#i can draw whatever i want!!! COWBOY WONDER WOMAN

[deadearbuds]

cowboy prince

[dawn-to-the-world]

hi! anything cool you've been doing/working on lately?

ah that's a bit more complicated than i realized now that i think about it.

hello!! i've got a few things i've been working on, really. some personal, some work work, personal work, etc.

under the break because i don't want to kill your dash

the number one thing i'm trying to do for myself is just trying to make shit. whatever it is. art mostly. trying my best to branch into other kinds of drawing, since that's the most i can really do right now. as much as i would love to get into sculpting, i don't have the space for it. things like little personal comics, paintings, charcoal renderings, anatomically whorish sketches of friends or my own oc, etc. sometimes i just kind of need to draw something to get my hands moving and the thoughts out of my head, which leads into things that end up being more surrealist and expressionist. the set this piece belongs to is a great example of that imo. it's very bright and colorful and obviously digitally done, but the feeling i was able to create instead of the destructive things in my head at the time are always better. i haven't been able to do this as much recently though because i'm constantly exhausted.

very related to the previous thing, every now and again i'll draw something related to the space cowboy au i'm working on with a friend. it's a lot of slow development right now, but i want to turn it into a webcomic at some point. keyword want. as much as i think i can do it, i don't know how i'd go about doing it. but i would never know if i don't, so. i really really like it a lot and want to do so much with it but it's. very. up in the air. you know how it is.

i do work for a friend of mine who does vtubing streams, very wonderful woman and i love her a lot. it's fun because i get to do a bunch of stuff with the surrealism or whatever sometimes because that's the aesthetic she has. cosmic horror n shit. whether it's making assets, managing our team and figuring out dates and plans for new n exciting things we want to do, it's great. most of the time. sometimes it's hell buut so is everything in life. i wanna help her succeed as much as i can.

i'm in college for graphic design and i hate it. i don't hate graphic design as a field, i just hate the professional industry and the way they teach it and whatever. it's shit. i say shit a lot i'm realizing. necessary for success in the world i suppose.

i don't know whether this would count as cool but i've just been trying to find ways to live. in any small way possible. it's really really hard. surviving ≠ living. i want to do so much n see everything n make everyone smile! but i can'tt really do that so well in the situation i'm in. so i do what i can.

sorry for rambling so much, i hope i answered good >~>;;;

[lucygraysboy]

billy freezes underneath the blanket, closing his eyes and listening to the sounds coming from outside the dark closet. for a brief moment, he feels like a little boy again, playing hide and go seek with his brother and mother, but this fantasy evaporates as soon as a deep, raspy voice reaches his ears. he lowers the blanket to his chin only for a second, afraid to make too much ruckus and draw attention to himself, but doesn’t dare push the door even slightly ajar to peek through. even if curiosity is killing him — what does this man look like? though, perhaps he should be grateful he can’t actually see the man since the voice alone makes his skin crawl. it’s not just the sound itself, it’s the tone. the way he speaks like he’s so much better than everyone else, like he knows best, but especially his own daughter. since when is eating in your bedroom considered a sin? billy wonders, growing more annoyed by the second and inevitably feeling sorry for lucy gray. he, too, comes from a deeply religious family. his ma had this small, ivory figurine of mary that she set on his nightstand and they prayed before bed together each night, but he’s never heard such bullshit before. she can eat wherever she wants to, he thinks to himself, part of his soul itching to jump out right there and then and say the very words, but he’s not stupid. he might be a little impulsive and somewhat hot-headed, but he’s not stupid. he can’t help but smirk, hearing lucy gray’s response, not a second of hesitation. smart, she’s so smart, way smarter than you, you idiot. ROTTEN. he doesn’t smell THAT bad. but does that mean..? god, this man can smell him. he can sense something’s off about his daughter’s room, just doesn’t know what exactly. the thought terrifies billy, even if he’d never admit it, to the point where he happily dives right back underneath the blanket.

unfortunately, now he can’t hear everything from where he stays, buried beneath her clothes, but what he does hear is enough to make him despise the preacher. billy isn’t a hateful man. he usually just tries to ignore people who bother him. but this man… god, this man has his blood boiling. the way he speaks to lucy gray reminds him of the way disgusting old farts used to speak to his own mother, how they’d belittle her just because she was a woman. i want this, i want that, i want it done the way i want it done. FUCK what you want and how you want it. he instinctively touches his gun, just to make sure it’s still at his side. if this man lays a hand on lucy gray, it’ll be the last time he has hands, billy will see to that. he’s already made up his mind, he’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. he just wishes he could prepare for such eventuality, but if he cocks the gun now, the clicking sound will give his hideout away, and so he toys with the mere idea, his thumb hovering over the cold metal as he continues to eavesdrop. yes sir, yes daddy… the fact that she seems to know exactly what to say and how to say it makes billy want to hug her because it’s plain to see this is taught behavior. this man has been acting like this towards her for years, he realizes, that’s why she knows how to calm his fears and paranoia.

he doesn’t know exactly how much time has passed, how long he’s been sitting in the closet, wrapped up in this sweet-smelling blanket of hers, maybe ten minutes, maybe twenty, but the preacher’s finally gone. he must be gone. there’s no voices to be heard. still, he doesn’t dare come out yet. maybe the preacher’s lingering here, maybe he wants to rest lucy gray and come back suddenly just to take her by surprise. he even begins to worry the disgusting pig’s done something to his bluebird, and once more tugs the blanket off his head, softly whispering, “lucy? lucy gray, are you okay?” and that’s when she pulls the door open, daylight pouring in. “are you okay? is he gone?” the blue-eyed cowboy repeats, reaching for the curly-haired brunette, concern written across his features as she helps him up. “i thought he’d hurt you. does he talk like this to you often?”

hands drape the blanket over him once he’s curled in a corner, hidden well in the darkest part and under a bunch of skirts and dresses. he should never find him even if he was digging in the closet for something which shouldn’t even be likely. the small girl quickly closes the door back, rushes over to the bedroom door, removes the chair and picks up what’s left in the floor to put it far under her bed before grabbing the bible and the plate of food. “lucy gray,” he opens the door just as she’s seated on her bed, forcing her breathing to calm. she has the bible open, sitting crisscrossed and pretending to take a bite of food, “i will be goin’—” his voice stops and so does her heart. thinking he’s caught something. “what did i tell you, girl. about eating in your room? you don’t go around listen’ to nothin’ i say. that’s bad manners and sin.” he grumbled, somehow she was relieved it’s all he had to say in that moment. “i know, i only brought it in here cause i got distracted…came to get my bible then i just sat down with it.” lucy gray comes up with, hoping it’s a passable lie. and apologizing to god for having to use him in her lie, but hopefully god will understand. this is only to keep her living and breathing another day. “well, i want you to take it back to the kitchen when i leave in a second. and clean up this room, it’s smellin’ rotten. i want it smellin’ better by time i come back, later tonight. i got a meetin’ at the church.” he tells her while skeptically looking around her room then she nods, “i will…” saying firmly, before he suddenly snaps, “will what? it’s yes and yes sir at that. learn how to speak to your father, you’re old enough to know how.” the sudden voice raise makes her flinch, cheeks flushing in anger from how he loves to always embarrass and belittle her. thinking she’s old enough to have a boyfriend if she wants one and go out on her own if she wanted to, too. but according to him she’s too young and naive when it comes to that, how hypocritical.

“yes sir.” lucy gray quietly spoke, she couldn’t say it with the fear and sternness she should be saying it with. after almost twenty years, one finally grows tired of it. bowing down, kissing men’s feet. he doesn’t seem to like the lack of fear in her eyes, so with a clench of his jaw he tightly grabs the doorknob. “i will, daddy. you have my word.” lucy gray innocently peps, turning on a new personality just to trick him and get him out of here sooner. getting to get her last word in, the i will, with it going right over his head. because he likes it when she becomes a submissive, silly little girl and with that he steps out and leaves the door open behind him on purpose. her face drops, the fake smile leaving and turning into the hate she was masking as she looks towards the door. listens to his footsteps go down the hall, linger in the living room then finally the front door shuts a few more minutes later. quickly she gets up off her bed and watches him out the window, watching him leave off on one of the horses, making sure he’s all the way gone before she can sigh of relief then turn to the closet finally. lucy gray opens it back up and pulls the blanket off him, leaving it in the floor before ducking down to find his heavy arms and help pull him back out.

[amorgansgal]

Sweet as Sugar - Part 2

RDR2 Modern AU - Arthur and you finally get to talk properly and he finds out what it really means to be a Sugar Daddy. Is he willing to take the plunge?

Warnings: Sugar Daddy/Sugar baby relationship

Ping!

You picked up your phone. It had been a whole day since you had sent and received a notification that he had got your message. But Arthur hadn’t responded, so you had assumed your initial interest had dropped dead on arrival! Maybe you weren’t his type. Still, you couldn’t pretend you weren’t a little upset, but you had shrugged off your disappointment and messaged your previous flames.

