories with, loved hearing about him and his best friend and their adventures as kids. She’d been slipping a little psychology in on him, getting him to think about the positive things, instead of the fear and guilt over what had become of Bucky. She knew it had been a risk, using that line for the game, but he seemed to take it all right.

“It’s not that funny,” Tony insisted grumpily, pushing the decanter over to Rhodey after Steve refilled his glass. “My turn again,” he said. “You cheated last time,” he pointed at Steve who snorted a laugh, clearly intoxicated. “So, it’s time to get more specific. Never have I ever lost my virginity to a girl I met on a USO tour.”

Steve burst out laughing, slapping his free hand on his chest, his eyes scrunching shut, head tipping back, leading his whole body further back into the couch. Grace looked between her father and her boyfriend, trying to understand what was happening.

“What’s going on?” Bruce asked the question everyone else in the room wanted to know the answer to.

“You told me you lost it to a girl you met at a USO show back in nineteen forty-three,” Tony nearly hollered. “Drink you lying bastard.”

“Language,” Nat chimed in, earning her a fiery look from Tony.

“What?” Grace leaned up a little, her hand on Steve’s chest for support, his arm still around her. “You hooked up with a girl in the forties? Really?” She wasn’t jealous, since she’d been with plenty of guys before him, but she was confused as to why he would’ve lied to her about it.

“No,” Steve laughed, shaking his head.

“You know, lying is not an attractive trait, Rogers,” Tony huffed. “And you shouldn’t be lying to my kid right in front of me.”

“I’m not lying,” he insisted, still snickering. “You kept pestering me about being a ninety-something-year-old virgin. I told you something I knew would get you off my back. In the forties, I was waiting for Peggy,” he practically wheezed from laughter. “That woman shot at me because she caught someone else kissing me. She wouldn’t’ve aimed at the shield if I had slept with another woman.”

The gears were visibly turning in Tony’s mind as he took his shot then grabbed the decanter to pour himself another. Grace wondered how long it would be before he figured out the truth, if he did at all, and how badly he would respond.

“So, you were a ninety-year-old virgin when you lied to me about a USO girl?”

“Nope,” Steve stated proudly, taking another shot.

“Ok, I think we’re done with that,” Grace took his shot glass away from him, sitting up just long enough to set the glass on the coffee table and put the bottle of elixir back into the gift box, putting the lid on it, and pushing it out of Steve’s reach. “Good game, everyone.”

“Then who—?” Tony racked his brains and the horrible realization dawned on him. “Son of a bitch.” He put his full shot glass forcefully down on the coffee table, whiskey splashing out onto the tabletop.

“Ok, I think the party’s over,” Nat slapped her knees and got up from her seat, clearly understanding where things were headed.

“Yep,” Bruce followed her lead. “Happy birthday, Steve,” he nodded and chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he and Nat headed out together.

Sam and Rhodey hurried through their own goodbyes, following quickly after Bruce and Nat. When the penthouse front door swung shut, leaving just the three of them in tense silence. Grace patted Steve gently on the chest and got up from her seat, taking it upon herself to clean up the shot glasses, putting them and the decanter back on the tray her dad had used to bring them over and taking them back to the bar.

“My daughter, Rogers? Really?” He raised an eyebrow, glaring at Steve. “I don’t know if I should be furious that you lied to me, again,” Tony shot him a judgmental glare, “or impressed that my daughter was the one to deflower the Boy Scout.”

“Ugh, gross,” Grace shuddered as she plucked up the tray to take it back to the bar. “I hate that expression. Deflower,” she stuck her tongue out and made a gagging noise.

Despite the serious turn the conversation had taken, Steve just sat there laughing, obviously wasted. She had never seen him like that, uninhibited, unresponsive to Tony’s irritation. It helped to diffuse the situation in ways that sober Steve wouldn’t be able to.

“You would’ve been pissed if I’d told you the truth,” he said. “And Grace would’ve killed me cause we’d only been together three months?” His face scrunched up and he started counting on his fingers, his confusion evident in his expression. “It was three months, right?” He turned to his girlfriend. “Oh, you’re wobbly,” he made a wobbling gesture with one hand and snickered.

“And you’re drunk,” Grace laughed, setting the tray down and coming back to the couches. “You did a good job, Dad. Your elixir works.”

“I don’t like being surprised with these revelations about you two,” Tony began pouting. “Drunken or otherwise.”

“There are plenty of things I don’t tell you outright,” she came over to her father and sat on the arm of his chair. “But Steve and I have been a couple for almost three years. What do you think we do? Hold hands and stare lovingly into one another’s eyes?”

Tony groaned, running a hand down his face.

“Three years,” Steve pressed his hands on the sides of his face, gaping at Grace. “Of just dating? We should be married. Why aren’t we married? What if I have to save the world again?” His eyes went wide. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“He’s not handling his booze so well,” Tony brightened a little, clearly feeling a bit superior. “You better get him home,” he instructed, nudging his daughter with his elbow. “Before you go though,” he put a hand on her arm, his expression serious. “Are there any other salacious sex-capades I should know about before I’m blindsided? That sugar daddy thing, that was a one-time thing, right?”

Grace laughed and kissed her father on the cheek before getting up, “Goodnight, Dad.”

“Grace,” he called after her in a panic as she made her way over to Steve and helped him to his feet. “I need reassurance.”

“Dad, it’s going to be ok. C’mon, Captain,” she slung his arm over her shoulders and heaved him upwards.

“Hehe, you called me Captain,” Steve giggled. “I know what that means,” he flashed her a very drunken suggestive look.

“All right, birthday boy,” Grace laughed, ignoring the sputtering coming from her father. “I’m glad you had a good time at your party but it’s time for bed.” She turned briefly to see her dad running a hand down his face, muttering to himself, asking again where he went wrong. “Good night, Dad, I love you.”

“Love you too,” he half smiled, half grimaced.

It took a lot of effort to get Steve into the elevator and back into his apartment, not because he couldn’t support his own weight, but because he kept swaying fairly aggressively, trying to go back up to the penthouse because he’d left his gifts up there, and stopping to tell her how pretty she was, and trying to kiss her.

“Honestly, you’re so gorgeous,” he gushed, backing her against the wall in the hallway beside his front door, one hand pressed against it just above her shoulder. “How’d I get so lucky?”

“Good timing,” she joked, cupping his face with both hands and drawing him down for a kiss. “Come on, we can continue this in your apartment, not the hallway,” she insisted.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Masterlist

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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desperately0seeking · 2 years ago

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29.07.22

AESTHETICS & OXIDE

Everyone is Stockholm is beautiful and well dressed. Both the men and women wear flowly yet well fitting blazers, in a chic/non corporate style, and have faces OF neat proportions and charming complexion. The summer weather was warm but you could sense, even with Midsommar just gone, it would be chillingly cold here in the not too distant future. We ate surströmming, served with potato mash, pickled vegetables and coleslaw from a little kiosk by the water. A type of fermented herring, the fish from the brackish waters of Sweden is said to produce one of the world's most putrid smells when emptied from its can. In our case, however, it was delightful.

On multiple occasions we went to Skinnarviksberget, a rocky slope riding high across the Baltic from the city’s centre. We drank and watched the sun retire here among the many locals, a rich red glow illuminating the hill to close the day and start the night. This hill can be seen in Yung Lean’s Greygoose video clip, albeit with a very different temperature to when we experienced it. There was a 30th picnic going on behind us, indicated by us due to the ‘30th!’ print on a helium balloon that floated halo like above them. This wasn’t the only balloon involved in their picnic however. After being there for half an hour we heard the ever familiar crack of a nang into a canister. After some curious glances it was confirmed the newly crowned tricenarian and his party were indeed sucking nitrous oxide. Pretty weird, we thought, but we didn’t know what we were in for.

Louis had been boring us all trip about the fact he wanted to buy a pair of Crocs, that hideous miscreation of a shoe, and in Stockholm he finally decided to act on his desires (conveniently in the most costly region we’d hitherto visited). When purchasing the loathsome footwear he striked up a conversation with the salesman who was excited to hear his antipodean accent, stating he’d lived in Australia for some time. The conversation went so well he invited Louis, and who ever he was travelling with, to a rave due to take place at Återvinningsstation Riksten, a nondescript spot in the trees an hour out of Stockholm.

When we arrived (train, bus, and walk into a forest that fitted the stereotype of Scandinavian terrain perfectly) we were halted at the entrance by a convoy of police cars and personal talking to the organisers. After some seemly productive conversations they left and someone told us they will always come at the start then leave, even though it’s mostly illegal there is a loophole the party makers can rely on. It was not long after entering this rave, inclusive of bars, food trucks and multiple stages, we were exposed to the extent of Sweden’s penchant for nangs. Lined up next to the bar and food were tents containing a trestle table, a bin of balloons and two oxygen-looking tanks, big as a snowboard. We looked around and saw the result of these merchants: Swedes walking around with laughing gas filled balloons in each hands and more tucked into their belts; a children’s birthday party without the children. So we followed suit, and we raved, and we left well into the next morning, stepping over piles of balloons in the bushes on our way out - what Greta would think of such environmental vandalism I know not, but it sure makes for some interesting partying.

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bbrandy2002 · 4 years ago

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Happy Birthday Burnsy!

The Country AU -- I'm Gonna Live Where The Green Grass Grows

Pairing: Drake x Alyssa, Liam x Riley, and a whole host of other TRR characters.

A/N: This was a silly little idea I had months ago for an AU built around the places and people where I grew up. I never had plans to actually write it, but I mentioned it to Burns, and well ... she wanted it lol so here we are. And she’s already read half of this and is the one who made the mood board for it and the song inspo hahaha. Thank you to @mskaneko for the edits of our OTP’s, and @charlotteg234 for pre-reading the first half of this.

Trigger warning: Gun usage, hunting, mild language ... I think that’s it

@burnsoslow

My dearest friend, when I think back at where we were one year ago, I can’t help but be reminded of the vastly different world we live in now. On February 5, 2020, there was no covid keeping us sheltered and fearful, families were complete, jobs were stable, and so many of the things we worried about then simply pale in comparison to now, Life wasn’t so bad. But here we are with all these new changes and mindsets. Through it all, one thing remained consistent: YOU. You have been my strength, my rock, the anchor that grounded me. We have cried together, laughed a lot together, worried for each other, and celebrated those small victories that were important to each other. And I get so happy when someone comments about how much they love the friendship between Riley and Alyssa because it's the most real part of Fearless. If anyone ever wanted to know what we’re like, it's all written out in that story. I’ve got your back, and you have mine. You’re my best friend and I just love the hell out of ya! I hope your birthday is amazing and that this fic is everything you wanted for this AU.

------------------------------------

On Sunday mornings in southern Georgia, you did one of two things: You woke up early for church services or woke up late to watch NFL football.

Some people figured out a long time ago how to do both.

Sitting in the back pew of the First Cordonian Church of Everlasting Peace, Alyssa Walker sat quietly with the sweetest southern belle smile, nodding her head along to the beautiful words spoken during Pastor Hakim’s sermon and hiding a pair of earbuds lodged in each ear.

She and her husband, Drake, had laid claim to the pew when they were teens trying to sneak a kiss or two during prayers. After ten years of marriage, they no longer needed to sneak kisses but stayed in that same seat, believing the biggest sinners should stay as far away from the minister as possible. Why be the barrier that may prevent the spirit from reaching the rest of the congregation? The couple felt it was the least they could do.

They were actually pretty good folks and well respected in their community. Alyssa had taught first grade for eight years at the local elementary school, where her two children, nine-year-old Audrey and six-year-old Patrick, also attended. Her best friend since third grade, Riley, was the art teacher there.

Drake worked nearby as the lead mechanic at Rys and Sons Chevrolet out on North Ramsford Avenue. Constantine had owned the auto dealership for 35 years before passing it down to his sons, Leo and Liam, when he ran for and became the town's mayor. Leo peaced out, heading to South Florida, while Liam took on the sole responsibility of ownership himself.

And while most people in this sleepy little town of Cordonia were Falcons fanatics, Alyssa grew up rooting for the team where her parents were born and raised before settling in Georgia as newlywed lawyers: The Chicago Bears.

With the game against the Packers blaring into her ear, she kept a keen eye on the rest of her fellow parishioners. When they clapped, she clapped. When they sang, she sang. She raised her hands in hallelujahs when they did. She had learned to read lips and could “Amen” and “Praise God” right on cue with the rest of them. All the while, she sat in contentment, listening to her weekly football games.

“The score with 14 seconds left in the second quarter is Chicago -- 14, Green Bay -- 17. The Bears have the ball on the 5-yard line. It’s third and goal. If Trubisky can score here, they’ll go into the locker room at halftime with a lead for the first time in this game, or possibly tie it all up with a field goal after this down. This is a huge, HUGE play, Jim ...”

Alyssa twined her fingers together and lowered her forehead onto them as she waited with bated breath for the announcer to call the play-by-play. As far as anyone else knew, she was praying fervently for the Hebrews crossing the parted Red Sea away from Pharoah's army that the pastor was chronicling.

“And here comes the snap. Trubisky backs up. He tosses to Robinson in the end zone. OHHH! So close… batted away by Alexender …”

“JESUS!” Alyssa yelled out in anger. With earbuds in, she didn’t realize how loudly that just came out of her mouth. Drake nudged her in the thigh. She glanced over at him for a second before he nodded to the 123 pairs of eyes that had all turned at once in her direction. It instantly dawned on her that everyone in the congregation heard the outburst.

Feeling the color drain from her face, Alyssa placed a hand over her chest and addressed, “I am soooo into this sermon, Hakim. Woohoo! Go, Jesus, go!” She pumped her fist in the air like she was rooting him on.

Drake dropped his face onto Patrick’s shoulder, who was sitting on his lap, to cover the incessant laughter that threatened to spill out of him. He was doing a terrible job of it, as a momentary burst of muffled snickers could be heard through the sound of the game playing in Alyssa’s ear. Her husband was nothing but a big kid himself -- she wouldn’t change that for anything.

“Mommy,” Audrey whispered next to her. “It’s about Moses. Not Jesus.”

Alyssa smiled, patting her daughter’s knee. “Same thing, baby. They both performed miracles.” She cut her eyes to the phone hidden under the cardigan draped across her thighs. “And the Bears need a miracle right now, guys,” she muttered, “Part those shithead Packer’s defensive line, Lord. It’s time to help my Bears get to the promised land.”

“Going for it on fourth down, Trubisky drops back. The Packer defense is putting a lot of pressure on the Bear’s offensive line. Every man is covered in the end zone. He has no one to throw to, Jim. They’re running out of time. Four seconds left. And, NOOO, they sack Trubisky on the 10-yard line … WAIT THE BALL IS LOOSE … THE BALL IS LOOSE ... he fumbled the ball. The Packers are scrambling to get it. There are green and white jerseys all over that ball. BUT LOOK … Green Bay’s Klark picks it up. He’s running the other way … and he just slipped … he just slipped, and the football fell right into the hands of Chicago’s Robinson --”

Alyssa grabbed Drake’s thigh, her fingers digging deeply with hope and panic. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” her stressed words weren’t audible to the crowd, but they were speaking volumes in her heart.

“--Robinson’s on the 20, now 15, he’s sweeping past the defense to the 10 -- 5 -- TOUCHDOWN, CHICAGO!!!”

"FUCK YES!" Alyssa jumped up, her arms outstretched in a V shape. “Hallelujah. Holy shit. Thank ya, Jesus.” She let out a huge sigh of relief, feeling nothing short of elated, not concerned in the slightest by the heads that twisted around again.

Hakim stood slack-jawed from the raised platform for a moment, his tallish physique slouching on the pulpit, before adjusting the microphone and clearing his throat deeply. "I'm certainly glad, Sister Alyssa is ... feeling the spirit this morning."

"I am feeling it, Brother Hakim," She shook her head profusely. "I. Am. Feeling it." She shot him a dimpled grin.

Drake snorted loudly, covering his face with one hand and grabbing the side of her dress to pull her back down with the other.

They turned to each other, neither one able to control the snickering and shaking of their bodies. Drake lifted a sleeping Patrick over his shoulder while Alyssa grabbed Audrey's hand; the Walker couple decided they were too immature for church this morning.

They laughed all the way to the parking lot.

"It's never a dull moment with you, baby girl," Drake chuckled, turning over the ignition.

"You know me …” She blew on her nails before rubbing them against her chest. “... just doing the Lord's work."

--------------

It was customary in Cordonia for families to gather together each week for a big supper after church.

The Walkers traditionally took turns hosting with Liam and Riley, and Constantine and Regina. This week's meal was at the elder Ryses.

Sitting down at the dining room table, everyone licked their chops, hungry and ready to dig into all the made-from-scratch southern goodness Mrs. Regina had prepared: Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, coleslaw, macaroni and cheese, green beans with hamhock, corn-on-the-cob, deviled eggs, biscuits, sweet tea, and coffee. It was all accompanied by two containers of broccoli salad, Alyssa picked up from the Piggly Wiggly deli after church, and Riley's lopsided carrot cake.

There was always a lot of food, a lot of love, and what would it be in a small town without a little gossip here and there.

"Regina, you've outdone yourself on this meal," Liam raved while placing his five-month-old son in a high chair and fastening the clasps. "If it tastes as good as it smells, we're all in for a big treat."

Everyone agreed as she sat down, Constantine pushing her chair in with a peck to the top of her head. "Thank you, Liam." She looked up at her husband with a sincere smile, rubbing his arm. "Only the best for our family."

She meant every word of that as she and Constantine glanced around the table at all the cheerful faces of the people they loved most — that included Drake and his family.

Drake's father had been the sheriff for many years before his untimely death, while the younger Walker was a teen. Connie had never met a braver, more hard-working man than Jackson; the now mayor stepped in after that death to be the father figure in Drake's life. Drake was already best friends with Liam, and over time, the family just considered him one of their own. Drake and Alyssa's children referred to them as Mamaw and Papaw Rys.

As everyone settled in and passed the food around the table, the doorbell rang; 7-year-old Ellie -- Liam and Riley's oldest -- jumped up to answer it. With everyone focused on getting their helpings, Riley leaned over and whispered to Alyssa, "Any more scoop on Savannah?"

Alyssa passed the potatoes to her and answered in a hushed tone, "I drove past her house yesterday ... Chuck was there. His big rig was backed right up into the driveway. They're not even trying to hide it anymore."

"I knew it." Riley slapped a scoop of potatoes onto her plate, passing them across to Liam. "When does Bertrand get back from that Bankers Convention in Atlanta?"

"I think Max said on Tuesday. And I guarn-damn-tee, Chuck will be there until then."

"Of course he will. Have you told Drake yet?"

Alyssa shook her head, peeking over at her husband, who was in hog heaven, dousing everything on his plate with white gravy, blissfully unaware of their idle chitchat. She turned back to Riley. "Not yet. You know how protective he is. I'll need to hide the gun cabinet keys when he finds out ... if he finds out. You remember how upset he got when Bianca got caught at the Love's Truck Stop with Landon Ebrim over the summer. His mama can do what she wants, but not with a married man."

Riley agreed with a nod before taking a sip and swallowing her sweet tea. "Ya know, I've never seen sweet Emmaline that angry."

"Yeah, me neither. She sure whopped ass that day." They both giggled lightly. "Landon's dentures flew clean across that truck lot."

"I saw her the other day at the Food Lion, grinnin' like a baked possum. Got that ol' dog for everything he had."

Alyssa huffed, "Cept' his nuts."

Ellie ran back in and hopped in her chair. "Miss Olivia is here!"

Alyssa stiffened, clutching her fork a little tighter before letting out a faint groan. Not that she didn't like the Assistant Principal of Cordonia Elementary -- she was her boss, after all, and they grew up together -- she could just be a little off-putting, sometimes with her treatment of Drake. In light of Olivia's recent divorce, she had, however, started directing most of her scorn on her ex-husband, Anton.

Everyone greeted Olivia as she strolled in behind the youngster, shrugging her jacket off and tossing it on a counter with her purse. "I smelled your chicken and taters all the way from Lythikos Drive, Regina. You know how I love a good rib stickin' meal."

"Is Travis and Waylon here?" Patrick piped up eagerly from the children's table, hoping to have some boys to play with rather than the three little girls who kept ganging up on him.

Olivia pulled out a chair and started loading her plate down. "They're with their daddy this weekend, sugar. I'll tell them you asked about them."

Drake lifted his coffee mug, not making eye contact with anyone. "Speaking of ... I saw Anton yesterday at the Dollar Tree ... with someone." He smirked into his drink. While everyone else knew who and was trying to avoid the elephant in the room, he owed her for years of squabble.

"Who? Madeleine?" Olivia spat, adding heaping spoonfuls of sugar to her already overly sweetened tea. "Bless her rotten heart, he was seeing her before our break up. Moved in with her right after the divorce was final, so I hope she's enjoyed cookin' and cleanin' after my youngins' all weekend, cause she's gonna be doin it a hell of a lot more now that she got herself fired."

Madeleine was a bank teller in the drive-thru at First Cordonia and also Leo's ex-fiancee.

"Madeleine got fired?" Alyssa asked in surprise. "She's been there for years."

The redhead swirled the sugar around in her tea with a spoon before licking it off and continuing, "Mmm-hmm. Bertrand caught her on video, stuffing her gaudy drawers into the vacuum tubes at the bank and sending them to that bastard when he drove through to make a deposit. He was making deposits alright. Right between her scrawny, cankled ass --"

"Olivia!" Liam quickly interjected, knowing once she got going, it would likely turn R-rated with several little ears listening. "I'm dying to hear how the Christmas Festival for next Saturday is coming along." He shot a look across the table at Drake for getting her worked up. Drake simply grinned.

By late afternoon, supper had been eaten, dishes cleaned, and pants unbuttoned. After a couple of hours of chatting on the back porch and watching the kids play, the two younger couples packed up leftovers Regina insisted they take home and were ready to hit the road.

Liam and Riley lived next door and walked out with the Walkers who were making their way to the Tahoe parked on the street.

Alyssa bounced and cooed over baby Jacob before handing him back to Riley and getting into the vehicle's passenger seat.

Liam was leaning into the driver's side window, having a casual discussion with Drake about the opening day of deer season next Saturday and asking what time he wanted to head out.

Alyssa was half-listening and half-working the stereo when an idea popped into her head. "You know what would be fun?” Both men stopped talking and glanced over at her. “We should all go?”

Drake knit his brows. “Go where?

“Hunting. We can make it a double date. You and me, Riley and Liam. The great outdoors. Some quality time together. I’ll even make snacks for everyone. It’ll be fun,” her voice was chipper. She was excited about it.

She was also deadly serious.

So were the dubious looks Drake and Liam gave each other over the thought of taking their wives on the most important hunting event of their year. Not that either didn't enjoy spending time with their significant others, but hunting was a whole different world. It was a one-person sport where you spent the day away from reality and responsibilities and just enjoying the great outdoors —a place to be alone and experience the thrill of a good hunt.

“Guys, I’m serious. We go fishing together, and I’ve shot targets plenty of times. I really wanna go hunting with you. Riley wants to go too, don't you?” She cast an inquisitive glance out her window at Riley, who glared back with the biggest what-the-fuck look she'd ever made. “See, she wants to go too.”

“Baby,” Drake began softly, giving her knee light squeezes. “I don’t mind taking you, but this is opening day. We’ll be in the woods for hours, in the cold. It’s not really what someone would consider a ‘date.’ And we’re going to the Festival that night … we’ll get a chance to spend time together there.”

She held his gaze as her lips began to quiver. “I understand. You .. you need time to be away from me, and it was a dumb idea anyway --”

“No,” Drake cut in. His heart plummeted from the sadness in her voice and eyes. “That’s not it at all. I love spending time with you. And if you really want to do this, then … let’s do this.”

“Really? We can go together?” Drake nodded with a smile before she squealed in his ear and pulled him into a tight hug. “I can’t wait! Thank you!”

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Liam let out a heavy breath as he looked over at Riley -- The woman he knew would not be a fun hunting partner next week -- still standing on the sidewalk, appearing like she might faint. “Yeah ... I can’t wait either.”

---------------------

Saturday. 5:15 a.m. The cellphone alarm on Drake’s bedside table let off a series of rhythmic beeping sounds and vibrations.

The alarm wasn’t needed. The man had been awake for hours, listening to his wife's gentle snores; the anticipation of bringing home at least a 12-pointer keeping him from falling back asleep.

Letting out a ferocious yawn and a hearty stretch, he picked up his phone to dismiss the alarm and rolled over to wake Alyssa.

With her ass perfectly curled into the space between his stomach and thighs, his hands settled on her curvy hip, jostling her slightly. “Time to get up, my little peach. We gotta get crackin’ before all the good deer are gone.”

“I just need one more hour, okay? Thanks,” she protested with a drowsy murmur, pulling the pillow over her head.

Drake chuckled, rubbing soothing circles over her back. “No. We have to get up now. We’re wasting time, sleepyhead. Unless … you don’t want to go.”

Alyssa’s heavy eyes stung as she tried to peel them open one at a time. “No, I wanna … go ...” she trailed. Her eyes slowly shut again, and she was out.

On a day like today, Drake was usually up and ready in ten minutes. Once he could finally get his wife out of bed, dressed, and back awake again from where she fell asleep on the toilet, it was close to 45 minutes.

Maxwell, who was also a childhood friend and the music teacher where Alyssa taught, rented the room over their garage. He agreed to come down that morning and watch the kids while the pair spent their morning in the woods. Bianca used to help out in that regard, but the kids complained she slept the whole time, and Alyssa was pretty sure her mother-in-law smoked pot around them.

Drake loaded up the truck, placing his rifle and a smaller .22 caliber for Alyssa behind the seat. Dragging herself slowly to the vehicle, the night sky still pitch black and her breath turning to thick vapors in the frigid air, she listlessly tossed a Taylor Swift tote bag on the floorboard and climbed in.

Drake looked at his phone after everything was packed up to see if Liam had sent a message about being late. It was unusual for him not to be there already. Typically, his best friend was up and at his house before Drake was even ready. He sent off a quick text to check.

Drake: Where you at, man?

Liam: Running late. Riley had to put makeup on and do her hair.

Liam: I’m having so much fun already 😑

Liam: snark

Drake: Lyss couldn’t decide which gloves looked the best with her orange vest. I guess she wants to impress the deer before she kills them.

Liam: We’re not catching deer today. We’ll be lucky if we catch a cold. Be there in 10.

Twenty minutes later, Liam’s gray Silverado pulled onto the Walker’s gravel drive. Riley had wanted biscuits and gravy from McDonald's, and she had to run back inside to pee, so that set them back. But, with everyone now there, they were finally ready to head out.

Just down the rural road from where Drake and Alyssa lived, the current sheriff of Cordonia, Bastien, owned several acres of unoccupied land that he used for recreation. He had been a close friend of Drake’s dad and agreed to let Drake and Liam hunt and fish on his property whenever they wanted.

Turning onto the dirt road and opening the gate, the four friends arrived at their spot just as dawn was breaking.

No one spoke much as they trekked through the mud, sticks, and brittle fall leaves that littered the path to the deer stands. Riley and Alyssa were too exhausted to say anything. Drake and Liam just weren’t used to talking at all.

"Riley, love,” Liam whispered softly. “Can you watch how you’re walking? The noise is going to scare the deer away.”

“I can’t help it if … " She reacted loudly in frustration before Liam placed a finger over his lips, and she resumed speaking more quietly. “I can’t help it if there're leaves everywhere. I’m walking on them as delicately as possible.”

“How much further? I think my toes are frozen and I need coffee.” Alyssa bemoaned while walking on the balls of her heels. Drake was basically dragging her sluggish body by the hand. Her eyes were still drooping from exhaustion with every careful step.

“Just over yonder of that fence row is our stand.” He pointed out.

Alyssa aimed her flashlight around the woods in several spots. "And where do we pee at?"

Liam lightly snorted as Drake answered matter-of-factly. "Just over yonder of that fence row below our stand."

"Oh ... " her tone was small and apprehensive, "... I guess that's ... okay." She glanced back timidly at Liam, who was following close behind.

He shielded his eyes from the beam of her flashlight in his face and frowned. "I'm not going to watch you pee, Alyssa."

Riley gasped, "Eww! I don't want Drake watching me pee either."

"Shhhhh." Liam was quick to remind her again of the volume of her voice.

"Stop, shushing me, Liam! Those deer don't know I'm out here."

Drake grunted, then whipped around to face the three of them. "Would you keep your voices down? No one's watching anybody take a piss," he whisper-yelled. "Lyssa and I will be at least a hundred yards away from ya'll. Riley, I promise you can piss your little heart out, and I won't see it."

"We're separating?" Alyssa asked wistfully. "What if I need to ask Riley something, and she can't hear me yelling across to her?"

"You'll just have to ask her when we're done, baby girl. And ... please don't yell questions to her while we're out here. Low voices."

They continued on with their noisy hike.

"Having so much fun," Liam grumbled to himself.

-------------------

Liam and Riley headed to their tree stand as Drake helped Alyssa climb up the ladder to theirs.

The stand and ladder were made of plywood -- chipped and faded from years of exposure to the elements -- and were attached at the apex to an oak tree about twenty feet off the ground. At the top it had enough room to take a step onto, with a wooden seat just wide enough to accommodate them. One plank rail came out on both sides.

Alyssa plopped down onto the seat, clutching her tote bag of goodies on her lap. She lifted the brim of the orange beanie she borrowed from Drake -- that smelled of animal carcass and gun powder -- above her eyes and peered out to the wilderness spread monumentally below. She closed her eyes and slowly inhaled the fresh, dewy air, taking in the sounds of twittering birds, branches clashing from the nearby squirrel frolicking on them, and the rippling of a bubbling brook streaming down the hill.

A pleasant warmth overcame her as Drake's much larger body sat down next to her and protected her from the frosty wind blowing in from his side.

Alyssa wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling into him. "I can see why you like this so much. It's so quiet and peaceful ... look how purty it is out here, Drake. It's just real purty, isn't it?"