You opened up the app message centre and were surprised to see it was Arthur who had messaged you! You lay down excitedly on your bed, almost feeling like a giddy school girl, rather than a grown woman who had to work out this transaction. You couldn’t immediately ask for money, but you needed to know if Arthur was just going to waste your time.

The first thing you noticed, as you clicked open the personal messages, was that Arthur had changed his name to ‘Arthur Morgan’. You grinned; you had quite liked the original name.

Arthur Morgan: Hey there, sorry I didn’t reply earlier, weren’t a good time. Thanks for your message. My dog’s name is Copper and yep, I live outside Blackwater on a ranch. But I’m not opposed to going into town. Truth be told, my friend Sean signed me up to this, so I don’t know much about being a sugar daddy!

Your smiled faltered as you read the message. Dammit! This man hadn’t even wanted to be on this stupid app. Doubtless he was about to tell you he appreciated you contacting him, but this wasn’t what he wanted.

Arthur Morgan: But I’ve tried every dating app under the sun or what feels like it! And maybe this is worth a shot, but think you’d have to teach me to be a sugar daddy. If that’s ok?

You beamed and practically clutched the phone to your chest, this was ideal! You weren’t going to take advantage of Arthur, but some more experienced men might be less inclined to help you out. If you could speed up the process then maybe he would give you some cash, rather than something you’d have to sell.

You: I can certainly try my best. Hahaha! I guess Sean picked out your name then. I was wondering where the ‘Big boy-Cowboy’ part had got to!

Arthur Morgan: Yes, not sure if I felt comfortable being called ‘Big-boy, cowboy’ whatever it was. So went with my own name. You been a sugar baby before then?

You: Yes. But I’ve not been on the app for some time.

Arthur Morgan: Why did you decide to use the app again?

You paused, thinking about whether to tell him straight away about the difficult circumstances you were in or if you should try to be more romantic. Some men liked the idea you wanted to be looked after, but you weren’t sure if Arthur felt that way if it wasn’t really his choice to be on a sugar daddy app. You did get the sense that he might appreciate your honesty.

You: Truth be told, I’m not doing so great financial-wise. I work as a waitress and got stiffed on my tips, soooo… I was mostly on here to see if I could do some art for my previous acquaintances.

Arthur Morgan: Oh! I’m sorry to hear that, customers can be real dicks. I saw your art on your profile, think you got some real talent, though I don’t know much about art. I draw a bit, but it’s nothing to write home about! Sure lots of folk would love to have your artwork on their walls.

That certainly interested you. You hadn’t thought Arthur would be the type to do any kind of art and in a way that definitely made him more appealing to you.

You: Aw thank you! Really? I’d love to see your art 😊

Arthur Morgan: So this sugar daddy thing… got any advice and tips? So far I’m not seeing how this is different from any other dating app.

You: Well, it’s really based on what you’re hoping for. I’ve been a sugar baby before and I think it’s a good idea to lay out our expectations before we get going. I won’t be pressured into something I don’t feel comfortable with.

Arthur: Good, glad to hear it. But expectations? What kind of expectations?

You: You know, do you just want to be seen with me at parties or events, do you want me to go on dates with you…

You hesitated and bit your lip before writing the next part. You didn’t usually offer sex, unless you were really attracted to your partner or if they asked whether you would be willing to do so. With some of your sugar daddies you had and some you had declined, though usually it meant the relationship cooled off.

You: Or do you also want a physical relationship. I’m not opposed to holding hands, kissing, etc on dates, but it would be good to know your boundaries and if you’re wanting more than just that.

Arthur hesitated before typing out a reply. Truth be told he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted. Affection, probably. Someone to talk to, though thus far he was liking the conversation, he liked how honest and upfront you were. He was very much done with playing games and trying to figure people out, if they said what they meant or if he was meant to pick up on some mysterious clue! Physical affection though… Arthur wasn’t going to deny it, he had quite the sexual appetite with his partners in the past. And while he would like to meet you in person to make sure the same attraction and chemistry lasted, he didn’t want to pressure you into that.

Copper was sitting beside him on the couch and butted his head into Arthur’s hand. Arthur chuckled and stroked the dog’s velvety ears, then rubbed and patted the dog’s head. ‘Yer a good boy,’ he muttered.

Arthur: I don’t really attend too many parties, ranch working doesn’t leave much time for it. But I like the idea of going out with you to places…

He should’ve reconsidered sending that, but he’d already pressed the sent button. ‘Going out with you to places’! Talk about an inelegant buffoon! He tried not to dwell on it too much as he quickly typed out:

Arthur: And if things go well, then I wouldn’t mind getting physical. If that’s ok with you. Ball completely in your court, you say no then we’ll just leave it at the dating/kissing side of things. I don’t like pressuring folk into doing things they’re not comfortable with.

It felt like an eternity before Arthur saw the three little dots flash across the screen to tell him you were typing your response. Had he been too honest? Maybe you really disliked the idea of having any kind of relations with him. He wasn’t exactly much to look at.

You: I think we’re on the same page, so that’s good. And of course, part of the relationship is the transactional nature of it.

Arthur: So I’ve got to give you stuff? Money?

You: Can be. Though most Sugar Daddies give gifts, rather than money immediately.

Arthur: Thought you said money was tight right now.

You: I can manage, I just need to make sure I’ve got everything covered, hence why I’m offering to do some artwork for others.

Arthur: So why do you want to have a proper Sugar Daddy thing with me?

You: Because I liked your profile, you didn’t seem the type to really be on an app like this and I thought you sounded appealing.

Arthur: Well, guess I’m not really the type to be on this app. But Sean didn’t give me much of a choice! Appealing, huh? Think I can really brag about that to the boys. I’m appealing!

You: I’m sorry! I’m a bit flustered. My brain isn’t working!

Arthur chuckled. He wondered what you looked like right now, were you flushed? Hiding your face in your hands? He bet you looked pretty cute regardless. He shifted himself till he was resting against the bag of the couch and Copper was lying against his legs.

You: I know it’s a bit unconventional, usually I would spend more time getting to know someone before asking. But do you think we could meet up and go on a date?

Arthur: I take it I’ll be the one paying?

You: If you really don’t like the idea of being a Sugar Daddy, then I’m happy to bid you farewell and wish you all the best. But that’s generally how it will go for the entirety of our relationship, you’ll pay for me.

Arthur paused to consider. He had plenty of money, both from the inheritance he had received from his fathers and the horse breeding programme that the ranch had. Money wasn’t the issue. He felt oddly nervous about the idea. He supposed all relationships were transactional in some sense, but to have this one really based solely on the money he could provide wasn’t something he was used to. But then he liked you. You both had clicked straight away and he already liked talking to you. He flicked back over to your profile and admired your smile.

‘Punchin’ well above your weight, you old fool!’ he said to himself. He shook his head slightly and then went back over to message centre. He thought about where he could take you. He wasn’t really one for fancy restaurants or spa hotels! Places like that made him feel distinctly out of place and uncomfortable. Usually they judged his appearance anyway; tough old boots, worn leather jackets and the rolled-up sleeves on his shirt marked him as an outsider. Those places never seemed to really think he had enough money to be there.

Arthur: I know it might be unconventional, but I know a great BBQ place. Fancy it?

You: Sure, sounds great!

Arthur: Don’t judge the name, ok. It’s called Pearson’s Pig. Shall I meet you there at 7pm on Friday?

You: Hahaha! I’m not judging! I’ll see you there on Friday.

[nightingaelic]

FO4 bots meeting FNV bots. Nick, Codsworth, DiMA, Ada, maybe the gen3 synths but they're pretty much just humans so idk... Yes Man, Victor, Muggy, ED-E, FISTO, etc. This is kind of a vague request so just do whatever you want with it *shrugs*

The AI's voice echoed warmly through the large conference room at the Tops Casino, hushing the assembled crowd. "I'm Mr. New Vegas, and I want to welcome you all, dear listeners, to the 41st National Robotics Expo. Vegas has been hosting this convention since 2037, and even though we skipped a few years, we're so happy to welcome it again. Let's get back to business."

A smattering of applause with a distinct metallic edge followed, which the automated DJ paused for before continuing in a tone as warm as the desert outside. "As most exhibitions do, let's begin by introducing our various delegations. We'll start with the home team, Securitrons by RobCo: RobCo Industries, automation designed and built for the private sector."

The Securitron in the back of the room with a cowboy on its screen waved. "Present!" he piped up in a southern drawl.

The robot next to him, identical in every way except for the woman's face on its screen, patted his arm. "Thank you, Victor."

"Yeah, thanks Victor!" added the Securitron with a permanent happy face on its screen. "It's not often I'm let out of my room, but it sure is nice to see another part of the hotel!"

Nick Valentine, who was sitting in the front with his arms crossed, looked down at the miniature Securitron that was pacing next to his seat. "Shouldn't you be back there with them?"

"With the House Industries bunch?" The cartoon-faced coffee mug on its screen looked up at him with an unchanging smile, but every word dripped with contempt. "Don't lump me in with them, gumshoe."

Nick frowned. "What's your name again?"

The robot gestured at its screen. "I'll give you three guesses."

"Cheeky little-"

"Ssshh." DiMA looked over from Nick's other side. "We're guests here, Nick."

"Next up we have the RobCo eyebots, both classic design and Duraframe-upgraded models," Mr. New Vegas continued, completely oblivious to the chatter in the room. A pair of eyebots on the left side of the room, one in bright Atom Cats paint and the other with haphazard shielding including a car license plate, began bobbing up and down and beeping ecstatically. A third model, outfitted with some kind of modification that crackled with blue energy, let loose a sonic blast that shook dust off the ceiling. The crowd tittered, but the courier accompanying the license-plated eyebot just laughed.

"I know folks, I know, it's a day full of excitement, but let's get through our list," Mr. New Vegas said smoothly, evidently worried that the eyebot was going to shake the room's speakers loose. "Moving on to the assaultrons, something you don't see often out here in the Mojave. Welcome, ladies."

"The pleasure's all mine," replied KL-E-0 from her seat behind Nick. The Goodneighbor trader was reclining precariously on the conference room chair, with her frame's considerable weight straining the piece of furniture's limits. She didn't appear particularly concerned though, given the way she was examining her claws the way an uninterested woman examines her nails.

"Preliminary adjustments to statistical models complete," added PAM, who was seated next to KL-E-0 in a much more attentive position. "Commencing introduction. I was, am, and will most likely be an assaultron."

"An astute calculation," agreed Ada. She was standing next to PAM and KL-E-0, as her own modified frame would not let her sit down.

"Objection." A mechanical voice rang out from the back. "Petition to acquire the modified assaultron model into the protectron class. Model clearly uses more protectron parts than assaultron."

"Stand down, Mr. First Mate," ordered the exasperated sentry bot parked next to the protectron that had spoken up. "We must show a certain measure of decorum, in these waters."

Ada rotated her head all the way around to face the first mate. "Acknowledged. I am willing to re-categorize myself if requested."

"Baby, don't let him talk you into anything you're not comfortable with," KL-E-0 replied, uncrossing her metal legs.

"Next we have the workhorses of the robotic world, the protectrons," Mr. New Vegas cut in, once again oblivious.

"Sound off!" the first mate ordered.

"Howdy pardner! Primm Slim at your service!"

"ナンニシマスカ?"

"I'm NIRA, your friendly Nuka-World Informational Robotic Assistant. Is this your first visit to Nuka-World?"

"Fully Integrated Security Technetronic Officer active and reporting for duty."

Nick made a face after the last one. "Fisto? What kind of-"

"And rounding out the RobCo set, our sentry bot representative, who I understand is responsible for our Commonwealth friends' safe arrival."

"A fine voyage for a fine vessel!" Captain Ironsides said jovially. "Our mission was a glorious success, the first of many for the pride of our navy!"

"Thank you, Captain," Mr. New Vegas replied, with a hint of amusement in his announcer's voice. "Now for RobCo's greatest partner and competitor, General Atomics International: The finest industrial robots in the world!"

The collection of Mister Handy and Miss Nanny robots on the right side of the room perked up and began applauding. "Spot on!" Codsworth said, at the front of the crowd.

"Let's start where General Atomics started, with the classic Mister Handy model. I see we have a few who made the trip with the USS Constitution."

"Present!" Codsworth answered.

"Fresh lemonade here!" cried Deezer at the same time, attempting to distribute dented cans to everyone within reach of him.

"Don't burden this lot wiv your swill, Deezer," said Whitechapel Charlie, collecting the cans as quickly as they were handed out.

"Wonderful, wonderful. Now let's hear it for the ladies again, our elegant Miss Nanny robots!"

"Hello!" said Pearl and Miss Edna, bobbing in place and prettily snapping their little claws.

"Merci beaucoup," added Curie, who was seated with the group, despite having shed her Miss Nanny frame in favor of a synth body months ago. Nick grinned.

"Objection." The first mate, despite not having a face, appeared absolutely scandalized by this development. Captain Ironsides was having none of it, however, and bopped the protectron on the head with his minigun arm.

"Maybe I should look into getting a synth upgrade," Mr. New Vegas mused. "Finishing out General Atomics are the robobrains, once human like any wastelander, now showcasing the best in technology that pre-war America can offer."

"Thank you, thank you so much," said Gilda Broscoe, who breezed up to the room's stage. She had decorated her shiny brain dome for the occasion with an enormous hat sprouting peacock feathers, and she grabbed the stage's microphone with practiced ease. It wasn't on, but that didn't appear to be enough to stop her. "Thank you all so much for this opportunity. I'd like to thank my studio, Starlight Cinemas, and of course my beloved Keith McKinney-"

"Get off the stage!" yelled the other present robobrain, Jezebel. "My orders from the Mechanist didn't include listening to you drone on about your fantastic former life!"

"-of course, I feel I have to thank my dear Santiago, Santiago, you were such an inspiration even if you couldn't bear the thought of us parting-"

Curie shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Mademoiselle, might it not be better to wait and see-"

"Get off the stage, you old bat!" yelled Muggy, who appeared to share Jezebel's feelings.

"-and I'd like to thank that bitch Vera Keyes for passing on the role so that I could give it my own, personal touch. Thank you everyone, and good night!" Gilda let go of the microphone and curtseyed as best she could with treads. A few robots clapped, while the courier in the back stiffened and looked at the robobrain actress with wide eyes.

"Only one category left, folks, and then we can start the planned festivities," Mr. New Vegas went on. "Now for a Commonwealth Institute of Technology original, the prototype synth model. Only two in the world, and we're lucky enough to have both of them with us today."

DiMA turned around to wave to the other bots, while Nick sank deeper into his chair and pulled his hat down. "Christ."

"Objec-" The first mate didn't even get the full word out before Captain Ironsides bonked him again.

"And that concludes the introductory portion of the expo!" Mr. New Vegas paused. "Unless there's anyone I've inadvertently left out."

"Me!"

The curtain on the stage behind Gilda flew open, revealing a toaster placed on top of a stool. Gilda let out a theatrical gasp and rolled backwards, giving way to the appliance's maniacal laughter.

"Ahahaha! I am online once again!" the toaster cried. "Tremble, world, before my electric heating coil of doom! You thought you could silence me by drowning me in a bathtub, but I swore you would rue the day you had bread and no way to toast it!"

The courier in the back jumped out of their chair. "Oh shit."

"That's right, buddy, the day of bread has come!" With a ding, two slices of C-4 plastic explosive popped up from the toaster's slots. "Cower before my nuclear fire!"

Mild panic swept the room of robots. Gilda fainted dead away on the stage. Nick eased up off his chair. "Talk about delusions of grandeur. I've seen more intimidating appliances in a scrap heap."

"How dare you!" the toaster screamed. "I am the scourge of all small appliances and the bogeyman that keeps lesser toasters awake at night!"

"You're the scourge of breakfast, I'll give you that," Nick answered with a smirk. He tried not to draw attention to the courier that was inching their way to the stage. "But you're low on the ladder of bogeymen, compared to the ones I've dealt with."

"NAME THE ONES MORE FEARSOME THAN I!" the toaster demanded.

"An interesting development here at the Tops, folks," Mr. New Vegas commented. "The crowd appears to have been taken hostage by a rogue toaster."

Nick started counting off adversaries on his metal hand. "Well, there's the Rust Devils, the Gunners a few times, the Pack and all of their angry critters, the Disciples and the Operators, can't forget the Triggermen and Skinny Malone, plus his doll Darla..."

The toaster let out another frenzied laugh. "Nothing but bags of meat, easily toasted in-"

Its speech died mid-sentence, and the courier emerged from behind the curtain holding its electrical cord. "That takes care of that."

Nick winked at them. "Good on you, kid. Should we get on with the shindig?"

[agentwhiskeysdarlin]

The Kiss

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female!OC (written in second person)

Rating:NC-17

Warnings: lots of sexual tension, use of a knife, slight violence, sexy times at the end, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), Jack being himself cause that comes with a warning, I think that’s all

Word Count: 2,606

Author’s Note: Welp I am still alive and do remember how to write! Its been so long and I am so sorry about that! I hope to get back to posting more regularly and catching up on request and doing a few new things soon. Cross your fingers, manifest, pray, whatever you do I need all the help I can get! I hope you all enjoy this little fic with the cowboy! Feedback is always always welcome and encouraged! Happy Valentine’s Day y’all!! As always a big thank you to @clint-aww-no-barton​ and my Jate’kara clan both for emotional support and putting up with my ass and my meltdowns 

ao3 link for story

    “Ginger I don’t know about this.”

   Your voice held a slight tremble which made you curse yourself mentally. You looked over yourself in the mirror before letting your gaze fall on the woman behind you. 