Working diligently on getting their gear together, he stopped briefly to look out; affection glowed in his eyes. “It sure is, darlin’. Almost as purty as you ... and notice I said 'almost.'” He winked, and Alyssa blushed, feeling that same love trickling up inside her she'd had since they were teenagers. Drake could charm the pants off a chipmunk, but she was thankful he only used that gift on her.

"Sooo ... " She drawled in her thick Southern accent. "How long will it be before the deer start coming out?"

Drake drew the barrel of her gun back after loading it with shells and explained, "Don't know. It could be minutes. It could be a few hours. Just whenever they head this way, I reckon."

Perplexed, Alyssa nodded slowly. "A few hours? I s'pose that's okay. What do you do while you're waiting?"

He shrugged, passing a gun to her. "You just ... sit here."

"You just sit here and do what?"

Drake leaned over to kiss into her orange cap and replied, "Wait."

"Wait." She acknowledged. "I can do that. I'll just sit here ... and wait."

Several minutes had passed, and Alyssa was already bored with listening to nature, Drake's gurgling stomach, and sitting quietly with nothing to do. Every so often, a shotgun blast was heard in the distance, signifying either someone out there had gotten their prize or Riley had driven Liam insane. It was the only break from the monotony that came with the boredom of sitting in a tree for who knew how many hours.

Letting out a giant exhale that caught Drake's attention, she propped her rifle against the railing and pulled the cloth tote that was sitting between her boots into her lap. Rummaging through the bag, she pulled out her phone and began thumbing out a message.

Drake furrowed his brows and asked, "What're you doin'?"

"Just texting Riley,' she answered dismissively. He shook his head and leaned it back against the tree while she formulated her message.

Alyssa: You still alive over there? How's it going?

Riley: This is boring as shit.

Riley: And now my texting is apparently scaring away the deer. F the deer Liam. F all the damn deer!!!! What were you thinking, Lyss?

Alyssa: I was thinking we could spend quality time with our husbands. The men we love and cherish with all of our hearts. I’m having a great time with Drake so far 😍😘

Alyssa: And no one twisted your arm to come bitch.

Riley: Liam's just staring through binoculars. He hasn’t spoken in 20 minutes except to tell me to point the gun away from him or to quit moving. Let’s go get our hair did at Adelaide's.”

Alyssa: OHHH Yes! And get Chinese food ... CRAB RANGOONS!! I'll have Drake drive us back. Girls Day Out. Love you!

Drake let out a belch and blew it away when Alyssa turned to him with a dazzling smile and a sparkle in her blues. "Can you drive Riley and me back to the house?"

"What? Right now?" he shrieked. She answered him with a cheerful nod. "What happened to all that talk about wanting to spend quality time with me?"

"I still do. But ... we're just sitting here, not really doing anything. I could be getting my hair done for tonight's festival. I also have a ton of laundry to do, some papers to grade, and I’m supposed to be making the Devereaux’s famous peach cobbler for the raffle. If I leave now, I’ll have time to do all of it.” Alyssa knew she probably wouldn’t do half of that, and Audrey would likely make the cobbler, but it made the situation sound more urgent.

"It's opening day, baby. I'm not leaving this spot." He reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out his keys. "If you and Riley wanna take my truck, I'll ride back with Liam."

She gave him an exasperated look. "I don't know my way back to the truck. And I sure as hell know Riley doesn't."

He smirked, stuffing his keys back. "Then you're stuck."

The next hour was brutal. Alyssa texted Riley to alleviate the boredom for several minutes, but there had been no responses in a long while. She wasn't aware that Liam tossed her friend's phone over the hill when she started making TikTok videos of her plight -- Liam took his deer hunting seriously: No noise meant no noise.

Drake wasn't much better; he was quieter than his usual self. It wouldn't have been so bad if she could at least talk. An occasional whispered word was not going to cut it.

Alyssa sighed heavily. She wiggled around for comfort. She unwrapped a Nutty Bar. She crunched. She opened a can of pop. She tapped her fingers. She flipped the pages of a magazine. Each one got that look from Drake that let her know it was too loud. If she ever made it out of there, she planned to jabber and stir until she couldn't do it anymore.

After another half-hour of stewing quietly in her thoughts without a sign of a deer anywhere, Alyssa decided now was the time to finally just talk.

"Do you ever think about having another baby?" It was a topic that had been on her mind for a while. To her surprise, Drake didn't give her a look or even freak out the way she anticipated. Despite his own rule of silence, he even responded in kind.

"Yeah. Kind of a lot."

Her right brow darted up. "Really?"

Drake took a breath and shifted the gun across his lap. "I mean, of course. It's always been my dream to settle down and have a bunch of youngin's with the woman I love." He studied her lit-up face; he'd swore she'd gotten more beautiful with age. That's why he hesitated when he added, "But ... "

Her shoulders slumped at his words, and a deflated look impressed upon her face. "But ... " The word barely made it past her lips.

Drake reached for her hand and gripped it tightly. "Lyssa, we have so much going on right now. You're working on National Boards, Audrey has piano recitals and basketball, Patrick has peewee football and Boy Scouts. We barely have time -- except for right now -- for just ... us. I'm not saying,"never"... just that right now ... isn't a good time."

"I understand that, but ... we've always made it work. And don't you miss those tiny little fingers wrapped around yours? And the way they smell fresh out of the bath? And those chubby little cheeks pressed up against yours?" she goaded.

“Of course I do. I remember the first time I held Audrey and PJ in my arms -- there’s just no better feeling in the world than ...to look down ... " Drake paused as his voice cracked, and his brown eyes glistened like glass. " ... and to see someone so small ..." When she sniffled, it made it that much harder for him to speak. "... that you created with the woman you've loved since you were 16 years old. But I like who they are now, and watching them grow, and doing things with them ... And, well ... there’s no shit clean up.”

“You obviously haven’t washed Patrick's clothes in a while,” Alyssa retorted with a chuckle that brought out one in her husband.

"I’ll have to talk to him about that." He gazed deeper into her eyes. "But I do love you ... more than all the peaches in Georgia, Lyssa Claire.”

Alyssa smiled.“That’s what you said to me when you promised to marry me when we were teens.”

Drake returned his own smile. “I did. I remember like it was yesterday too. Sitting in your parent’s basement, watching Friends reruns, eating pizza, making out. And hell, it’s still as true today as it was then. Somehow, even more."

Their cold lips parted and joined halfway for a fervent kiss, with Drake's hand meandering around the subtle groove at the junction of her waist. Just as it became more intense and desirous, a rustling of twigs off in a nearby thicket caught Drake's ear, and he broke away, his eyes scoping the perimeter. Alyssa wasn't offended, she heard it too, and her heart raced with excitement.

Lifting the binoculars hanging from his neck, he spotted two deer eating from a blackberry patch some thirty yards away. He pointed in their direction; Alyssa gave a quick thumbs up, letting him know she saw them too.

Drake carefully lifted the rifle resting in his lap as Alyssa leaned forward and squinted to get a better visual. "Is that a buck and a doe?" she whispered, not moving an inch.

"Sure as fuck is." He mounted the stock of his .30 caliber, Winchester, just beneath his collarbone; the rush of this moment coursed ravenously through his body. He lined up the scope and placed a steady finger on the trigger -- his thumb pulling the hammer back.

“Wait.” Alyssa loudly whispered. “You can’t shoot him.”

"I'm gonna. Better cover your ears."

"No, Drake. There's a doe with him. What if that's his wife? You can't just leave her all alone without him."

"Lyss, this is the whole reason we're out here."

"So you can make a widow out of her?"

"No ... so I can make deer chili out of him."

Alyssa's mouth flew open. "No. No. RUUUUUUUUN! RUUUUUUN!"

Drake pulled his face away from the scope and fired her a look. "What the hell are you doing? They're getting away!"

She tilted her chin boldly. "I don't care. That was her husband, and they're in love, and you can't take that away from them. I would be so sad if we were just out eating berries and someone came up and shot you, ALL SO THEY COULD EAT DRAKE CHILI!".

Drake dropped his head. He knew there was no point in arguing with her. As long as he’d known her, she was stubborn, and at that moment, she was dead set in believing those two deer were living out the greatest romance of all time. Nothing he said or did would change her mind on that.

A thought emerged while he attempted to comprehend the logic of the situation. Those deer ran off in the direction where Liam was set up. Maybe if he could give his friend a heads up, it was still possible at least someone would leave those woods with the prized buck.

Turning his back from Alyssa so that she couldn't stop him, he pulled a small walkie-talkie from his pocket and radioed Liam. Alyssa knew what was up and jumped to her feet, thrusting her arms around him in an attempt to stop the travesty.

"You can't do this, Drake," she hollered, "That’s her soulmate. And why don't I have a walkie-talkie? I want a walkie-talkie!"

While seated next to Liam, Riley was swinging her legs, purposefully making the soles of her boots scrape against the platform. Liam tried to ignore her; maybe he had been a little too uptight about every little noise and utterance she made. But this was playing a whole different ballgame now: she was now making it her mission to piss him off.

Prepared to pound his head against the tree, Liam gritted his teeth, skimming his eyes in her direction. "Love, do you have to do that?"

"Did you have to throw my phone in the woods?" She spat back.

Liam rubbed his hand over his face. "No, and I am sorry that. I apologize for all of eternity. I promise I will get you another one as soon as we get back, okay?”

Riley huffed. "Fine, but that phone had all of my contacts on it. It had our babies' pictures and videos on it ... our vacation photos. I can't get those memories back ever, and I have to find it, and God only knows where it landed. It could be ..." She stopped rattling on when she caught sight of the distressed look Liam was giving her. Knitting her brows, Riley asked, "What?"

"Nothing ... just ... can you lower your voice a little? You're gonna scare the deer away,"

He regretted it as soon as it came out.

“LIAAAAM!”

He saw the steam gushing out of her ears. There was no time to answer the incoming call on his walkie-talkie from Drake.

Belting out a furious screech, Riley jumped up and tried to jerk the gun from his hands. There was no question she wouldn't shoot him, but she'd sure as hell shred his favorite gun apart piece-by-piece and toss them all the way to Portavira Lake on the other side of town.

Riley tugged with all of her might. "I have HAD IT with being quiet for those damn deer, Liam. HAD IT!"

"Sweetheart, you need to calm down ..." He stood up in front of her, pulling back on the rifle even harder, surprised -- and not pleasantly so -- his considerably smaller wife had this much struggle in her.

"Don't you sweetheart me. You have shushed me for the last time, Liam Preston Rys!"

“Okay, I’m sorry! But can you at least admit us fighting over a gun is dangerous? Somebody is going to get seriously hurt, and I don’t want it to be you, Riley. Please. I won’t shush you anymore, I promise.” His face softened, eventually adorning a loving smile at his wife, who, with a sigh, was unable to resist that handsome face and relaxed her grip.

Riley gave him a half-smile in return. “I’m sorry, too. I’ve ruined your hunting trip.”

“Yes ... you did.” Liam agreed, dodging the playful slap she nearly made to his upper arm. “But I don’t want to fight anymore.”

With the War of the Ryses finally over, they went in for a makeup kiss until Drake’s voice called out to Liam again through his walkie talkie. Liam set the gun down on the bench and leaned it against the tree before he started digging into his pocket to answer the device. Riley dropped down onto the seat, her elbow brushed against the rifle and caused it to slide away until the barrel end hit the railing and set off a powerful blast.

When the ringing in both of their ears subsided, and the smoke had cleared, Liam and Riley collected themselves from the sudden spine-gripping explosion that shook them both. While Riley explained to Liam what happened, a hysterical sounding Drake came back over the walkie-talkie, wailing, “Alyssa’s been shot! Alyssa’s been shot! Help me!”

__________________

Later that evening, in the courthouse square, the street was lit up with zig-zagged rows of red, green, and white lights. Strands of garland were wound around every lamppost in perfect spiraled loops, and red bows hung and waved with the wintry breeze.

With traffic rerouted away from the area, vendors lined sidewalks selling local goods to put the town's citizens in the festive spirit. What would this small town in Georgia have been without boiled peanuts, low country boil, fried green tomatoes, barbecue, and peach everything?

Once Constantine had lit the 30-foot spruce, surrounded by hundreds of merry people from all walks of life that made up this small community, the festival was officially kicked-off.

In a large tent set up on the square, Liam and Riley laid out styrofoam containers and drinks they’d purchased from a barbeque vendor on one of several picnic tables inside. With their two young daughters munching away on their meal, and the stroller with their sleeping son beside them, they both sat down with heavy hearts and restless minds.

Liam bit into his barbecue sandwich, noticing Riley only prodding at her mac-and-cheese while staring off into the distance. He didn’t have to ask what was wrong; he knew what happened that morning was bothering her with guilt and worry. It wasn’t every day she accidentally shot someone.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Riley shook her head slightly with a sad look. “No. It’s just not the same without Alyssa here. You know how much she loves Christmas and the festival. She was so looking forward to it too, until --”

“You shot her.”

“Yeeeeeesssss,” she cried out. Liam reached across the table and gave her hand a comforting squeeze, his thumb caressing her smooth skin. Riley continued to sniffle as she grabbed a handful of napkins and wiped the barbecue sauce off Liam’s sticky fingers that were now smeared all over hers. “I didn’t mean to, I swear it. And the way … and the way Drake cried. It broke my heart. Now he has her on bed rest AND house arrest. He won’t let her take calls. I’ll never see or hear from my bestie agaaaain.” The tears continued to flow in steady streams.

Liam stiffened, feeling the eyes of everyone in that tent, gawking at his overly-dramatic wife breaking down. He started to tell her to lower her voice, but after the gun battle in the woods, he thought better of it. “Riley, darlin’, you know Drake is really overprotective of Alyssa. And as scary as what happened was, she only needed the one stitch and band-aid for her graze wound. Something tells me Drake won’t be able to keep her down long.”

---------------------------

Liam was right. As much as Drake tried to keep her in bed so he could wait on her hand and foot, protect her from the careless friends of the world who could inadvertently do his baby girl harm, and check to see if she needed a new band-aid every few minutes, he could not keep her down. She had been far too excited to hang out with the people she loved so much and celebrate at one of her favorite festivals.

Maxwell had left for the events with Audrey and Patrick an hour ago; they were part of the children’s caroling group and needed to be there early. Against Drake’s wishes, Alyssa showered, got dressed, and made sure he knew in no uncertain terms would he be able to prevent her from going. The only thing he knew to do was to go, follow her around the entire night, and make sure she wouldn’t get shot again.

They circled the block where everything was held several times, but spaces to park were impossible to find. Three blocks away was the church where they attended, and the parking lot was completely empty. Drake didn’t like the fact that Alyssa would have to walk so far in her debilitated condition and was prepared to haul her piggyback style if he had to, but this was the best spot he could find.

Drake moved the gearshift into park and reached over to grab Alyssa’s arm, who was already bounding out the door. He pulled Alyssa back inside, the chilly air blowing through her open door swept her straighten hair this way and that way.

She cocked her head to the side and exhaled, “Drake, I can open my own door. I’m not broken. It’s just a scratch. I’m fine.”

“I know.” He smiled that tenderhearted smile only Alyssa had ever seen. The same one sending a shudder through her already chilled body. “I changed my mind,” he replied simply

Alyssa slammed her eyes shut and groaned. “I just told you I was fine --”

“No, no,” He shook his head. “About having another baby. I want to start trying.”