  “Henley you look absolutely incredible. Jack won’t know what hit him. Plus this is honestly a very calm mission for it to be your first,” she gave you a smirk as she finished the last of the lace up on the back of the dress. 

  It was a breath-taking dress. It was a deep red and it had a beautiful skirt with a slit up to about your mid thigh just enough not to show off too much and a corset top that had a heart shaped neckline which was super fitting for the occasion. 

  Statesman, a secret agency you worked for had learned of a couple selling Top Secret government information. They were using art of all things as a front to do so and tonight they were holding a large gala at the capital as a celebration of the day. Valentine’s Day and the art was all to be focused around love. Statesman finest senior agent, Agent Whiskey, or Jack was set to take the couple down but him showing up alone to an event such as this one was far too risky so here you were. You worked tech along with Ginger and one of the two women who held jobs at Statesman. You never minded a dress and heels, something Ginger curled her nose up at, plus you had all the proper training so you accepted the offer to hang off Jack’s arm. 

  That thought alone was what made you tremble. Not the mission in itself. Not the knife that sat cool against your thigh. No it was pretending to be Jack’s girlfriend for the night. You wanted so badly for it not to be pretend. 

  “Henley?! You ready?” 

  Ginger’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you turned to her and gave her a nod. 

  “I’m ready as I’ll ever be.” 

  “Hey you never know this may lead to something,” Ginger finished the sentence in a sing song voice and you felt the small hope blossom in your gut. 

  You had already promised yourself you wouldn’t get your hopes too high but with every single step you took down the hall to the conference room it seems to grow. You pushed the door open and walked into the room. Champ, Tequila and Jack all stood around, their heads turning your way and all of them wore a look of pure shock. Tequila let out a whistle before smirking and glancing at Jack. He stood there his eyes raking over you several times before they met yours. The two of you shared a look that could only be sexual tension. 

  “What? The senior agent doesn’t have a line for once?” You smirked as you walked closer to Jack. 

  A crooked smirk spread across his face and he took your hand, kissed it and then twirled you around. 

  “I have to say darlin’ you are the first woman to ever render me speechless,” you couldn’t help the blush that rose on your face. 

  “You two better get going,” Ginger spoke as she glanced from her tablet to the tv in the room. 

  “We will follow you and be at the rendezvous point just in case you need backup. Get them in custody and get them back here,” Champ gave you both a nod which you returned. 

  “We got this boss. You ready darlin’?” Jack held his arm out for you and you took it. 

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” you gave him a nervous smile and the two of you headed out of headquarters. 

  Your nerves had built up to an almost shaking manner by the time Jack and yourself walked into the building. There were more people than you thought there would be, couples bustling about and Jack’s cologne was starting to make you dizzy. You had to focus. There was a job to do and you had to push your feelings for the man on your arm aside. 

  “I think with all these people it’s going to make this a lot easier on us,” Jack whispered in your ear.

  “I sure hope you are right.”

  The two of you wondered around glancing at the art that scattered the walls. People talked about details on the artist and their work, champagne in their hands. You glanced around catching the sight of the best dressed couple in the whole place and something in your gut knew. You gave Jack a small nudge and nodded your head over in their direction.

  “That has to be them,” you whispered as you looked up meeting his eyes for the first time that night. 

  “You ready to do this darlin’?”

  You gave Jack a simple nod and a smirk to lift your confidence. As you walked away you felt Jack’s hand on your wrist stopping you in your tracks before pulling you to him and wrapping his hand around the back of your neck. His lips crashed against yours and your shock only lasted seconds before you kissed him back. The entire world around you fell away and so did your trembling nerves. When he pulled apart the two of you seemed to share the same tension filled look as you did earlier in the conference room before you broke off and went your separate ways. You glided now, with your head held high as you stepped up the stairs. You knew that the room they were secretly meeting clients in was mere steps from the stairs and you knew it would draw the woman’s attention to follow you. You sent your senses into overdrive feeling another presence behind you and hearing the sound of heels trying to be quiet.

  “What are you doing up here?” Her voice was sticky sweet with an edge to it.

  You spun around with a smile to match. The next few moments seemed to move in slow motion but all so fast. 

  “Oh just looking for that room there,” you pointed with a smirk as the both of you seemed to break into action.

  She was too slow for you and the second she charged at you, you dodged before slamming her against the nearest wall your knife just inches from your throat and her body pinning her to wall.

  “Selling Top Secret government information will get all the right peoples attention honey. You only thought ya’ll were being slick, hate to break it to you but you ain’t,” you spun her around spitting the words as you took at the handcuffs that had been rested by your knife and slamming them shut around her wrist.

  You walked her down the stairs and saw that the room was a bit of a mess and her partner was lassoed on the ground seething in anger. Jack walked to you with a smirk of pride on his face. He jerked the man up and the two of you started to walk out of the place. Jack tipped his hat at a few people in the room with apologies.

  “Well done darlin’.”

  “Thank you Jack. I had such a rush I didn’t even hear all that happening. I wouldn’t expect any less from you though,” you smirked throwing him a wink.

  You loaded up the couple, blind folding them and then heading back to Statesman headquarters. The debriefing was short and simple. You could finally breathe again or so you thought.

  “I don’t think we should let such a dress go to waste. Let me take you somewhere,” Jack spoke as he leaned on the table looking down at you.

  “Well then let’s go cowboy,” you reached out your hand and he took it with a smile.

    The restaurant was probably the nicest you had ever been in. Even in the dress you still felt like you didn’t belong. A piano player skillfully played on a small stage not far from your table but it was low enough that Jack and yourself could carry on a decent conversation. The two of you discussed your side of things during the mission, laughing in all the right places and took bites of food in between. Jack took the last bite of his food and he gave you this look for a moment that you caught. You raised your eyebrows at him which soon gathered together in confusion when he stood up.

  “May I have this dance darlin’?”

  “Jack people will stare.”

  “As they should you are the most beautiful woman in the room, hell in the world,” a smirk crossed his features and you blushed.

  You took his hand and he pulled you to the empty place next to the stage. He pulled you close and began to sway with you. Your eyes met with his and the two of you shared that look once again.

  “What was that all about?” You suddenly asked.

  “Might need to refresh my memory darlin’. I ain't got a clue what you are talking about,” the smirk on his face told you differently but you rolled your eyes and blushed a deep red again.

  “The kiss back at the gala. What was that?”

  “Darlin’ I think we both know the answer to that,” he pulled you closer his forehead touching yours.

  “I need to know for sure Jack. I’ve wanted this for far too long and I-.”

  His lips were on your suddenly but this kiss was different. It held a different hunger but it was softer, more gentle. When he pulled away you couldn't help but let out a whimper you wondered if he could hear.

  “I’ve wanted this for far too long too darlin’ and if you’ll have me I would want nothing more.”

  The smile that spread across your face could have lit the entire world up.

  “Of course I’ll have you Jack.”

  The two fo you shared another quick kiss full of laughter and smiles as the song finished up.

  “Why don’t we get out of here and head back to my place,” Jack whispered in your ear and you simply gave him a nod.

  You stopped by the table, Jack leaving a large enough amount of money to cover both the bill and the tip and the two of you practically ran out of the building. 

    Hands were everywhere as you both struggled into the door of Jack’s home. You couldn't even make yourself stop long enough to look around. All that mattered in this moment was the man who’s lips were attached to yours. Jack suddenly reached down and picked you up from under your knees and you let out a giggle as he did before reattaching your lips to his. You threw his cowboy hat off and discarded it somewhere along the way to the bedroom before lacing your fingers into his hair. It earned a grunt from him before he deepened the kiss. You felt soft sheets suddenly as Jack laid you down across his bed. He hovered over you finally detaching himself from you. Both of you panted with swollen lips for only a few seconds before Jack’s lips began to pepper across your skin. He left a trail of them across every last bit of visible skin before he dropped to his knees over the edge of the bed. You sat up, sitting back on your hands to watch him. He removed your heels slowly as he kissed along your legs you pulling you bottom lip in between your teeth at the sight. His lips made their way up your legs alternating between the two and moving your dress when need be until he came upon where your knife still sat strapped to your thigh. He threw you a smirk before his fingers brushed across your skin to unfasten it and remove it carefully. Then his lips followed causing you to let out the first moan of the night. He eyed your clothed center before moving your panties aside and without much more of a warning dove in. You jumped and let out a gasp that feel into a moan before grasping at his brown locks and pulling at them. His hand snaked up and pushed lightly on your stomach to make you lie down before his arms wrapped around your thighs. You were a mess at this mans mercy and my god had you dreamed about this too many times to count. For a few seconds you almost thought that’s all this was, a dream. That was until your first orgasm rocked through you and you were thankful for Jack’s arms or you might had suffocated him between them. He came up smiling and licking his lips. You pulled him up and kissed him again moaning when you tasted yourself. 

  “Jack I want you now,” you almost whimpered in desperation.

  “Oh darlin’ I know. I want you too. First gotta get you out of this dress,” you couldn't help the laugh as he pulled you up.

  You spun around for him and he gently started to unlace your dress, his lips falling along your shoulder and what was exposed of your back and neck as he went. You let your eyes flutter closed and took in the moment you were in and how real it finally felt. This was happening and you couldn't believe it but it was. Finally the dress pooled at your feet and you turned to help Jack out of his clothes letting them join yours on the floor. The two of you fell back into bed finally burning skin on burning skin.

  “Jack please,” you whined again giving him a begging look.

  “I got you darlin’,” he kissed you on the nose before he lined himself up with you.

  He buried himself inside of you and it was the most wonderful feeling you had ever felt. The two of you seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces so perfect and carved out just for one another. He moved first at a slow pace before you were begging for more. Your nails making soft scratches along his back as he rocked into you. His lips left marks in places only the two fo you would know about.

  “Faster Jack please,” you moaned out loudly.

  He obliged moving his hips quicker and harder. You were so close again and you grasped at him like a lifesaver. Your head flew back and without warning you let go. Your pussy squeezed around him and your entire body shook. Jack was soon behind you burying his head into your neck as he moaned and whimpered. He kept a slow pace until the both of you came down. He pulled out of you and rolled over pulling you with him. He held you there, both of you panting before it seemed the two of you let out a smile and looked at each other. 

  “That was…”

  “Amazing,” you finished his sentence in hopes you were correct.

  “It was better than that. Everything I have always thought it would be and more.”

  “Wait you have thought about us together?” You sat up and looked down at him.

  “Well hell yeah darlin’ of course I have.”

  The smile that spread across your face almost hurt but you couldn't seem to care. He pulled you back to him the two of you becoming intertwined in each other. He laid a kiss sweetly on your forehead and you closed your eyes. In that moment you finally felt safe and loved and you never wanted that feeling to end.

Tagged: @jimmythegirl​ @arcadianempress​ @discogrrl​ @immundusspiritu​ @someplace-darker​ @thisis-theway​ @ohpedromypedros-main​ @scribbledghost​ @on-the-razor-crest​ @fioccodineveautunnale​ @spookyold-saintjm​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @princess-and-pedro​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @littlevodka​ @all-hallows-evie​ @mack4676​ @perropascal​ @prettyboyskywalker​

[defenderrosetyler]

Short Straw

Prompt from @flamencodiva​ : “Right, who’s drawn the short straw this time?”

Beta: @wonder-cole​

A/N: I love Gen, and I love the couple that she and Jared make, but this is a pure act of fiction and they are not together for the purpose of this fic!!

A/N 2: The song in this fic is Burn it to the Ground from Nickleback.

“Come on Y/N, just go over and talk to him! He’s cute, and attractive, he may even buy you a drink,” one of her friends pestered her. Y/N rolled her eyes as she tugged at her ponytail and tightened it. She’d been keeping her hair pulled back a lot during the Texas heat. She and her friends had been called out to Texas to be extras in the new reboot of Walker the TV show with the one and only Jared Padalecki. Jared was attractive in his previous role of Sam Winchester in Supernatural. For his new role as Cordell Walker, the widowed Texas Ranger? Damn he looked smokin “Drawing of sticks?” Y/N asked.  

Out of the three friends gathered extra straws they had asked for and each took their own, before revealing who had the shorter of the two…. “Right, who’s drawn the short straw this time?” One of the friends said before Y/N’s face lit up bright red. The other two girls giggled, moving to push Y/N towards where Jared had been hiding and not recognized much by the fans in the area. The western cowboy hat was helping conceal who he was. Most Texans had a cowboy hat in this area anyway, so hardly anyone noticed.

Gathering her courage, Y/N grabbed her own brown western hat, swallowed the lump in her throat, walking over toward Jared’s tall shadow. She politely tapped him on the shoulder and he turned and y/c/e met Jareds and Y/n felt whatever words she was going to say to him fall right at the tip of her tongue. His eyes were beautiful, they reminded Y/N of  a mosaic, each sliver of his iris a different color - blue, green, gold, brown. 

“Let me guess, you were the loser of rock paper scissors.” Jared says seeing Y/N in stunned shock and amazement and knew this was common when fangirls approached him. Blinking as she registered what he’d said to her, Y/N nodded embarrassed as her cheeks flushed a bright red color. 

“Is it that obvious?” Jared nodded with a chuckle. 

Of course Jared knew this game. He and former co-star Jensen Ackles, did this all the time; well, in character anyway. Jared and Jensen, aka Sam and Dean Winchester, always won their arguments over a game of rock paper scissors. To which Sam was usually the winner, only on a few rare occasions did the younger brother let the elder win. 

Y/N let out a breath, hearing him laugh, so she wasn’t making a total fool of herself anyway. That was good at least. Rubbing the back of her neck, Y/N tried to feel less awkward. “Can I buy you a drink?” “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Jared says, his tone could almost be taken as a flirt. “How about this, I buy you a drink, and you owe me a dance out on the floor?” 

It was a compromise. One all y/n could do in response is nod. She did have a drink at her table, but she wasn’t about to turn Jared down. After looking at Y/N for what seemed like forever, he smiled, placing her order to the bartender. Placed in Y/N’s hand was a jack and coke. Something simple, yet not too strong for her; Thank goodness there were such services like Uber and a taxi that could take her home if she needed it. She sure as hell wasn’t driving after all the alcohol in her system. “So, what brings you to Texas?’ Jared asks, trying to start a normal conversation with Y/N. 

After the first round of drinks were completed, Jared held out his hand for her, leaving the woman to blink as she heard the guitar of a song kicked on followed by its bass. Y/N paled. “Jare, no.” 

Jared laughed as he kept pulling Y/N to the dance floor where there was a group gathering to dance with the tune. She’d had enough drinks in her to definitely not be coordinated enough for this. Having looked up the song when she was on her way down, and the dance, Y/N knew she was in a world of trouble.

Well, it's midnight, damn right

We're wound up too tight

Wasn’t that the truth, it wasn’t midnight, but it was damn near close…. Y/N watched the steps for the first round and tried to talk it aloud to herself. Jared was already in the line and kicking up his leg and clearly having fun.

We're going off tonight

To kick out every light

Take anything we want

Drink everything in sight

We're going till the world stops turning

While we burn it to the ground tonight

Y/N took a deep breath and moved in step with the crowd. The steps weren’t difficult per say, but it wasn’t the easiest thing to do. Thank God her boots weren’t terribly high heeled. Her eyes widened when it came to the kicking portion of the dance, and Jared’s leg went as high as his collar bone. When Y/N tried, all she could do was kick as high as her hips. 

The more turns performed, the more Y/N started to let loose around Jared. On one of the turns, Y/N lost her footing and ended up tripping into the taller man's arms, his muscles holding her to his chest. As he helped her stand, Jared’s lips inched toward hers, pressing against hers gently.

The house door slammed as Y/N was pinned against it. She and Jared had shared a few soft kisses in the cab seat of the Uber they’d ordered, using Jared’s card, as much as Y/N had insisted she pay, since he’d bought most of their drinks. Y/N’s panties were soaked, and she hoped Jared knew it. The man had run his hands up to her legs and had stopped at her knees. Damn her for not wearing a skirt. Then again, with that leg kicking, flashing underwear would not have been the smartest choice.

“Jared,” Y/N gasped and moaned. Jared’s kisses were down her neck and nipping at the flesh of her collar bone, his cock hard against his jeans and clearly he needed attention too. “Shh,” he whispered, kissing her, pulling Y/N with him towards the bedroom. While walking, Y/N tried to tug at his shirt, how the hell did he manage to keep that hat on? Oh that's right, he wore button down shirts. The button down shirt was torn open, buttons flying across the wood floor, causing Y/N to giggle.

Jared sits Y/N down on the bed and makes quick removal of her jeans and her black lacy thong, all in one movement. “Hold on tight baby girl.” Jared says as his Cordell Walker accent kicked in and it took all Y/N had in her to not cum on the spot with his words

Before Y/N could let out her next breath, Jared had her legs over his shoulders, his mouth mere inches away from her pussy, blowing warm air just across her sensitive clit. Goosebumps prickled Y/N’s flesh, causing her to shiver, causing Jared to smirk at her. Moans filled the bedroom as Jared continued to work her clit. “You like that don’t you, you little whore” he says. Fingers curled inside Y/N, looking for that ultimate sweet spot inside her, the spot that would leave her cumming all over his fingers and possibly making a mess of his bedding. Oh well, it needed to be washed anyway.

“Jared, please, don’t be a tease.” Y/N begged, toes curling, back arched up as she let out a breath and came over his fingers. She hadn’t gotten a chance to warn him that she was about to be sent into her orgasm, which Jared seemed to be pleased with judging by the hot ass smirk on his face. 