Saddled with curiosity, she slid back into the truck and shut the door. “But, I thought you said we didn’t have time for that --”

“Yeah, I did say that. I still believe it. But … today made me realize that yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today …”

Alyssa’s hand flew to her mouth as she laughed out loud. Drake gave her a confused look before chuckling awkwardly to himself, “What’s so funny?”

She lowered her hand, still laughing. “You got that saying from a quote on a poster in my classroom. You’re the one who hung it up for me.”

The memory dawned on him, and he lowered his head, attempting to cover the guilty grin that spread over it. “Well, hell. Here I was trying to make you think I was all insightful and smart and stuff.”

Alyssa’s hand splayed across his rugged chest as she leaned over to kiss him.“You are very insightful and smart. You know I never settle for anything less than the best.”

“I s’pose.” he said, forking his fingers through his hair. “But … I guess what I wanted to say was … I know that bullet missed you, barely … but what if it hadn’t? What if I’d left those woods without you today? Just like you were afraid that doe might. Time wouldn’t matter anymore. There will NEVER be enough time with you. You’re my life, Alyssa Claire. You’re my lover, my friend, my heart, my confidante, my soul, my everything … my little peach. I want to experience all that life has given me with you as my wife … and forever make time with you.”

“DRAAAKEY!” she bawled, spreading her tiny arms wide around his bulky body. Alyssa drew him into her so hard it nearly crushed the wind right out of his lungs. “I -- love -- you -- so muuuch!” Drake patted her back and kissed into her hair as she sniveled into his shirt. He hated when she cried, but damn if this didn’t feel good to him. Anytime she was happy made him that way too.

They took a moment to kiss and pet each other a little before Alyssa sat up and asked, “So … when do you want to start trying for a new baby Walker?”

He shrugged. “Whenever you want, baby.”

Alyssa looked through the back window of the truck and scanned the parking lot. She bit her lip and looked back at him impishly. “What about … now?”

Drake’s eyes flew open wide. “In the church parking lot?”

Pursing her lips, she affirmed, “Yes. We’ve done it behind the Piggly Wiggly plenty of times. And let's not forget the ‘Great Ass Blow-out of 2019’ in the Atlanta Convention Center parking garage.”

“I will never forget that.” Drake shook his head as that momentous sexual experience replayed in his mind. “Mmmm, you performed magic that day, woman.”

She raised a brow and coaxed him on, “So? What’dya say?”

Drake took a tentative look around at the dark, empty lot, then back at her. “We’re so going to hell, but I’m in.”

“Eeeeeee,” she squealed, jerking his arm around in excitement. “Try to keep your ass out of the window this time, okay?”

Thirty minutes later, Pastor Hakim pulled into the church parking lot with Mara, the game warden, following behind in her truck. There had been several reports from passerby’s of loud animals howling and screeching behind the church. The stray cat population was out of control in that area, and several cats had burrowed their way inside the church on occasion.

Hakim parked his car, with Mara pulling in beside him. They both got out simultaneously and listened quietly to see if they could decipher where the commotion was coming from.

Within seconds, a load moan roared out, followed by several consecutive whimpers that were hard to make out by the duo.

Mara listened intently, then gestured with her flashlight to an area near the back of the lot where clusters of shrubs and dry brush bordered. Hakim ambled behind her, the noise getting closer and closer until the pastor's brow furrowed at the shaking of a nearby truck.

“Damn, teenagers,” he grumbled as they tipped toed discreetly.

Mara crouched down by the truck's tailgate, Hakim bending over while she duck-walked toward the driver's side door.

The game warden turned to the pastor and instructed, “On my three. 1 -- 2 -- 3.” They both jumped up at the same time, flashing the light inside the cab. “HAHA Caught ya! OH MY GOD!”

Alyssa, who was on top of Drake, completely naked except for the band-aid on her left arm, looked up in utter humiliation and shock. She crossed her arms over her chest to cover her breast, feeling like she might faint. Not knowing what to say at that moment to rectify their actions or why those two were still staring inside the truck, Alyssa smiled sheepishly. “I’m still feeling the spirit, Hakim.”

---------------------------------

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#drake x alyssa #Liam x Riley #gun usage #hunting

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years ago

Text

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 25: Riding a Bike

Chapter 24

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Jamie was simultaneously in Heaven and in Hell.

The Heaven part was Claire Beauchamp’s hand laced in his, walking from the parking meter to the restaurant on the water, down port in Port Jefferson. If dinner was as long as he’d planned for, the timing would be perfect for them to be walking around just as the sun was setting so that the colors would dance on her skin, in her curls, in her eyes. She was so much more relaxed than she was on that first date, so much more comfortable in the restaurant this time, one by the name of Old Fields. She loved that they could see the water, loved the flowers and wee plants around them at their outdoor table (he knew she would), loved the string of lights crisscrossing back and forth above their heads. She was illuminated like an angel.

The Hell part was what he’d committed to doing after this.

Not that it would be Hell, not at all. Christ, the thought of giving himself to her that way, the thought of her being his first (and only, if he had anything to say about it, though he couldn’t exactly say that this early without sounding like a nutter), the thought of finally giving in to those urges he’d felt since the first time she’d pressed her body against his in that bloody office…

That too, was Heaven.

But the waiting. The anticipation.

Christ, he was nervous.

He wanted to do it right, wanted to please her, wanted her to like it. He wanted her to like it as much as he already knew he would. He didn’t want to lose his head, or lose it too soon. He’d heard his friends ribbing each other as teenagers, how they’d lost it nearly the second they were inside for their first time. Claire deserved better than that.

Then he remembered she hadn’t been pleasured as such in years, and his throat went dry. He couldn’t disappoint her. He just couldn’t. It was not an option.

“Jamie?”

“Hm?”

He was pulled from his whirling thoughts by that reminder of Heaven, her gentle voice, warm, soft fingertips on his wrist; on his pulse, he realized. He looked up into her face when he realized she was not going to say anything else, and saw her gazing softly at him, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

“You’re very loud without saying a word,” she said.

Jamie chuckled nervously, feeling himself blush. “Aye, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she tightened her grip on his wrist. “That’s not why I said that.” He wet his lips, nodding. “Are you…nervous? About…later.”

Throat dry, causing pain when he swallowed, he nodded. “Feels foolish, but aye.”

“It’s not.” Her thumb rubbed calming circles over his pulse, and it felt like she was literally soothing his heartbeat back to a steady rhythm. That was her affect, her healing touch, her magic. “It’s normal. I’m…I am, too.” He watched a beautiful blush begin at her sternum and creep its way up her neck and into her face, like watching flowers bloom up and down a vine.

“But I…” she went on, breathing shakily. “I really, really want to, Jamie.”

Jamie thought he might just die.

Her voice was low and husky in a way he’d never heard, and she did not break eye contact. He nodded, his jaw agape.

“Aye,” he somehow managed to stutter. “I…I do, too.”

She brought his fingers to her lips, and he prayed she would not feel how clammy his hand was.

“Worrying about it now won’t change anything that happens later,” she whispered, causing the hairs on his hand and wrist to stand on end, tickled by her breath. “It’ll be okay.”

And though he still felt like he might vomit, or faint, or keel over, he knew she was right.

He tried to focus instead on the menu, on the bread basket in between them, on watching Claire break the bread into pieces before putting it in her mouth, not biting it. He tried to think of those hands, delicately breaking bread, holding surgical equipment, of those fingers tying stitches, stroking the brow of a frightened child on a stretcher. And then the bread was popped between her lips, and he could think of nothing but those lips, doing…well…

The waiter thankfully interrupted that next train of thought, and they each ordered. Jamie ordered the buttermilk fried chicken, which came with cornbread, coleslaw, and french fries, which he swapped for sweet potato fries. He caught a glint in Claire’s eye when he asked for the substitution, and he immediately knew she’d be having quite a few of those fries. Claire ordered butternut squash ravioli, and Jamie smiled as he handed the waiter their menus. He’d have to make that for her sometime; he wasn’t too bad at ravioli and other pasta dishes if he did say so himself.

The more rounds of drinks they got, the more relaxed they both felt, and the more Jamie could look at the lights dancing on Claire’s skin without thinking of the terror of the rest of her skin being bared to him.

Well, not entirely.

It was always there, in the back of his mind, but Claire’s melodic laugh, her pensive gaze as she stared over the water, the way she jumped when the ferry horn blared, and that damned healing touch of hers always pulled him back out of his head. She talked about patients and incidents at work, about Joe saving her sanity nearly once an hour, about Faith’s new habit of laying out every one of her barbies on the coffee table in the morning and leaving them there untouched until it was bedtime, only to repeat the process every morning, about how Faith arranged the furniture in her dollhouse. Jamie talked about his own clients, about how great Faith was doing with Jessica, and he told a particularly long anecdote about his one client with Down Syndrome, Holly.

“I dinna ken what to do about that one,” Jamie said, shaking his head. “She’s making braw progress, just great. Her fine motor is getting so much better, her strength is improving, she communicates great wi’ the horse and wi’ us. But she…Christ, how do I say it…”

“She has a crush on you,” Claire said, putting her chin in her hands and smiling.

“Aye! How d’ye know?”

“I’ve seen her at the events. She’s the sweetest thing, but she’s especially sweet to you,” Claire said, her eyes bright with mirth. “How old is she again?”

“Eleven,” Jamie said. “The problem is, she does so well wi’ me, right? But I dinna ken if it’s just because she’s, well, sweet on me. And is that ethical? For her to progress so well because she’s sweet on a grown man more’n twice her age?”

Claire laughed. “Well, it isn’t your fault. You do what you can for her and you keep it professional. She’ll outgrow it, I’m sure.”

“I’m no’ so sure,” Jamie said. “Doesna help that her mam encourages her.”

“Perhaps she has her own crush and she’s living vicariously through Holly.” Claire took a cheeky sip of wine, and Jamie barked with laughter.

“Shameless, Sassenach.”

“What? It’s quite difficult for a woman to resist someone like you. And good with kids, and animals?” She put down her wine glass. “You’re a dreamboat, darling. I’m quite aware how lucky I am. And I would be even if the other moms weren’t constantly reminding me.”

The thought made Jamie blush; all the mothers ogling at him from where he couldn’t see, telling Claire about said ogling.

Claire suddenly shook her head, mouth and eyes wide with disbelief.

“What?”

“It’s like…you don’t even know.” She rested an arm on the table, leaning her chin in her other hand.

“Dinna ken what?”

She bit her lip, perhaps stifling a laugh, or trying to stop herself from saying it. “I’ll…I’ll tell you later.”

His stomach flipped.

When dinner arrived, Claire did steal quite a few of his sweet potato fries, and he didn’t have it in him to tease her for it. She thoroughly enjoyed her own meal, and he catalogued that knowledge away, along with the knowledge of her love of sweet potato. They skipped dessert, Jamie promising her well-priced ice cream instead.

Said ice cream was obtained at a little shop tucked away at the corner of a narrow pedestrian cobblestone walkway. Claire was completely enamored with every little shop and cafe they passed, remarking how “sweet” or how “darling” everything looked, and Jamie wanted to kiss her senseless.

He ordered moose-tracks, which Claire had apparently never had, and Claire got her usual soft-serve vanilla with rainbow sprinkles on a cone. Jamie gave her a bite of his, and she nodded in approval, saying she might actually get that next time.

Next time.

The thought of an endless future of holding Claire’s hand at sunset with ice cream on her tongue was making him dizzy.

They strolled closer and closer to the water, chatting and eating. Claire insisted Jamie have a lick of her ice cream since she’d tried his, but Jamie was certain she just wanted to watch him make a mess of his face with the quickly melting mess. She got her wish, if that was her intention.

When they reached the beach, Jamie asked Claire to hand him her shoes; the wedges she was wearing were not conducive to walking in the sand. She obliged, and they walked on. They walked along the shoreline, passing groups of young people with grilles, families or couples with dogs. There was even a lone swimmer, stroking valiantly in the near still water.

Claire was looking out over the harbor, at the boats, the birds, the colors in the sky. “This really is so beautiful, Jamie.”

“I’m glad ye like it,” he said. “I used to come here by myself just to think. I come wi’ Toni to get food and people watch. It’s very fine to have you here.”

She bit into her cone, and he smiled, finally giving into the urge to kiss her cheek, even as she chewed.

They eventually found their way to a dock, and they sat on the edge, dangling their feet, Claire’s shoes sitting behind them. The sun was mere minutes from setting now, and Jamie’s heart could have burst. He’d calculated the timing just right; he’d gotten to see all of nature’s glowing colors in various states of sunset reflected on Claire’s skin, her hair, her eyes. He could swear that her eyes literally changed color depending on the color of the light around them. She was truly ethereal, so much so that his stomach settled for the first time all night.

They sat swinging their feet, Claire resting her head on Jamie’s shoulder, Jamie holding her against him. It was perfect. The scent of her was driving him mad, that sweet perfume, lemongrass, and that deep herbal essence that always permeated her, likely from her garden. Then they were kissing, madly and deeply, and someone could have docked their boat right next to them and Jamie wouldn’t have noticed.

——

When Jamie opened the back door of his car to retrieve Claire’s overnight bag for her, she noticed that he wiped his hands on his trousers before actually picking up the bag.

He was sweating.

She wanted to tell him that it was going to be alright, that it was not going to be as terrifying as he dreaded, that she’d be happy no matter how he performed.

Not that she wasn’t thinking about how he would perform.

It was perhaps a bit unfair to place such high expectations on him. He was virginal after all. But God, there was something about him that had Claire convinced that she wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. And she eagerly awaited it.

She’d wanted him, very badly, for a long, long time. Longer than she cared to admit. And she very well might finish at the first contact and then he’d have nothing to worry about.

Before Claire could reveal her horrendously mortifying train of thought, Jamie was unlocking the front door. He lived on the bottom floor of his building, and there were outdoor entrances like there were at her building.

“It’s no’ much,” he said sheepishly, turning on the lights. “Bachelor pad, after all.”

Claire looked around the living room they stepped into, her chest warming. “It’s lovely.”

There was a gray couch facing a not-too-big tellie, a coffee table in the center of a woven blue area rug that matched the tartan blanket draped over the back of the couch. There were burgundy-red throw pillows that matched the red on the tartan.

“Fraser tartan,” Claire said, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. “Right?”

“Aye,” Jamie said eagerly, beaming. “Ye remembered.”

“Remembered?” Claire snorted. “I have been entirely unable to forget the sight.”

She moved on to examine photos on the wall behind the couch, and she saw him blush out of the corner of her eye. She recognized Jenny and Ian from pictures on Jamie’s phone; there were photos from their wedding with Jamie in them, photos of the children, with and without Jamie. There was a photo of three cheesy grins on eager children, two of them redheaded little boys. The one in the middle leaned heavily on his sister and brother, grinning the brightest of all. Willie.

Above them was a photo of them with their parents. Ellen was beautiful. Like a Goddess or an Amazon. Her jawline could cut ice, and her high cheekbones gave way to cat-like eyes.

“You look so much like her,” Claire said softly. She felt him come up closer behind her.

“Thank you.”