“I never said I wasn’t going to be a tease baby girl,” Jared smirked as he took his mouth and began to kiss her wet pussy lips. Y/N moaned, gripping and tugging at his flesh. He’d chosen to keep the cowboy hat he'd worn at the bar after removing his shirt and damn, could he look more like a country god? Jared’s kisses were slow and gentle, Y/N didn’t mind slow and gentle. What she really wanted was that hot kind of sex you see in the movies.

“Jared, Oh fuck.” Y/N gasped as he brushed her sensitive clit, his tongue swirled inside her trembling walls as she shook as she came against Jared. Moans left her mouth as a half chant and her panting breath. The taller man didn’t give Y/N a chance to fully ride out her orgasm before shifting his position, his cock hovering at her entrance. There was a moment of him rubbing his rock hard cock against her juices. He let out a moan as he eased inside her, pushing all the way inside her till his hips were pressed against her. 

“You like that don’t you, you little cock slut. You knew where the shorter straw was, you knew you wanted me to take you here and fuck you in my bed and make you scream my name didn’t you?” Jared pants in her ear, tugging at her ear lobe, “You just wanted to be my little whore didn’t you?” Y/N was in a state of bliss, wanting to reply to him. Was he a ‘Sir’ kind of man? Or was he a ‘Daddy?’ There were so many kinks running through her head she didn’t know what to think. He was hitting places inside her she’d never had a man hit before. Then again, Jared Padalecki was a lot thicker and larger than any man she’d slept with. Jared’s movements were as smooth as a choreographed dance. Y/N wrapped her legs around his hips. Attempting if it was possible to send him even deeper inside her. “That's right baby, take all of my cock,” He grunted with each thrust, panting as he pushed himself to the edge. Truth be told, Jared had been rock hard seeing her walk into the bar hours earlier. Y/N’s jeans hugged the curves of her hips, ass, her whole body perfectly. The top she’d worn was low cut, it was clear she hadn’t been wearing a bra, could have worn one but with the size of her breasts? She had every right to show them off. 

The bedroom was filled with moans and groans from both parties occupying the bed. Cries of Jared’s name as Y/N worked through each orgasm. Positions changed every so often, Jared even asked her to ride his cock cowgirl style, to which Y/N had no problem taking his hat and smirked as if she’d been riding a mechanical bull at the bar. Jared’s cock twitched inside her as he was nearing his own orgasm, wanting to paint her walls with his white hot cum he’d been holding back for what seemed almost too long. 

Jared had nearly came in her mouth as she’d sucked him off. On her knees in between his legs, her pussy soaked from the orgasm he’d given her before they shifted to Jared receiving a blowjob. Jared was intent on pushing Y/N as far as she was able to, but she looked like she could swallow his entire length. He’d pushed gently to allow her time to adjust to his size, but holy fuck when she had the ability to push past her gag reflex? Damn it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

“You gonna cum for me Cowboy?” Y/N smirked as she noticed Jared’s change in rhythm. He was slamming a lot harder now and yet it was slower for a few minutes before resuming the pounding of her pussy. “Where do you want me, you little slut? Want me to cum in this little pussy and let my cum run down your leg so people know you were just fucked?” Jared pants. All Y/N could do was nod, rubbing her over sensitive clit as she’d cried out his name and pulled his mouth to hers as he cried out her name, warm ropes of hot cum exploded from the tip of his cock. As promised, as Jared slowly pulled back, white cum slowly eased out of her pussy, Y/N tried desperately to keep all of it inside her. His cum was so warm, it made her feel giddy inside. 

Jared moved to collapse on the bed, his breath heaving as he attempted to catch his breath. Both of their bodies were covered in sweat. Once able to move, Y/N moved to spoon herself into Jared’s arms. 

“Best sex we’ve had in a while,” Jared says with a smirk.

“Agreed, stranger foreplay made it more fun. I actually was glad I didn’t wear a dress, if I flashed my pussy to anyone else, you’d have gotten jealous and started a brawl then where would we be?” Jared chuckled and kissed her head, brushing away her sweat soaked hair. 

“Once we’re able to move, I’m making you a large ass breakfast.”

Jared leaned up to look down at Y/N, “Is that before or after I ask you to marry me?”

 Tags:

 @simsadventures​​ @mummybear​ @impala-dreamer​ @holylulusworld​ @snffbeebee​ @saxxxology @akshi8278​​ ​ @deansmyapplepie   @luci-in-trenchcoats @samskia-writes @winchester-fantasies​​ @talesmaniac89​​ @stusbunker​​ @idreamofplaid​ @cherrypiebbyblog​​ @cleighwrites​​ @jxackles​​ @flamencodiva​​ @wonder-cole​​ @msmarvelouswinchester​​ @downanddirtydean​​ @janicho88​​ @lacednleathered​​

[georgescatcafe]

vermillion — 2

rating: t warning/s: period-typical homophobia pairing/s: georgenap genres/tags: cowboy x city boy au, rancher sapnap, rich george, coming of age, slow burn word count: 3,850 summary: When Sapnap gets sent into the city to get quick cash for his family’s struggling ranch, he’s not expecting much from the experience—lights aren’t very blinding when held up to the Sun, and he’s not exactly there to play around. But then he meets George, a boy built on money, who quickly sweeps in not just paying customers but also Sapnap, leading him into what any ruddy country boy would call the mouth of the Devil: high society. Cue a summer spent by each other’s side while feelings run unbidden, uncaring of deadlines and restraints.

It should be enough for the pair—and for awhile, it is, right up until it isn’t.

+ao3 +masterpost

;;

It’s as much an exercise for George as it is for Sapnap. George isn’t actually that good with people; his false bravado stemmed from seeing the lonely boy there with an apple, and some bright bit of light—God’s light, a sign, George would say if he were a romantic—slashed across the boy’s face when George’s eyes land on him, turning his skin golden and illuminating the stars in his midnight hair. The image was enough to put George into motion, sending him over to the boy in the Pappas Ranch booth. Of course, any and all sweetness George had that his mother and her friends cooed and awed about flew from his body the minute he opened his mouth, but now, he sits at that booth and is the one constant company to Sapnap Pappas.

“That can’t be your actual name,” George turns to him when there’s a lull in customers, “Sapnap. Sapnap Pappas?”

Sapnap places the blade of his butcher knife to a particularly thick bit of fat before slicing through. “It’s not,” he says.

“Thought so.” George readjusts, and again, Sapnap reaches out a hand to steady the unstable booth. “So, what’s your actual name?”

“Is Sapnap not good enough for you?” Sapnap sends him a quick glance from under dark brows before going back to his work. George shrugs.

“It’s dumb,” George says. “But I guess it’s fine. But I want to know. Amuse me.”

“That’s because I was named it by my friend,” Sapnap tells him, wrapping up the meat and putting it in a cooler, “when we were, like, five.”

“Friend?” George glances over his shoulder at the market. He’s pretty sure it’s nearing dinnertime. His stomach has started to give the occasional rumble. Sapnap hasn’t noticed, though. That’s fine. George took time away from him at lunch. He can wait a bit longer for dinner.

“Yeah,” Sapnap replies. “I had a pen pal.”

“Had?”

Sapnap nods, then finally meets George’s eyes. “Are you going to contribute anything useful or just keep repeating everything I say?”

“You’re telling me about your past,” George says. “You don’t want to hear about mine.”

At that, he gets a disbelieving look that he chooses to ignore.

“Maybe another time,” George suggests. “Or quid pro quo.”

Sapnap studies him for another second before nodding. “He suggested we switch to email. The Internet at my house is super spotty, so sometimes it’s back to letters, but it’s not terrible, and I’ve got an AOL account. Pa told me it’d be useful for work too, so. No biggie, I guess. So yeah, we email.”

George doesn’t have spotty Internet; he has an AOL account—his mum told him he’d need it. He doesn’t use it often. Most of his friends live nearby anyway. “Cool,” he says.

Sapnap nods then puts away his knives and leans forward, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. George looks back over his shoulder. “Quid pro quo, George,” when George finally turns to him again, he smiles, “so?”

So George tells him about his AOL account. How he doesn’t use it. Then he tells him about his friends. “But some are just connections,” George clarifies, “and some I think hate me. I don’t really care, but it is stressful. I’d rather not deal with them at all, knowing some of the shit they say.” Sapnap gives a sympathetic hum. “But I do it. If not for my future, then for my mum and dad. They’re good. And under stress. We’ve got noble blood, really, but that just puts a price on our heads, I think. So I just… do what makes them happy ‘cause they’ve got enough to think about, you know?”

Sapnap blinks. George takes that as a no. He continues:

“Guess you could consider yourself lucky. Is that what it’s like? Just being friends with people to be their friend?”

“Yeah,” Sapnap says. “Sometimes it’s because we grew up together, and I don’t like them much anymore, but they’re all I know, but… I still care about them. And it’s not… we don’t have prices on our heads. Sorry.”