She turned to offer him a sad but loving smile, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her head on his shoulder. Her eyes wandered over Ellen and Brian’s wedding photo, both of them elegant and regal, Brian in his full Fraser regalia, Ellen in a gorgeous, very eighties gown.

“Your family is so beautiful, Jamie.” Claire gave him a squeeze. “Just looking at these I can tell how much love there is between all of you.”

Claire had always wondered what it was like to have family like that. Of course Lamb had been her family, and she loved him endlessly. She always would. But family like this, family to fill a wall with and look at similarities between…she’d never had such a thing. So she always wondered.

“I can’t wait to meet them someday.”

She said it softly, so softly that she might be able to take it back if she needed. But Jamie squeezed her back and kissed the top of her head.

“I canna wait either, mo ghraidh.”

They took off their shoes and moved into the kitchen, the counters empty and spotless save his coffee maker and a blender, quite unlike the ever-present mess in her kitchen. There were white roses in the center of the table, and Claire got the distinct feeling that he didn’t always have such a thing.

“For you, Milady.” He gallantly offered her a rose from the bunch, and she deeply inhaled its fresh scent, looking up at him through her lashes. The whisky came next, and then they were on the couch, glasses in hand, rose tucked behind Claire’s ear. They would go back and forth between talking animatedly, laughing, teasing, and then utter silence, sipping their glasses uncomfortably, sweat pooling at the base of Claire’s back. And probably under her arms. This went on for far too long before Claire decided to say something.

“So — ”

“Listen, I —”

They both snapped their mouths shut, blushing fiercely. They stumbled apologies over each other, but then Claire stopped it all.

“You first,” she insisted.

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “I was ehm…gonna…well…” He ran a hand through his hair, and Claire’s heart strained to see it was trembling. “I dinna ken what to do right about now. I mean, I ken what to do!” he corrected quickly, but he hadn’t needed to. Claire knew what he meant. “It’s just — ”

“No, I know. I know what you mean.” Claire took another sip of her drink. “I don’t…know what’s next either.”

Jamie laughed, a shaky, nervous sound. Claire wanted to take him in her arms and soothe him, kiss away all his fear. Yet she also wanted to pounce him right there, make him spill his whisky all over that beautiful carpet and drag him to the bed and leave it there until morning.

Though that didn’t seem very productive.

“I was going to say that you don’t have to worry about condoms,” Claire said, nodding curtly. “I mean, I know you don’t have anything, and I don’t. Unless you want — ”

He shook his head. “I trust ye.”

Claire nodded. “And well, I’m on the pill. So.”

He nodded thoughtfully, sipping his drink again. She saw the unasked question in his eye. She didn’t need to prove to him that she wasn’t just ready to start sleeping around at any given moment, but she wanted to.

“I took it even before I started having sex,” she explained. “Bad periods. Really bad.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright,” Claire waved it off. “It was convenient when I started having sex. Then Frank wanted kids right after getting married even though I was still in medical school, so I went off it. Went right back on it as soon as I could after Faith was born.”

“Frank wanted kids?”

She saw the regret as soon as he said it, flashing in his eyes like a storm.

“Exactly,” Claire said. “I don’t need to tell you of all people that Faith is my joy and blessing and…everything to me,” she said, her chest aching. “But…I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to even start trying until the age I am now. Pregnancy and infancy during med school was really hard.”

“I canna imagine.” He put a hand on her knee, squeezing. “Ye’re brave, Claire. And strong.”

She smiled weakly. “I didn’t feel like it at the time. I couldn’t even say no to him. Even though I knew why he was doing it.”

He didn’t want to ask, she could tell. He squeezed her knee harder and rubbed his thumb over her kneecap.

“He thought I’d give it up,” she said simply, shrugging. “Being a doctor. If I had children. Thought I’d resign myself to barefoot and pregnant.”

Jamie’s every feature darkened. Claire covered his hand with hers on her knee.

“I’m sorry we got into that tonight. I didn’t mean…at all…”

Unprompted and unexpectedly, Jamie’s lips met hers, harder than they had all night. He pulled away, and Claire felt breathless.

“What was that for…? I didn’t exactly set the mood…” Claire rolled her eyes in admonishment of herself.

“I admire the hell out of you, Sassenach.”

Overwhelmed with affection, Claire kissed him back.

When they pulled apart, Claire took note of the time from the digital clock on the cable box.

“I need to call Gail, get the updates, make sure Faith went down okay,” Claire said, reaching for her phone. Gail and Delia were spending the whole night at the apartment rather than Faith sleeping at their house; Claire had been worried that Faith would panic if nighttime routine was not at home.

“Do you want to…” Claire put her drink down on the coffee table as she pulled out her phone. “Meet me in the bedroom?”

She thought he might drop his drink; she almost jerked her hand forward to catch it.

“Ah — yes, aye, that’s fine,” he stammered. He set his glass down beside hers and stood up. “I’ll just…do that.”

She covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. If she hadn't already had three overtly sexual encounters with this man, these interactions would convince her that she was in for a rough night.

Gail gave a glowing report for Faith’s behavior and informed Claire that she and Delia were fast asleep, Delia in her sleeping bag next to Faith’s bed. Claire thanked her for the millionth time in just that one phone call, and then she hung up. She suddenly got the urge to wipe her palms on her dress. Now she was sweaty.

Christ.

She took a deep breath, in the nose, and out the mouth.

It’s just sex, Beauchamp. It’s like riding a bike.

Just sex…

It couldn’t ever be just sex with someone like Jamie. Not when she was his first, not when she felt…the way she did about him.

Christ.

She forced herself off the couch, swaying only slightly when she stood, and not from the alcohol.

She made sure she was breathing as she headed in the direction that Jamie had gone and into the room. His head popped up from his task. He was turning down the comforter, having already put the throw pillows on the floor in the corner.

“Yer bag is on the dresser,” he gestured to the dresser where there was, indeed, her overnight bag. She briefly wondered if she’d even bother sleeping in pajamas, then the image of her naked body pressed tightly against his seared her mind, and she thought she might fall over.

“Faith alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, she’s asleep, Gail said she was great. Stubborn about dinner, wanted to eat Delia’s food instead of her own, but Gail was able to get it straightened.”

Please, do keep drawling on about your five year old while Jamie Fucking Fraser turns down his bed to fuck you in.

“Good, glad to hear it.” He flashed her a grin, then straightened up. “The bathroom is an ensuite. Right through there.” He gestured, and Claire nodded in acknowledgement.

Then there they stood, six feet apart from one another, no excuses left. Jamie wiped his palms on his pants, and Claire fought the urge to do the same on her dress. It was yellow, another high-low dress with flowing cap sleeves. How she hadn’t managed to sweat through it yet was beyond her.

Jamie took a step forward, hesitantly. “I’d like to kiss ye now, Sassenach. If that’s alright.”

Claire inhaled on a gasp, then exhaled tremulously. She nodded without words, taking her own step forward.

Like riding a bike.

He closed the gap between them, cupping her face sweetly.

Like riding a bike with someone that makes your heart feel like it’s going to explode from beneath your sternum.

He dipped down and kissed her, gentle as ever. In the back of her mind, in a place that she wished would shut up, she prayed that he wouldn’t be that gentle all night.

She could feel the sweat on his palms that he’d tried so desperately to be rid of, clammy on her face, but she focused instead on the feel of his lips, on the gentle probing of his tongue, mingling with hers. Her hands had been resting absently on his chest, but she snaked them up now, wrapping them around his neck. She wanted to be closer, needed to be. Her heartbeat was erratic, and she wanted to feel his thrumming in desperate time with hers, right up against her.

His hands moved too, threading through her hair, tugging gently so he could tip her back for better access. She sighed with contentment, smiling against him and reaching her hands under his collar to scratch his neck. He groaned as she raked her nails down, tugging harder on her hair. She’d apparently unleashed something, because he redoubled his efforts, flipping them around so he could push her to the bed. They crashed down together, and before Claire could blink, Jamie was lying perpendicular to the headboard, legs dangling off the bed, and she was hovering over him, kissing him senseless.

Something that had been simmering in her all night began rising, steaming. If she was sweaty before, she was melting now. She ran her hands all over his chest, his arms; he peppered kisses all over her neck and collarbones and even the swell of her breasts. His hands alternated between running up and down her back and squeezing her arse over her dress. She needed more. Nerves were gone, and she was ready to throw a leg over him and straddle him now. Hell, if she finished fully clothed she could still be ready for more. She moaned loudly as Jamie bit her bottom lip, sinking her nails into his neck. She was about to throw her leg over him, but then he abruptly sat up, digging his own nails into her shoulders and clawing down her arms, no doubt leaving already fading streaks of red. Claire began kissing his neck, biting, nibbling, licking, then —

“What were ye gonna say?”

She barely registered that he’d even talked. She picked up her head and looked at him blearily, her chest heaving.

“What…?”

“At dinner…when ye said, ‘I’ll yell ye later’…”

“Oh.” It came flooding back, the way he’d looked when she mentioned all the mothers lusting after him, what that look did to her.

She smiled widely at him, at first genuine and sweet, and then it morphed into something wickeder. No, she would not straddle him just yet.

She slowly, torturously slowly, ran her tongue along his bottom lip, and then nipped at it with her teeth. “You don’t even know…” She trailed her fingers down his neck, stopping at the buttons of his shirt to start undoing them. “How God damn,” another button, “bloody,” another button, “beautiful you are.” She pushed the fabric of his shirt apart, four buttons open now, and kissed his sternum. “How…” another button, another kiss, “fucking…” another button, another kiss, “hot you are, Jamie.”

His shirt was entirely undone now, and she yanked it out of his pants and over his shoulders. She moaned in appreciation of his body, beautiful indeed, sculpted from fine marble. She ran her hands down his chest, his stomach, then back up.

“God, Jamie…” She was completely breathless, and he was barely even touching her. “The first time I saw these muscles, under that wet t-shirt…I was ready to bloody have you on that counter.”

He growled then, finally moving, capturing her lips with his with an aggression she didn’t know he was capable of. She whimpered in surprised appreciation, running her hands back up his perfect torso to thread her arms around his neck as his snaked around her waist.

“Christ, Sassenach,” Jamie groaned, kissing her neck fiercely. “I wanted ye…I wanted ye so badly that day I could scarcely breathe…”

She laughed, a throaty, wanton sound. “I know you did…” She ran a hand down the planes of his torso again and then walked her fingers down, down, down…until Jamie cried out, jerking into her hand. “I could feel it.” She palmed him gently over his pants, and Jamie sounded like he was choking on something. Claire chuckled darkly and continued kissing him sloppily as she rubbed him, becoming less and less gentle.

“What did you do?” she panted, nibbling his earlobe. “That day? What did you do with…this?” She gave a particularly hard squeeze, and he cried out again against her neck, latching his teeth there, and she whimpered.

“I…” She felt him swallow, hard. “I tried not to, Sassenach, I didna…” He hissed; she did not stop touching him, “want to dishonor ye.”

“Tell me, Jamie,” she breathed. “And I’ll tell you what I did.”

He let out a soft moan at that, a beautiful, endlessly endearing sound. “Oh, Christ…” His voice was gravelly in a way that made Claire’s stomach turn to liquid. “I…I took myself in my hand, and I…” Claire was unable to suppress a moan at the thought of her sweet, shy lad touching himself for her. “I imagined this. Only it’s…” He kissed her deeply, lapping at her mouth with his tongue like he was desperately hungry. “It’s better than I could ever imagine.”

And we’re just getting started, my lad.

Claire kissed him back, finally letting her hand leave him so she could grasp both of his shoulders. “I…” she panted. “God, I touched myself too, Jamie.” She pushed his shoulders down. “I couldn’t help it.” She straddled him, and he hissed at the contact, gripping her hips. God, he felt huge under her like this, and it sent a shudder through her entire body at the thought of taking him inside her.

“Then I…” She braced herself on his shoulders and began rocking her hips, just as she’d done that night. “I did this, on a…a pillow.” She laughed through the words, even as she ground down harder on him. “And I imagined this.”

His grip on her hips tightened, and his hands moved under her dress, under her underwear to grab the flesh of her arse. She groaned as he dug his fingers into that flesh, continuing to seek her pleasure with her thrusts.

Not enough. More. More.

Claire stilled her hips and removed her hands from his shoulders so she could find the edge of her dress. Jamie’s grip on her arse became impossibly tighter; his whole body seemed to freeze up and stiffen beneath her. She smirked, feeling herself flush at the thought of letting him see her. And then the dress was off and discarded, leaving her in the lacy white matching set she’d worn just for the occasion. He raked his eyes over her frantically, as if he didn’t know where to look, where to settle his gaze. His eyes were practically bugging out of his head, and he looked like he might lose consciousness. Claire flipped her hair to one side and leaned down to kiss him, gently gripping both sides of his face. She did not move her hips again, just kissed him gently, sweetly.

It’s okay. Take your time.

After a few lingering, deep kisses, Jamie finally moved his hands away from her arse and up the length of her back, bracing her against him. He flipped her onto her back and began peppering kisses on her neck, the crook of her shoulder, her jawline, all while sculpting his fingertips over the length of her collarbones. Claire kept her fingers threaded through his curls, tugging gently on occasion. He latched onto that spot, just above her collarbone where her neck began, and Claire cried out, the pooling heat within her rising to a boiling point. His hand snaked down the length of her torso, sliding over her bra, her waist, then resting on the small of her back. She felt his lips curl into a smile against her skin, and he softly kissed the spot he'd just assaulted, before trailing his tongue up the length of her neck and her jawline before finally coming home to her mouth.

She moaned greedily into his mouth, sucking hard on his tongue, combining it with hers. She moved her hands to the sides of his face, as if to pull him impossibly closer. He kissed her urgently, and she could feel the hard proof of his arousal on her thigh, but his hands remained still. Picking up on his shyness, Claire removed a hand from his face and took hold of the hand that was still stationary on the small of her back. He either didn't notice or didn't care, far too occupied with devouring her lips and tongue, tasting her teeth. She brought his hand back up the length of her torso, stopping on the left cup of her bra. She flattened his hand and firmly pressed his palm into the soft flesh.

He stopped kissing her then, and she felt him grow even harder, if that were even possible. He looked into her eyes, the bright blue almost gone, darkened with desire. His lips were hanging open in aroused shock, and the sight of them, swollen and red from her own assault made her squirm.

She gave him a wicked grin and pressed his hand harder onto her breast, groaning through her teeth, her jaw jutting forward. Despite how obvious it was that this was enjoyable for her, and him for that matter, Jamie still hesitated to squeeze on his own, floundering when her hand left his.

"Jamie..." She somehow found enough breath to pant out his name. "Touch me, Jamie, please."

Jamie gulped, and she watched as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, having to bite her lip to stifle the moan it elicited from her. God, everything he did made her simply melt.

He repositioned himself slightly so that he could bring a second hand, trembling like mad, to her other, neglected breast. He took them in his hands with bated breath, and the sight of him, in awe of her like this was nearly enough to make her come without any stimulation at all. He ran his thumbs back and forth over the lacy material of her bra, and she groaned at the contact to her nipples, even through the fabric.

Still, he was hesitant.

"Don't be gentle," she blurted out, unable to stop herself. "Touch me, Jamie. Please."

Something finally seemed to click; something unleashed from within him. His hands roughly squeezed her breasts, and Claire arched her back as a strangled cry ripped through her.

"Yes, Jamie..." He reached one of his hands under the cup, and she gasped at the flesh-on-flesh contact. "Yes..."

Like a man possessed, he tugged at the straps of her bra, and without even thinking twice, she slipped her arms out of the straps as he reached underneath her to unhook it. Claire couldn't help but giggle; his fingers were practically vibrating with how fiercely he trembled; it took him far longer than it should have for him to unhook the bloody thing.

When he finally succeeded, and her breasts were free, she sighed with contentment. He unceremoniously discarded it behind him and returned to his former position, fueled even further by the full sight of them now. She swore she heard him growl as he took hold of her breasts again, and Claire moaned at the sensation. He kneaded roughly, pushing them together and apart, trapping her nipples between his fingers. He dipped his head to kiss her sternum, and Claire blushed, knowing full well there was a pool of sweat gathered there. He didn't seem to mind, however, as his lips and tongue devoured her there, and then trailed kisses up the mound of her breast.

Claire gasped raggedly as his lips latched onto the nipple, kissing it over and over before firmly sucking and circling his tongue around it rapidly, all while still kneading the other breast. Claire was becoming feral: her hands were pushing into his head with a force that was surely uncomfortable for him, her heavy panting had quickly morphed into repeated, loud keening noises, and she was bucking her hips into thin air. She briefly wondered if it was possible to come just from this, with her lower extremities completely untouched. She certainly felt like it was possible.

Evidently, she'd never get to find out.

He switched his mouth to her other breast and trailed his hand, flat, down the expanse of her stomach, and Claire groaned in anticipation of the oncoming sensation. He slid his hand over her underwear and palmed her, his hand completely covering the entire surface area. Claire moaned loudly; his hand was so warm and large, the heat pressing into her almost made her come undone on its own. Noticing how enthusiastically she responded to this, Jamie kept his hand flat and large as he could on her, kneading and squeezing almost like he had done to her breasts, only gentler. She rolled her hips, keening incessantly as he carried on. After a while, he slowed his hand to a stop and kept his fingers still, then began grinding the heel of his hand into her, pressing directly into that bundle of nerves that had so been craving his touch.

She loudly cried out at the sensation, but he only let it last briefly. He had other plans. All the while, his mouth had not left her breast, kissing the skin, the nipple, licking, sucking. Now, his mouth hovered over hers as his fingers tantalizingly teased the top of her underwear. He inched them underneath, slowly, so fucking slowly.

"Please, Jamie," she cried out, not even having the mental capacity to consider how wanton she sounded.

He chuckled against her mouth, kissing her hard again. She groaned into him as his fingers teased her entrance to gather her natural lubricant, and he chuckled again, his chest rumbling.

He's laughing at how you're dripping wet already, you sex-fiend.

Not wasting any more time, he began rubbing, up and down, side to side, circling…

“Jamie…Jamie…fuck…”

Claire was completely lost.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, her back completely arched, her fingers threaded in his hair again. He knew exactly when he spent too long in a certain spot, and he moved, he knew exactly when he needed to slow down, when he needed to speed up. He was watching her face intently, listening to her body, and of course to those noises.

Claire had no concept of how loud she was being now; she couldn't even hear herself anymore. The only thing she could hear was his panting in her ear, the purring in his throat, the chuckling growls in his chest. The world narrowed down to his fingers, taking up a pace with a quickness she had never felt before. Every breath she inhaled was a ragged gasp, every breath she released was a tortured moan.

Jamie latched teeth onto her nipple, and she was undone.

She came with a ferocity she hadn’t thought possible, her mouth hanging open, as screams, practically sobs, erupted from her.

His fingers slowed, gently stroking her down from her high. She was seeing stars as he kissed her lips again, and she kissed him back with a fervor she didn’t even know she could muster after the numbing orgasm he’d just given her. She kissed him until she was sure she would faint, only pulling away to ensure she didn’t drop dead for lack of air. She panted heavily, her walls still clenching inside her, her thighs still twitching. His hand left her, gently stroking up and down her ribcage. He was grinning down at her like a fool, clearly quite pleased with himself.

“Where the bloody hell did you learn how to do that?” Claire panted, her eyes hardly able to focus her vision.

He smirked at her, cocking an eyebrow. “I said I was a virgin, Sassenach.” He chuckled lightly and kissed her again. “No’ a monk.”

Claire shook her head in disbelief, completely dumbfounded. Would he ever cease to amaze her?

“Was it really all that good?”

She could tell that he was trying to play it off as a joke, attempting sarcasm, playing up his cockiness. But she could see right through it, could tell that he needed the reassurance from her verbally.

To answer him, Claire firmly took hold of both sides of his face and kissed him hard. When she pulled away she looked into his eyes, whispering: “Unbelievable.”

His grin widened again, and he kissed her back, threading his fingers through her hair. They pulled apart again and settled in to lay down, facing each other, foreheads pressed together.

“Ye’re beautiful when ye fall apart, Claire,” he whispered reverently, pushing a stray curl out of her sweaty face.

She felt her face get hot, but not from arousal this time. “Really…? I found myself resembling nothing short of a wanton slut.”

She’d meant it as a joke, and looked at him as such, smiling sheepishly. But his eyes had darkened again, and his face was almost gravely serious.

“No, Sassenach,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “Ye’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Watching ye in the throes of yer passion is…is beyond description, Claire. I dinna want to ever forget it.”

Claire felt tears stinging her eyes, and she felt ridiculous. Am I really about to cry because my boyfriend thinks I’m pretty when I come…?

But it wasn’t as simple as that. Not really.

The truth of his words, the depth of their meaning sank in, and Claire felt her heart being pulled to his. She was unable to stop herself from kissing him again, overcome with tenderness. The kiss gradually deepened, and it wasn’t long before Claire found herself burning, wanting again. She moved her hands down the expanse of his bare chest as he continued kissing her, stopping at his hips, where his pants began. She tugged on his belt until she got it undone, and Jamie smirked against her lips as she pulled it through the belt loops, discarding it over her shoulder.

“You…” she breathed out between kisses. “Are wearing…” She undid his fly. “Far too much clothing.”

He growled in response, deepening the kiss even as he tugged on his slacks, breaking away only to get them over his knees and heels, finally kicking them onto the floor. He laid back down beside her again, thrusting his tongue back into her mouth with an urgency that made her moan. His hardness was pressing firmly into her as they continued their exploration of each other’s mouths, and Claire found herself unable to resist rocking her hips against him. He mirrored her actions, grinding against her thigh. Claire draped her leg over his hips to increase her own friction, and slid her other thigh between both of his to increase friction for him, pressing the top of her thigh into his erection.

He let out a shuddering groan, a sound that sent heat shooting to her center. They began madly rocking together, their lips never leaving one another’s. Claire groaned and grunted as she fought to maintain a steady rhythm that stimulated her just right on him, the ever-present reminder of his arousal on her thigh driving her mad. Jamie was panting and groaning, his thrusts becoming frantic.

“Claire…” Jamie choked out, finally releasing her mouth. “I canna…I’m gonnae…”

“No.” Claire immediately stopped rocking. “Not like this.”

Every vein in his face was popping out, and he was dripping with sweat. Claire unthreaded herself from him and tugged on his briefs, and he obliged, sitting up and sliding them all the way off. Claire gasped raggedly as he was unsheathed. She’d guessed the relative size of him through clothing far earlier in their friendship than she’d have liked to admit, but to fully see it was another matter entirely.

She had to have him. Now.

She sat up, reached out and grabbed him, and he cried out. She squeezed and stroked oh-so-gently, not wanting to accidentally set him off this way, but wanting very badly to feel him in her hands first. He let his head fall backward, his mouth stuck open, his eyes looking up to the ceiling.

“Christ, Sassenach…” he hissed.

Claire chuckled softly, enjoying her turn to have power over him. “Are you ready, Jamie?

Ready for me to take your virginity?

The thought sent another jet of heat to her center, and she felt herself growing impossibly wet.

“Are you?” he asked.

She smirked and made a show of removing her underwear, exposing that arse that she knew he adored, wiggling them down torturously slowly. She could feel her own wetness trailing down her thigh without the barrier to stop it from doing so. When they were finally discarded, she rose up on her knees and took his hand in hers, bringing it between her legs. They both gasped, she from the sensation, and he from the arousal of feeling how ready she really was.

Claire held his hand there, letting him soak in the moment. She looked him directly in the eye. “What do you think?” she said breathily.

He growled again and kissed her hungrily, both of them kneeling in the center of the bed.

Yes, they were both quite ready.

They kissed and kissed and kissed, and Claire didn’t even notice that Jamie was gradually, gently, pushing her back. She sat back and untucked her legs from beneath her, spreading them, until she was laying on the pillows, Jamie braced above her. Jamie stared into her face, eyes wide, mouth agape. Claire had to stifle the urge to laugh. But God, was he beautiful.

“I…” he stammered. “I’m sorry if I…”

Claire silenced him with a kiss, gripping both sides of his face. “It’s alright.” She kissed him again, dragging her teeth along his bottom lip until it popped out. “Do what you must.”

Jamie let out a shuddering groan that had Claire arching her back, raising her hips for him. He took hold of himself, lining himself up. Claire could feel him, grazing every inch of sensitive flesh that he’d already given his attentions to, and then he was there, right against her.

Do it, Jamie. God, do it!

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she took in the question in his eyes, the bob of his Adam’s apple, still holding his face, and she nodded.

Then she did scream, or something akin to it at least. It was loud, whatever it was.

Her first thought was that she’d never been so completely filled by any other man she’d slept with. Her second thought was that that was a horrible thought to have. Her third thought was that she didn’t give a fuck.

He wasn’t moving; he was just staring at her with his hands braced on either side of her head. Claire was still catching her breath from his initial thrust, and she realized embarrassingly that she was white-knuckling the poor lad’s face. She eased her grip and brought his face down to hers, kissing him, swirling her tongue with his. She rose her hips up, thrusting against him herself, then he took the hint, beginning to move. Claire keened against his lips as he stirred inside her, and then she cried out again when he pulled back and slammed back in. Jamie made his own noise, choked and strangled. God, he was so fucking endearing, even as he hammered inside her.

He gave another thrust, and then he set a rhythm. Claire threaded an arm around his neck, pressing his head into the crook of her neck. He clearly didn’t have the brain capacity to do anything there but breathe, but that was enough. His panting, hot breath on her skin and his noises directly in her ear were a lovely sensation. With her other hand, she reached down to take purchase on his arse, smooth and firm. She held onto it as if for dear life, as if she could push him even deeper into her if she tried.

After not long at all, he began to speed up, and Claire knew he wouldn’t last much longer. She also knew she was going to die if she didn’t finish with him inside her. So she removed her hand from his arse and brought it between them, rubbing herself relentlessly. Eventually, she thought to herself, she’d bring his hand there while they fucked. For now, the lad could barely keep himself from crushing her. She didn’t blame him.

A new surge of pleasure coursed through her, an electric height only achieved by combining both pleasure points on her body, heightened further still when one was far larger than a few fingers. Claire’s moaning was unrestrained now; every thrust elicited yet another high-pitched cry. She tightened her arm around his neck, threading her fingers in his thick red curls. He began moaning against her skin with every breath, and Claire increased the pace of her fingers.

So close.

And then Jamie yelled against her, biting down on her shoulder. His body went rigid, freezing inside her. She felt the familiar warm rush of his seed filling her, and she kept rubbing herself.

“Jamie!”

A plea, a demand…it was anyone’s guess.

Whether he knew what she meant or not, he gave one final thrust, and it was enough. She screamed again, louder than she had all night, clenching tightly around him, yanking her hand away from herself out of pure overstimulation and then braced her hand on his arse again, squeezing tightly.

He remained still as she continued to grasp him tightly, pulse around him, spasm her hips erratically, shivering. He’d collapsed onto his elbows, and sweat dripped from his hair onto her forehead, disappearing into her own hair. They were both gasping for air, panting desperately against each other’s skin. Claire could taste her own sweat on her upper lip, could see and feel the sheen of sweat all over his body as well as hers. For a moment they stayed like that, panting and gasping, and then Jamie collapsed to the right, surely unable to hold himself up anymore. He slid out of her, collapsing onto his back, still breathing heavily.

Claire stared at the ceiling for a moment, feeling far too much like jell-o to be able to move, but before long, she missed his warmth above her, around her. She flopped over onto her stomach, landing bodily on his chest. The sound it made was rather horrid, and Claire snorted. Jamie had no reaction, and Claire propped her head on her hands atop his chest. She found him with his eyes closed, seemingly asleep.

“Don’t die on me now,” she said.

Jamie groaned unintelligibly, his eyes still closed.

“Well,” Claire said haughtily, folding her arms over his chest and laying her head on them. “At least you didn’t die a virgin.”

A loud slap filled the air, followed by a sharp sting, simultaneous with a loud shriek. Claire jolted, sitting up.

“You little bastard!”

Jamie was literally howling with laughter.

“I’m sorry lass!” he wheezed. “I didna realize it would be so loud!”

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” she cried, swatting at his arm. Both of them had done this while they were fully clothed, teasing. But evidently, Jamie had never smacked a naked arse before. Which would make sense.

She erupted into giggles right with him, collapsing onto his chest again, where he readily wrapped his arms around her and kissed her head.

“Oh, Christ…” He was still laughing, rubbing her back.

“That’s what you get for almost falling asleep on me!” Claire said, still sputtering herself.

They calmed themselves down, still teasing and shuddering with laughter, Jamie rocking her in his arms unintentionally. They quieted, and a sense of contentment filled the air.

“Ye…ye liked it, then?”

Claire was unable to stifle another laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny…” She giggled again, then kissed his sternum. “I did. I did like it, Jamie. A lot.”

She could feel as well as hear his sigh of relief, his chest deflating, taking her with it. He kissed her head again. “So did I, Sassenach.”

She picked her head up, resting her chin on her hands again. “Was it like you thought it would be?”

Jamie grinned crookedly, and Claire was shocked by her desire to kiss every inch of that mouth, so soon after. “Better.”

She was unable to stop herself then, kissing him soundly. He kissed back with equal fervor until they were both breathless. Then he pulled away, and Claire looked at him questioningly.

“Would ye…” He gulped, blinking. “Maybe…would ye want to do it again?”

Claire cocked a brow at him, smiling wickedly and maintaining eye contact as her hand traveled further down until she found him, already hard.

“Hm,” she hummed, impressed. “Ready already.”

Before he could push her into the pillows again, she threw a leg over his hips to straddle him. She leaned down to kiss him, and he raked his nails down her back, then kneaded her arse roughly. She could feel a hot rush, and then he chuckled darkly.

“So are you.”

Proving him right, she lowered herself onto him with effortless ease, and Jamie’s face looked like he might explode in this new position. She sighed with ecstasy, biting her lip. God, he felt good.

“For the record,” Claire began before she could stop herself. “I didn’t…hate it.”

His brow furrowed, gulping, trying to maintain focus while he was inside her. “What…?”

She took one of his hands, previously kneading her breasts, and brought it down to her arse. Hard. Loud.