George wants to laugh, but he bites it back, this time looking over at the woman in the next booth. She sends him a polite wave. George sends her one back. He feels Sapnap’s eyes on him the entire time. “’S fine,” George replies. He sits up, fingers drumming on wood. “So, your actual name, Sapnap Pappas?”

“Nick,” Sapnap says. “Nick Pappas.”

“A lot less stupid than Sapnap.”

“Maybe,” George wonders whether he should call the other his nickname (ha!) or his actual one, “but I don’t know. Going by Sapnap here is kind of fun. Like a secret identity. Or alter ego.”

“Don’t like being a country bumpkin, Mr. Pappas?” George shoots the other a teasing grin.

Sapnap (George has grown used to the name, and apparently, so has the other, no use calling him anything else now) grins back. “Proud of my roots,” he says. “Which isn’t bumpkin, thank you very much. But I do… I like the pretending. Just for a bit. Just for the summer. Takes some of the pressure off, I think.”

“Do you often fall victim to childhood nostalgia?” George raises his brows to show him he’s joking. Sapnap offers a smile.

“Is that what it is?”

“You tell me.” George glances out to the sky, where the Sun has started to set. “Let’s try to get a couple more buyers then head out for dinner.”

“Are you going to study business?” Sapnap asks, nodding when George motions to a father and son pair across the way. “In college?”

“Probably,” George replies, “amongst other things. Here. I’ll be right back.” And then he slips off the counter, leaving Sapnap alone, heading over to the father and his kid. He draws them in easy, a promise of a good bonding experience, grilling some juicy cuts of steak in their backyard, and Sapnap ends up just a little bit richer. After going through the process again, this time taking a goat off of Pappas Ranch’s hands, George watches Sapnap count the money before the other disappears fully behind the booth, locking the cash away in a safe. The emotion in him… George wouldn’t call it guilt, but it’s something that twists his stomach in all the wrong ways, makes him want to hop from foot to foot, not meet the other’s eyes. He could advertise to his parents. To his family. Hell, he could just give Sapnap the cash in his wallet. And it’d be fine. He wouldn’t even ask for anything. “Sell it to other people,” he’d say. “I don’t need it.”

Yet he hasn’t done any of that.

“What’re you thinking about?” George jumps when Sapnap finally walks out from behind the booth. “You look like you need to take a shit.”

“I don’t,” George replies, “I just….” He doesn’t know what to say. Even if he did, he doesn’t think he’d know how to say it. He gives a shrug. “Thinking about dinner, what to get, I guess. I’m hungry.”

“Honestly,” Sapnap says, “me too.” They start to leave, Sapnap continually throwing glances over his shoulder, before he finally continues: “Are you taking me to another French place?”

George shakes his head. “We can go somewhere else. Less fancy if you want.”

Sapnap thinks. George takes them towards the main road. He doesn’t really know all the city, just (he glances over to Sapnap before looking away, to the ground—it’s not guilt, it isn’t) the richer neighborhoods, but he can read a map, and honestly, he knows all the streets well enough, just not what’s down them all. “I just can’t really afford to spend money,” Sapnap eventually says. “And I’m not going to make you spend a bunch either,” he levels George with a look, “even if you can afford to.”

In a way, George can see that as fair. That doesn’t mean he has to accept it, though. “I can pay, and you won’t—if you think it’ll make you owe me or I’ll think you’re in debt to me or whatever, don’t. Just tell me what you want.”

“Where would you normally go for dinner?”

Home. George would be at home.

“I know a place,” he says instead. And when he goes, Sapnap follows.

;;

It’s a bit farther away than the French restaurant, closer to George’s house too, but Sapnap doesn’t seem to mind, and George tells him they’ll catch a cab back. “Walking could cause cramps,” George says. “It’s happened to me once or twice. Did you get it? I imagine working on a ranch is… non-stop.”

“It is,” Sapnap replies. “Ate when working sometimes, but Ma always had us eating together at dinner. But I’ve definitely had a sandwich or two on horseback.”

“Bite your tongue ever?” George glances over at him; Sapnap’s watching his feet on the pavement. Eventually, he turns to meet the other’s gaze.

“Once or twice.” They share a smile.

On the corner of Bell and Lamar sits a diner, the neon lights of its sign flickering on in the evening dark. BENNY it reads, letters vertical. Sapnap stares up at them; the magenta reflects in his eyes. “Come here often?” he asks.

“It’s cozier than,” George pulls a face, exaggerating his words, “Un petit creux.”

“I can believe that.” Sapnap pushes open the door. A bell overhead jingles. A sign reads to seat yourself, so they do, scooting into a booth that has a view of Bell Street, the seat cool through George’s pants. He watches Sapnap’s fingers as they drum against the countertop before disappearing below the table. “What do you usually get?” he finally asks.

George doesn’t come here often. “Chicken and waffles,” he replies.

There’re a couple menus slotted between the sugar and napkins, and Sapnap’s hands come back into view to grab one. His eyes roam over the laminated paper, glancing up at George, who sits there quietly, every few seconds.

“Are you going to look?” he asks, motioning to the remaining menu.

George shrugs. “I’m alright.”

Sapnap studies him for a second before his gaze finally drops. George takes this time to continue watching him. He’s got a bandana tied around his head, holding his hair back, but still some of his fringe falls over the fabric, forcing him to push it back every few seconds as he tries to read. George swallows before letting his eyes wander lower across his brow bone, the slope of his nose before the rest of his face disappears behind the menu. And Sapnap’s eyes are covered by long lashes. George looks away.

Across the room, he accidentally makes eye contact with a waitress, who offers him a polite smile and starts to walk over. “Hope you know what you want,” George warns Sapnap, who looks up, confused, right before the waitress reaches their table.

“What can I get you boys?” she asks, voice cheery, drawl strong.

George smiles. “Chicken and waffles please.”

“And a burger for me please,” Sapnap tells her, putting the menu back.

The waitress gives them a nod before pivoting, and then George goes, “Wait, uh, can I please get a chocolate shake too?” When the waitress writes it down, George wants to take it back.

He wants to take it back even more when Sapnap adds, “Me too please.”

George sneaks a peek at him from the corner of his eye. Sapnap’s just got an easy smile on his face, and when he turns to George, all he says is, “You didn’t get a treat earlier. But now I want one too.”

George completely forgot about their argument after lunch. He doesn’t tell Sapnap that, though. “I can pay,” is what he says instead, “since we’re getting the shakes.”

“I thought we agreed to go Dutch.” Sapnap says. “Don’t switch up on me now.”

“I’m not switching up on you,” George retorts. “I’m being polite.”

“You don’t need to be polite,” Sapnap replies. “We’re friends. Friends aren’t polite with each other.”

“Mine are.” George refrains from rolling his eyes. “And is that what we are? Friends?”

“Here, I’ll start the un-politeness,” Sapnap declares. “George, very not politely, what the fuck does that mean?”

“I just didn’t realize you thought we’re friends already,” George replies, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants.

“Do you think we’re not?”

George shakes his head. “We are. I mean, I think we are. Didn’t realize it’s reciprocated.”

“Yeah, well,” Sapnap’s cheeks puff up as he blows out air, “you know.”

He does.

The food is good, obviously, but when the waitress returns with two chocolate shakes, George has to repress a cringe. As he attempts to take a drink, he looks across the table at Sapnap, who’s already eaten his cherry and is, George assumes, trying to tie the stem into a knot with his tongue. George lifts from his straw. “You look stupid.” When Sapnap glares at him, George takes an innocent sip.

“And you can do it, hotshot?”

“No,” George replies honestly. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t look stupid.”

“Well,” Sapnap takes another second to roll the stem around before he opens his mouth, tongue lolling out, cherry stem falling onto the plate below—tied in a neat, little knot.

George looks away, heat spreading under his skin.

“People who can do that are good kissers, so I don’t care how stupid I look if it means I kiss well.”

The first emotion George feels is curiosity. The next is humiliation. “Why would I need to know that?” he asks, eyes resolutely on his shake. It’s melted some, and now he drinks it easily. When he pulls back to breathe, he adds: “Why would you tell me that?” His offense is too extreme, and when he looks up, finally meeting Sapnap’s eyes, he knows Sapnap knows it too. “I’m sorry,” he says. He takes another sip. Though he’s no longer looking at the other, he can feel Sapnap’s gaze on him, and he’s uncomfortable under the scrutiny. He can’t take back the words, though, so all he does is drink his shake and try to avoid any and all eye contact. And then something bumps into his foot under the table.

He freezes, hunched halfway over his straw. Another bump to his foot, a gentle nudge. He risks a glance up. Sapnap is staring at him, expression intense. George swallows.

“No,” he says.

“Why not?” Sapnap taps their shoes together again.

“No.” George leans forward, hoping to convey with that one word just how against this he is.

“Just give me one good reason as to why not, George,” Sapnap replies. “Then I’ll stop.”

There’s lots of reasons. “I’m not… into that.” A lack of attraction isn’t one of them.