Jamie’s eyes blew impossibly wide, his mouth falling open. Claire almost regretted it, almost felt like a slut bringing a kink, even a mild one, into the equation on the first night. But then his eyes darkened, and he smacked the other side of her arse with his free hand, and she let out a gasp that ended with a groan. Claire bit her lip, smiling wickedly down at him.

“Fast learner.”

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twdeadfanfic · 3 years ago

Text

Hi, people, odd place to ask, but if any of you can help...

Ideas of what can I have for lunch/dinner without access to a kitchen (including no microwave or fridge)?

I'm going to be living in a hostel/dorm for at least a month, because of work, and I have like two ideas and no more.

They used to have a communal kitchen but it's closed due to covid.

I'm vegetarian but given this situation I'll just eat anything I can get.

I don't care for taste, I just wish it could be even a bit nutritious, I could live on coleslaw sandwiches like I did in Ireland for the first week, but I doubt it'd be the most healthy for a month or even more.

So if anyone has suggestions it is more than welcome.

Thanks!

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raineydaywrites · 4 years ago

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Parent Trap(ped in an Umbrella)

hey friends. working on a new fic. blupcretia parent trap au, and here is a bit that may or may not eventually be the first chapter of it!

When Barry got a message from Lucretia, he had absolutely no idea how to respond. He was so angry with her, and he didn't understand why she was reaching out. Didn't she understand that he would have no part in her plan?

But then he listened to the message she left on his Stone- and she was in danger. And from the sound of her voice, she was in pain. And he just- he couldn't leave someone he loved in danger and in pain, even if he was angry with her. It went against his very nature. And besides, if she died, then he might never find out where she'd put the others or how to trigger their memories again. He still wasn't really sure how she'd remembered the information she'd fed to Fischer.

So he went to the location she'd contacted him from, and as soon as he laid eyes on the people who had taken her, he saw red. It had been... difficult to keep control of himself recently, and in front of these people who dared to touch someone he loved? He barely wanted to maintain control.

But he did- enough to not destroy himself anyway, and he killed the people who had hurt her, and he hurried back to the place where they were keeping her, afraid and angry and upset- a real coleslaw of emotions- and when he reached the door to her cell, his mind went absolutely blank as a new emotion swarmed him, overwhelming all the others for a second- shock.

Because Lucretia was chained to the wall on the other side of the cell, exposing her stomach- her very obviously pregnant stomach.

His mind whipped up a new coleslaw of emotions at the sight, but before he could react in any way, Lucretia spoke.

“Barry!” She sobbed his name more than said it, and that made a sharp pain lance through his heart.

“Lucretia,” he responded, hurrying to her side now that he’d gotten his wits together enough to realize that he needed to get her out of here.

Another flash of rage as he broke her chains because who tied up a pregnant woman? It was just barbaric really.

“What’s wrong, Lucretia? What do you need?” Barry asked, because he couldn’t talk about his anger at her actions when she was in this state, so it was better to focus on what he could do instead of staying frozen.

“I- I think the baby’s coming,” Lucretia said, sending a jolt of adrenaline down Barry’s spine.

“Shit, okay. Um, do you have a healer or something? Someone who can help?” he asked.

Lucretia shook her head, breaths coming fast and harsh.

“Breathe, hon,” Barry said, the endearment slipping out without him meaning to say it. It was just- so hard to see his loved ones in pain, even when he was angry with them. It had always been that way for him and it was still true now.

The words seemed to help anyway, Lucretia's breath slowing marginally. He helped her to stand, but when she was up, she wouldn't let him walk her away from the cell, which he didn't understand for a moment until she made a pained noise that turned into a scream and he realized that she was having contractions.

She was having contractions because she was pregnant. His (ex?) girlfriend was pregnant. And judging by the fact that she was already in labor, then she must have already been pregnant the last time that he'd seen her, though it would have been pretty early in.

Which meant that this was his and Lup's baby too. He was going to be a father soon.

Once the contraction was over, Barry picked Lucretia up- they weren't going to get out of here very easily if she could hardly walk, and he had no idea how long she'd been in labor or how close she was to actually having the baby, so they needed to get a move on.

"We'll have to find a healer then," Barry said, trying to remember where the nearest town was from here, and if it would be large enough to have a decent selection of healers or if he should try to seek out a different nearby town.

Lucretia just nodded, teeth gritted, and Barry tried to be gentle as he carried her out of there. She'd been through some shit recently, if the fact that she was in a cell was any indication, and the shit wasn't over with yet, because she still had to push a real, actual human, or potentially, half-elf out of her body, which was not going to be a fun or easy time.

He made it to town, and ignored the way that everyone reacted in fear to the sight of him, shouting that they needed a healer. It helped that Lucretia broke her silence to assure the people around them that he wasn't a danger to her or anyone else. It didn't completely stop the fear, but it calmed it down a little, especially seeing as how he was assisting a heavily pregnant woman get to a healer. Not exactly common evil spectre behavior.

Still, the person who offered them directions seemed wary of him, watching him carefully as he brought Lucretia over to the healer’s hut. He ignored that. It didn’t matter because they’d gotten him where he needed to go.

The healer apparently specialized in pregnancies and births, and therefore was perfectly used to being woken up in the night to assist with labor, though her calm expression did falter at the sight of Barry.

She didn’t let it stick though, directing him to lay Lucretia down on a nearby cot.

“How long have you been having contractions?” she asked Lucretia, brisk and business like as she gathered supplies.

“I’m not exactly sure. A few hours?” Lucretia guessed.

The midwife nodded, and asked a few other basic questions, before moving over to Lucretia and inspecting her with her hands and eyes, getting a feel for the situation.

“And is this the proper time or are they early or late?” she asked.

“They’re a bit early,” Lucretia said, which prompted Barry to shoot her a worried look. That wasn’t good.

Lucretia met his gaze as she continued to answer the question. “But no more than a week or so,” she assured them both.

“Can you walk? It will go easier if you can walk a bit, but if you can’t, we can handle that just fine too,” the healer said.

Lucretia nodded, leveraging herself upward and Barry moved to help her automatically because Lucretia could be too stubborn for her own good sometimes, and he didn’t want her to hurt herself or the baby because she tried to do something she actually couldn’t handle.

The baby. They were going to have a baby. There were so many things to think about with that, but for the moment, all he could do was feel.

And what he felt was his heart aching and soaring at the same time. It hurt to think about the fact that they could have had the rest of their family around for this if Lucretia hadn’t wiped their memories. It hurt to think about the fact that Lup should be here for this too, and yet she wasn’t. It hurt to think about the fact that he wasn’t sure what his relationship to the baby would be- if he would ever be able to see them, if their plans failed and they had to leave this plane and their baby behind, then what-

But at the same time- he was going to be a father. Someone he loved was giving birth to their child and that was so, so good. A tiny little life that they’d made together, with Lup. How could that be anything but happy?

He stayed with Lucretia as the labor progressed because he couldn’t leave without seeing his child. He even let her cling to him when the labor pains got too intense, because even though she’d hurt him with her actions, seeing her scream in pain with no comfort hurt too.

And eventually, the midwife announced that she could see the baby, and the end was in sight.

Lucretia focused on getting them out, and she screamed and clung to his form- one benefit of being in lich form for this was the fact that she couldn't actually hurt him like this, because she was definitely squeezing hard, not that he could blame her for that.

And then the baby was out of her and into the world and they were screaming in displeasure at being there, but the two of them couldn't be happier about it.

The midwife promptly plopped them into Lucretia's arms, which, right, Barry had read something once about skin to skin contact being important when a baby is born, so he wouldn't complain about her getting to hold their baby first. Also, she'd done significantly more work to get them here, so she'd probably earned that right, even if he hadn't been feeling very charitable about what she deserved recently.

Besides, surely she'd let him hold the baby at some point, right? Even with his currently fractured trust in her, he didn't think she'd be so cruel as to refuse him a chance to even hold his child. He wasn't sure- he didn't know how things would work with the child from this point onward, but she couldn't deny him the chance to hold them even once.

He tried to shake off the gloomy thoughts, leaning in closer to Lucretia and the baby. The baby had warm brown skin closer to Lucretia's tone than either his or Lup's, though they were still a fair bit paler than her. Barry wasn't sure how much of that was down to genetics and how much was down to the fact that they had never been exposed to sunlight before, but he hoped he'd get a chance to find out.

They were so small. And like, he knew that newborns were small, obviously, but that didn't stop his brain from working overdrive trying to just understand- how a living person could be so small? It was so far from what he was used to that he would have sworn his brain was playing tricks on him, but no matter how long he looked at them, they stayed the same. Tiny and precious.

And finally, he looked to their face, eyes closed and expression slack with relaxation now that they'd had a moment to get used to the world. He couldn't say he really saw any recognizable inherited traits in their features, but he'd always kind of thought that those comments after a baby was born were just a social nicety anyway.

Or rather, he did notice one inherited feature. The baby had tiny but recognizably elven ears. So biologically Lup's child then. Not that it mattered, because they were still his either way.

"Barry, look at them," Lucretia murmured in awe, even though he already was. It didn't bother him, really. Nothing could bother him right now, honestly.

"I know," he whispered back. "You did so good, Lucy. Job well done!"

He was still angry with her, of course, but it was buried for the moment under everything else he felt, and he had never been the kind of person to try and hold onto anger when he could avoid it anyway.

"It doesn't feel done," Lucretia said, exhaustion lining her tone. "It still hurts so much?"

"Yes, ma'am, that's gonna keep happening until you get the placenta out, and you'll certainly be sore for a while after. It'll be easier now though," the midwife assured. "Though, of course, there is always the possibility..."

She ducked back down to inspect Lucretia again, and a thought occurred to both Barry and Lucretia in the same moment. This was biologically Lup's child. And Lup was a twin. Was there any chance that...

Lucretia made another long, pained sound, her body clenching tight, and when she finished, she shoved the baby into Barry's hold to avoid accidentally squeezing them.

Despite his earlier certainty that he needed to hold his baby at some point, Barry still felt a jolt of absolute panic at suddenly having them in his arms. Irrationally, he was afraid his form would shift and he would drop them, even though accidentally letting his body phase around things and then dropping them wasn't a problem that he'd had since his earliest days of lichdom.

Still, unable to ease the fear, he sat down on the floor, figuring that at least from there, they couldn't fall very far.

It didn't take long for the midwife to confirm that yes, there was another baby arriving here today, and they repeated the process from earlier, except with Lucretia now holding tightly to what passed for a shoulder on Barry's lich form, since his hands were no longer within reach.

And then the second baby was here, and they cried, which prompted the baby in Barry's arms to cry too, and then the second baby was being held by Lucretia, and Barry stood up to take a good look at this one as well.

He still didn't like standing to hold the baby, and he wanted to make sure that this one got the actual, proper amount of skin-to-skin contact, instead of just what they'd been able to squeeze in before their twin started demanding attention, but he also didn't really want to stop holding the baby either, so he nudged Lucretia gently to the side, now that she was no longer actively in labor, and settled onto the cot beside her.

There was a decent amount of room, so he didn't feel too squished in, even while trying to give Lucretia a bit of distance, but there wasn't a lot of extra space, and he still didn't have skin to offer their child, so he curled himself closer, positioning the baby to be able to lay on him while still touching Lucretia as much as possible.

The second baby looked almost identical to the first, though Barry couldn't identify whether that was because they were actually identical, or just because they were siblings and babies don't have many particularly reliable ways of being distinguished from other babies at the best of times.

It didn't really matter, because they were here, and they were his, and he loved them so much, and how was he supposed to think to ask questions like that when he'd just experienced something so amazing?

The midwife brought over some soft strands of fabric, offering them out to the two of them.

"These will help you keep them straight in your mind. You can tie one on the left arm, one the right, on the leg and arm, write names on them when you decide, whatever helps you keep track," she explained.

"Thank you," Barry said, taking both strands because Lucretia seemed to be much too tired to offer much in the way of conversation.

Barry followed the given advice, carefully wrapping one strand around the left arm of the baby he was holding, then reaching over to swap them out and tie the other strand on the right arm of the second baby.

Lucretia didn't protest the switch, looking like she was halfway to falling asleep, and really, that was absolutely reasonable. Her arms still held the baby closely, but even that grip was softening slowly as she drifted closer and closer to sleep. That was okay. Barry would make sure she didn't drop them when she finally dropped off fully.

When her arms eventually went slack, the baby didn't move, safe in the middle of her chest, but Barry still picked them up and held them to himself anyway.

"Hi there," he whispered softly, an almost reverent quiet overtaking him. "I'm your dad."

The babies certainly couldn't understand him, though their ears twitched slightly at the sound of his voice. Mostly though, they seemed content to lay there in his arms, comfortable and certain of their safety. Not understanding the complexity of the situation that they had been born into.

Barry looked over to Lucretia, sighing softly. Today's truce would be nothing more than temporary. It couldn't be anything but, when they were both still so certain that their own plan was the best option.

Which left him wondering what would happen with the babies. Lucretia would take good care of them, he was sure, but he didn't want to leave them. He wanted to be a part of their lives, even if he couldn't go along with Lucretia's plan.

It occurred to him, briefly, that Lucretia couldn't stop him if he just took the twins and ran- but he shook the thought out of his mind before it even fully formed. He couldn't do that- couldn't steal his children's chance to know their remaining mother, and couldn't steal Lucretia's children from her just because he was scared.

They'd figure something out. For the kids, they could make something work.

#taz balance #taz lucretia #barry bluejeans #blupcretia #lucretia adventurezone #my writing #kidfic #long post

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everybodyscupoftea · 4 years ago

Text

anyone can cook

rafe cameron x reader

words: 3729

warnings: usual cursing, mentions of drugs

synopsis: college au, four times you cook for rafe and one time he cooks for you

Growing up, your mom taught you the importance of food. For most of your childhood, you loved cooking with her. Learning family recipes, and spending time in the kitchen with her instead of doing homework was thrilling to you. As you aged, you started to resent it, feeling like your mother was perpetuating the harmful stereotype that women are meant to be in the kitchen.

And then you left school early and came home to see the shit your dad was putting your mom through and was forced to immediately take that hard pill to swallow. Perspective was a bitch. Your mom didn’t cook to please your dad, she cooked to keep him happy enough for you to be fooled. It was heartbreaking.

You decided then that you’d not take any time cooking with your mom for granted. She loved you and she wanted you to be happier than her. For her, you could certainly fucking try. It was all going great until the storm that knocked out power, rendered the kitchen useless, and drove your dad’s patience level to its breaking point.

He’d never been that angry before, at least not in front of you. You weren’t sure what to do as he lashed out at your mom and then you, without warning and in the end, without apology. Normally if you were upset, your mom would make cookies with you, letting you use cookie cutters and dirty unnecessary dishes. That time though, you had to figure it out alone.

When you got to college, your parents helped pay rent for your first apartment. It had a good kitchen with lots of room, and your mom bought you a ton of kitchen tools, pots and pans, and other cooking necessities as a graduation gift. Her and your dad helped you move in, and that night, with shaky hands, she held your face in her hands. Tears in her eyes she whispered, “Promise me you won’t stop cooking.”

You couldn’t stop your own tears as you gulped and nodded a little frantically, “Of course not, Mama.”

Rafe lived a very different life. His real mother wasn’t in the picture and his step mother didn’t really want kids, so his experience with cooking was very limited compared to yours. Coincidentally that’s how the two of you met, outside your apartment building at 11:48 p.m. while the fire department sorted out the disaster that was his dinner attempt.

You knew it was his fault because he was very carefully trying to make himself look small. The only reason you knew what had gone wrong was you overheard the fireman talking to the landlord saying it was just a small kitchen fire in 227 and wouldn’t be too much to fix.

It was really out of character, but you walked over to where he was sitting on the curb and sat down next to him, “227?”

His head turned toward you sharply, “Figured me out, huh?”

“You were trying a little too hard to look inconspicuous.”

He shrugged, “Didn’t want a bunch of angry neighbors.”

Which you understood, so you nudged his shoulder with yours, “Well, I’m not angry and I know, but I’m not so sure I’d risk it with her,” you pointed at a lady who seemed to be ranting into the phone.

The boy followed your point and winced, “Yeah maybe not. Cooking clearly isn’t for me.”

“What were you making?”

“Kraft mac and cheese.”

You let out a loud laugh, assuming it was a joke. But then he didn’t meet your eyes or laugh along and you quickly stopped laughing, “Wait actually?”

With a shrug, he answered, “No one really taught me how to cook.”

And here you had a choice. Years and years of stored up cooking knowledge, endless recipes memorized, and a fantastic kitchen begging to be used by more than one person made the choice obvious.

“Well then take this as my standing dinner invitation whenever you want. I’ll give you my number and you can let me know when you’re hungry.”

“So, you’re gonna what, teach me how to cook.”

“Well, we can start small. I’ll cook for you first.”

One:

The first time Rafe texted you was on a night you actually had a fridge full of leftovers, but the boy who lived alone with sad eyes deserved better than leftovers. Rafe knocked on the door a few minutes later and he was dressed similarly to the first time you’d seen him, in sweats and a hoodie, and his hands were folded nervously in front of him.

You let him in, and he followed you to the kitchen, “So what’s on the menu for tonight?” he asked.

“Chicken pot pie,” you told him over your shoulder. You’d turned the oven on to preheat and had the potatoes and carrots chopped already. He stood behind you, peering over your shoulder.

Before you could continue, he cut in, “Is there something I can do?”

You thought for a minute, “You can control the music. My phone is synced up to the bluetooth speaker and I have Spotify pulled up, so have at it.”

Rafe nodded and sat down as you put the veggies into a pot and added water to start boiling them. You quickly went into your cooking zone as Rafe sat quietly queuing up songs. They were from your chill playlist and you appreciated that he was sticking to your playlists, humming along every so often.

By the time you pulled the chicken and veggie mixture from the heat, Rafe was leaning forward in his seat, and he looked excited to see what you’d do next. Reaching down, you pulled out a glass pie tin and looked over at him, “After I press the crust down, will you help me pour the mixture in?”

Rafe nodded eagerly and you made quick work of the pie crust, motioning him to come around the counter. He looked hesitant for the first time since you’d started cooking, and you tried to smile reassuringly. Returning the smile, he moved closer, “What do you want me to do.”

You held out the potholders, “If you pour, I’ll scoop.”

He picked the pot up and slowly poured the mixture into the tin and you quickly scooped the stuff that didn’t pour. Rafe set the pot down and you held the second crust out to him to press on top. He mimicked your actions from earlier carefully, and you couldn’t help but smile. You showed him how to press the edges down with a fork and he did so, slowly. Covering the edges, you let Rafe put it in the oven and then led him to the living room to start a movie while the two of you waited for it to finish.

The pot pie was a family recipe, and when Rafe tried it, the look on his face made it worth him seeing the secret ingredients your mom added to jazz it up. It felt good seeing someone enjoying your cooking again.

Two:

You weren’t entirely sure the relationship Rafe had with his family, but on fried catfish night, Rafe showed up at your doorstep unexpectedly. Fortunately, you had a few extra, so you invited him in for dinner. It wasn’t exactly what he was gunning for when he showed up, but he’d never say no to your cooking.

While you battered and seasoned the fish, he vented about his dad.

“I just don’t understand how a 4.0 isn’t fucking good enough. He’ll never give me any credit as long as Sarah does well in school and plays volleyball, I just want to be good enough.”

His words pulled at your heartstrings, and you found yourself tearing up on his behalf. You paused the music that had been softly playing in the background, “Fuck your dad, you deserve better.”

Rafe laughed drily, “I’ve done some dumb shit, this is my karma. I just don’t like it.”

“I fail to see any mistakes bad enough to warrant a parent totally disregarding their child like that. Did you kill someone or something?”

He shook his head, chuckling, “No, I didn’t kill anyone. But I had a drug problem in high school. I’m clean now, but it was me attempting to get my dad’s attention and it all spiraled out of control. Clearly it didn’t work out the way I wanted it to because my dad just kicked me out.”

You were horrified, “He kicked you out?!”

“Yeah, I went from couch to couch for a while until checking myself into rehab so I could get clean. I was tired of being dependent on something and really I wanted to prove my dad wrong.”

“God, Rafe, I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged and you started heating the oil up to start frying. There was an extended pause before he softly continued, “He didn’t let me move back in, even when I showed up clean. News of everything had gotten around town and he didn’t want me to further disgrace the family name.”

Brushing a tear off your cheek, you caught his eye, “Karma will come for your dad someday. You deserve only good things, Rafe.”

With a faint smile, he tapped his fingers on the cabinet, almost nervously, “Maybe one day I’ll be able to see it that way, but for now, I just don’t.”

“I’ll keep telling you until you believe it,” you promised fiercely. And you really meant it.

You finished frying the fish, silence between the two of you. It was no longer heavy and it wasn’t as awkward as the first time, you were proud of the progress. Rafe grabbed plates from the cabinet and at your instruction, the coleslaw you had already made and stored in the fridge.

Courtesy kicked in, and you let Rafe make his plate first. You figured he deserved to feel first choice for once. He almost looked like he wanted to argue, but you weren’t about to back down, so he filled his plate and sat back at the bar, patiently waiting for you to sit down before eating.

You fixed your plate and sat down next to him before squeezing his shoulder, “Thanks for keeping me company tonight.”

Rafe laughed, “Thanks for letting me rant.”

“Anytime.”

Three:

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath and your laptop confirmed what you feared, your last bio exam had gone very poorly. It was just one test, but you weren’t used to seeing such a low grade, and you had to try really hard not to cry. Everything in you wanted to go lay down for days and forget about the rest of your classes, but the logical part of your brain texted Rafe to invite him for dinner.

He showed up not even five minutes later, and you decided breakfast sounded like the most comforting thing. You didn’t want to come across as too needy, so you didn’t mention the bad grade and tried to cover how you were actually feeling.

Unfortunately, the music you had playing gave it away. Rafe took one look at your face and the slight slump in your shoulders, and immediately wrapped you into a hug. You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting the tears, and he held you tighter.

“What happened, bud?”

“It’s nothing,” you tried to deflect, “fucked up on a bio test. We still have a few more, but it’s not a great start.”

“Which bio?”

“Molecular.”

Rafe thought for a few seconds, “I know a guy who has taken that, want me to see if I can get his notes?”

“That would be great actually.”

He smiled, “Good, now why don’t we get some happier music and get to cooking.”

And you could do that. Rafe changed to a playlist he’d made and sent to you a few weeks ago called Good Vibes for Cooking Nights and you couldn’t argue, they were good songs. A Wallows song started playing and you fell into a rhythm of pouring batter and flipping pancakes, feeling immensely better than when Rafe had first showed up.

You were thankful for him, this boy who had totally changed your life in the four months he’d known you. Four months of baring your hearts to each other in your own little ways. Rafe showing up to your apartment looking casual, not at all how he looked normally during the day. You letting him control the music and watch you cook, something so personal and special to you. It was new for the both of you.

Rafe heated up syrup while you quickly buttered the pancakes and washed some fruit for toppings. For the first time, you made your plate and sat down first. Rafe sat down next to you a few minutes later, plate heaped high with pancakes and raspberries.

After a few minutes of eating, the music being the only noise in the kitchen, Rafe turned to you, “You’re so intelligent and I don’t want you to let this one test discourage you. I know you’ll bounce back.”

“I studied so hard,” you told him, almost whispering, “I knew this was going to be hard, but I have no prior experience to fall back on, and it’s killing me.”

“But you’ll learn. Now you know how exams are structured, and you can adjust your studying habits. Next test will go great, I promise.”

You couldn’t stop it, it had been building between the two of you for months, and in your extra emotional state, you acted more rashly than normal. Setting your fork down, you turned to him and grabbed the front of his shirt. Rafe was startled, but turned to face you, not prepared for you to kiss him.

He froze and you almost regretted it, loosening your grip on his shirt, about to pull away embarrassed when he started kissing you back. Rafe tasted like syrup and raspberries, an addicting combination. Unfortunately, you eventually had to pull away to breathe, and Rafe pressed a soft kiss to your forehead while you caught your breath.

He picked his fork back up and smiled widely at you, “So that was nice.”

You blushed, “Yeah, um, sorry.”

“I’m not,” he stole a strawberry off your plate, “I didn’t want to make a move and make you uncomfortable if I was reading this whole thing wrong.”

“You, um, you weren’t reading it wrong.”

“I see that.”

Your blush deepened as he smiled wider at you. You shrugged, “So, what now?”

“Well, hopefully, now you’ll let me take you out and see where we go from there.”

“I’d like that.”

Four:

You weren’t sure if it was an out of sight, out of mind situation, but your parents planned a couple’s trip for Christmas, and you weren’t invited. Which would make this the first time in your entire life you wouldn’t spend Christmas with your family. You had mixed feelings. On one hand, you were hurt at the blatant disregard of you and your feelings, but on the other hand it gave you the chance to spend your first holiday alone with Rafe.

The two of you were eating hummus and doing homework when you decided to bring it up. He was on the floor, and you were on the couch, so you nudged his shoulder with your foot to get his attention, “How do you feel about spending Christmas together?”

He looked back at you with a wide smile, “I feel like it would be the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

You grabbed a blank sheet of paper and handed it down to him, “Write down specific foods you want.”

“What do you normally eat on Christmas?” he asked, not taking the paper.

With a shrug, you pulled the paper back, “I don’t know, we normally do gumbo and cornbread and German chocolate cake.”

Rafe grabbed your ankle, shaking your leg a few times, “Let’s do that.”

“You don’t want to add anything?” you asked, hesitant.

He bit the inside of his cheek, clearly thinking, “Maybe we could do a baked mac and cheese. We had those a lot growing up before Mom left.”

“Find me the recipe and I’ll make it for you, bub.”

With a wide smile, Rafe grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, “You’re the best.”

When Christmas finally rolled around, you woke up early to start cooking. Your mom suggested a Dutch oven, something you didn’t already own, and to buy file powder instead of trying the cornstarch method. She also told you to make the cake a day earlier so you wouldn’t have to worry about it with the rest of the food.

You worked with Christmas music playing softly in the background, focusing on making sure the flour and oil combination didn’t burn before adding the veggies. The recipe wasn’t hard, but it did require a lot of stirring and paying attention and exact timing.

By the time it was ready to start simmering for about 30 minutes, you had started boiling the pasta for the mac and cheese. That recipe was simple, and you’d been playing with the cheese topping in your own time to make the flavor blend better with the gumbo, and you were pretty sure you’d figured it out.

With practiced ease, you finished it and poured it over the pasta before setting it to bake. By then, it was time to finish the gumbo, make the cornbread, and get dressed.

Rafe showed up just as you finished getting dressed and the cornbread timer was going off. He had a key and let himself in, and you knew he could handle taking the cornbread out.

“Babe, I’m here,” he called out as he shut the timer off.

“Coming,” you yelled back, smoothing your sweater down.

By the time you finally made it to the kitchen Rafe had set all of the food on the counter and he was leaned next to it in his own sweater and jeans. He held his arms out for a hug, and you walked into them happily.

“Merry Christmas, babe,” he told you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You hummed and reached up to kiss him.

“Merry Christmas,” you told him, pulling away.

“Food looks good,” he complimented, reaching for the bowls and plates he’d gotten out.

You looked over the spread and smiled proudly, “It does, doesn’t it?”

“You want to eat on the couch and watch the Jim Carrey Grinch?”

Nodding enthusiastically, you grabbed a plate, “Fuck yes.”

The two of you settled on the couch, a gingerbread scented candle burning in the background. Rafe started the movie and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, plate in his lap. You leaned into him and let out a long breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding in. This Christmas, while out of the ordinary, was your favorite one yet.

+ One:

You got home after work, exhausted. Your apartment was dark and cold and it made you want to curl up into a ball and cry. Work had been so time consuming over the past month you’d barely seen Rafe and you missed him. But if you got the promotion your boss had been hinting at, you’d get more manageable hours and higher pay, so you were grinding it out until then.

Dropping your bag by the door, you kicked off your shoes before slowly walking to the couch. Before you could sit down, there was a knock at the door. You considered ignoring it, but it persisted, so you walked slowly back to answer.

Rafe was standing there, giant grin on his face, with a steaming pot of something which explained why he didn’t use his key. It was very surreal and you blinked a few times in confusion before letting him in. He walked past you to the kitchen and set the dish down before digging through your drawer for the matches to light your favorite candle on the counter.

“Go get changed,” he urged, “I’ll get plates set up.”

Your phone rang as you were changing into shorts and you grabbed it out of the discarded pants pocket. When you saw your boss’s name, your heart rate doubled and you answered shakily. The phone call was brief, and the gist was that you’d gotten the promotion and the next day off.

Energy immediately filled your body and you ran to the kitchen where Rafe was scooping out what looked like mac and cheese onto plates.

“Rafe!”

He looked up, startled, “What’s up?”

“I got it!”

“The promotion?” he asked, eagerly.

You nodded, beaming, and jumped into his arms when he opened them. Rafe spun you around a few times and kissed you hard. Slowly setting you back down to your feet, he deepened the kiss, your hands winding into his hair.

Rafe pulled away first, pressing soft kisses to both of your cheeks and your forehead before standing up fully. You let go of his hair and took the hand he offered to you. Leading you to the couch, he sat down and motioned for you to do the same.

“Is this mac and cheese?” you asked, poking at the food with the fork he’d brought you.

“It is. I went on snapchat earlier and realized that it’s an anniversary of sorts. I wanted to make you dinner for once since I know you’ve had a long week.”

“Anniversary?”

A faint blush rose on his cheeks and he cleared his throat, “Um, yeah, a year since we met.”

You laughed loudly, “When you set your fucking kitchen on fire making mac and cheese?”

“A year ago, today. And with your cooking help, I can now make mac and cheese without setting the kitchen on fire.”

Poking at it again, you looked up at him, almost fearing the answer, “This isn’t Kraft right?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed, “I called your mom to get her recipe.”

Biting your lip to hold back the onslaught of emotions, you took in a shaky breath, “Right. Okay. Um, I love you, Bub. And this is genuinely the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

Rafe kissed your temple before lifting your chin to make you look him in the eye, “I love you too, and as crazy as it sounds, I’m glad I set my kitchen on fire.”

#rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks fic #obx #outer banks #college rafe

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