Sapnap sighs. “Fine, me neither. I just wanted to see what you’d do. Not going to lie, you seemed like the type.”

George scoffs, genuine hurt rising in his chest. He plays it off as disgust. “You’re such an asshole.” Sapnap sends him a disinterested look, merely leaning forward to drink his shake. George frowns as he watches the other, until he mimics the pose, the cold chocolate an easy distraction and quick way to cool down from the heat that has yet to dissipate. God, seriously. What a dick.

;;

The rest of the night more or less ruined, George keeps his hands in his pockets as they make their way back to the market. Sapnap’s quiet beside him, and whenever George glances over, he’s always looking away or at his feet. George hates the guilt rising in him. It’s not his fault Sapnap chose to be weird. It’s not his fault for reading the signs as they were then having them thrown back in his face.

Sapnap wouldn’t have done any of that if he were actually…. George glances over again; Sapnap’s eyes are locked on the ground. No use thinking about it now.

“We did good today,” he says. “We make a good team.”

When he looks over again, Sapnap is finally looking at him too. And he’s smiling. George smiles back as Sapnap nods. “Yeah,” he says, “we do.”

"I’ll be back tomorrow,” George tells him. “If that’s okay.”

“More than okay,” Sapnap replies, smile still on his face. The market is in sight now. “I like spending time with you.”

George hopes he isn’t as red as he thinks he is. The Sun is setting—maybe he can blame any color he has on that. “I,” he laughs, nervous, “like spending time with you too.”

They fall into an unsteady silence; not uncomfortable, just… cautious. George does his best to keep looking ahead. When they reach the market, Sapnap is quick to check over his booth, making sure everything is still where they left it, and then he hefts the cooler up, the muscles in his left arm flexing as he adjusts it over his shoulder, his freehand digging into his pocket for his keys.

George watches before he finally asks, “Do you need me to carry anything?”

Sapnap, who had been inspecting his keys, looks up at him. “Nah, I’m good. You can head to my truck if you want.” There’s not many cars left in the small lot next to the market—when George looks over, a sleek black car pulls out, leaving only three SUVs and two trucks, one rusted and rough, the other white with mud all along the tires. George honestly isn’t sure which is Sapnap’s. “I can drive you home.” He tosses George the keys, and George’s heart spikes as he reaches out to catch them before they fall. “She’s pretty beat up, but she still works.”

So it’s the rusty one. George turns to look at it again, at the chipping sky blue paint, the rust that colors it brown and speckled—a robin’s egg, before turning back to Sapnap and nodding. Sapnap gives him a smile, and then George turns and goes, marching dutifully up to the truck, inspecting it closer, like there’s much to inspect, before he unlocks it and climbs carefully into the passenger seat. He sits there.

There’s not much inside the car.

Eventually, there comes a thud from behind, and when he turns to look over the back of his seat, he sees Sapnap loading his coolers into the bed of the truck, slamming the tailgate shut before taking his safe with him to the front of the truck. When he opens the door, he drops the safe down on the seat between them. George looks between it and Sapnap before he turns back to the truck bed. Inside, he sees the coolers, along with a pillow, blanket, and duffel bad. He readjusts, once again facing forward. Sapnap’s starts the truck.

“Where to?” he asks.

“I’ll give you the directions,” George replies.

;;

When they reach George’s house, George remains in his seat. Sapnap tells him he’ll see him tomorrow and that he’s actually a big help (and a big pain in the ass—he says it smiling, of course) and that he’s surprised George’s clothes aren’t dirty despite spending all day outside. George asks him if he sleeps in his truck.

“Uh.” Sapnap blinks, and George’s mouth snaps shut, eyes wide and cheeks heating with humiliation.

“I just—because the pillows and there was a blanket and,” he takes a breath, “I shouldn’t have assumed. You probably just don’t like hotel beds or something.”

Sapnap stares at him. George stares at his nose in return.

Finally, Sapnap releases a quiet breath. With the minimal distance between them, George feels it across his skin. Atop his thighs, his fingers curl into his palms. “Yeah,” Sapnap says. “I am. Can’t afford to waste any money.”

George swallows. “Oh.” Right. It’s always money. That twist in his stomach grows tighter. He looks to his house, the dark windows, curtained, blocking views of the inside. The topiaries that stand tall at the sides of the door. Inside, there’s more than one unused room. More than enough space for Sapnap, with his duffel bag and blanket. With his one pillow. And four brick walls, that’s always safer than a truck. George looks down to the safe that still sits between them. He can feel Sapnap’s gaze on him, heavy as always, and when he looks back up, he finds Sapnap has moved even closer. George presses himself to the window but tries his best not to make it obvious. He doesn’t have to. He could just get out of the truck, go to the front door, unlock it and shut it behind him, leave Sapnap to his own devices. Will Sapnap think he sees him as a charity case? He doesn’t. George glances back over at his house. There’s even a spare bedroom across from his own. It’s really not a problem. Sapnap wouldn’t think he sees him as a charity case—they argue too much for him to think that.

But is it really a good idea?

The crank for the window digs uncomfortably into George’s back.

But is Sapnap sleeping in his truck, inside it or in the bed, when he doesn’t have to better?

“Do you want to spend the night?” George asks.

It’s too much. Hell, George is even growing tired of the other’s presence, not necessarily Sapnap himself, but he just needs some time to think, yet here he is trying to get Sapnap to spend even more time with him. Sapnap probably feels the same way. But he has to at least offer. Has to at least try getting Sapnap into a proper bed—not a truck one.

“Like, at your house?” Sapnap looks past George to the imposing structure.

George nods.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit…,” Sapnap makes a face, searching for the word, “I don’t know, weird?”

“Weird?” George repeats.

“Well, like, we just kind of spent all day together, and, like, you’re rich or whatever and my truck looks like—you saw it, and I look like,” he motions to himself, his sweaty t-shirt, the leather belt and worn jeans he wears. On his feet, dirty boots, “y’know.”

He does know. Regardless, he shrugs. “My parents won’t mind.” They might. But George can fend them off… or something. “And it’s not charity,” he adds quickly, eyes widening.

Sapnap sends him a look. “I didn’t think it was, but thanks for the reassurance.”

“I just don’t think you should have to sleep in your truck when there’s plenty of room at my house.” George swallows when Sapnap studies him for another second. He smiles, awkward.

Eventually, Sapnap shrugs. “Fine,” he decides. “But I don’t believe that your parents won’t mind. You’re a terrible liar, George.”

George opens his door. “It doesn’t matter ‘cause I’m not lying.”

Sapnap laughs, turning off the truck and getting out. “Yeah, right.”

George grabs the duffel bag from out the back, and he tries not to squirm when he realizes Sapnap’s watching him. He tugs it onto his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, “I'm actually right.”

;;

next

[a-simple-imagine]

Welcome to Westworld

Synopsis: Y/N and Natasha visit Westworld where they meet a particular blonde.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader,  elements of Dolores x fem!reader

Words: 4.2k+

A/N - This turned out a little longer than expected and totally self-indulgent. I guess it is a crossover.

"Can you believe we're  actually here?" Excitement oozed from every word that left your lips as you step off the train. It was nothing more than a train station but you couldn't help but admire it. It was almost too perfect, the pristine white and black of every surface; it was elegant. Even the people who occupied the platform were dressed in white.

"Not really," Natasha groaned, pushing you gently forward. "All I got from Tony for my birthday was a card."

"Yeah... well... I'm his favourite."

It was definitely meant as a brag after all this place cost thousands of dollars. A young woman calls out your name as she approaches. She was a traditional kind of pretty, piercing blue eyes with not a blonde hair out of place. Not a blemish on her ivory skin. "Welcome to Westworld."

Natasha was already being lead away by one of the men in white as you follow your guide.

"Given it's your first visit, I have a few questions for you."  She draws your attention back. The woman proceeds to inquire about your medical history; basic questions about previous conditions and your mental health. She takes you up the escalators, and at the top is a giant screen advertising the park. You couldn't wait to get inside.

"So how does this all work?" You wonder, "Is there like an orientation... or tutorial, maybe?"

The other woman smiles ever so softly, it was a gorgeous smile. "No orientation, half the fun is figuring out how it all works. You'll start in the town at the centre of the park; it's relatively safe. Then the further you go out the more intense the experience becomes. how far you go is up to you."

You nod along as she speaks; wondering if Natasha is going through the same line of questioning. "Makes sense."

The woman whose name you have yet to be told leads you into what you assume is a dressing room. Different selections of clothes lined the walls. With glass display cases in the centre. "This will be the first choice you make; everything in here is bespoke and exactly your size so please take your time."

You drift over to a display of dresses. They ranged from simple picnic dresses to eccentric ball gowns. Your fingers dance over the material of each dress before selecting a blue one. It had a high collar to frame the face paired with a flattering "V" cut. long leg-o-mutton sleeves and full skirt with pockets. It was adorned with a delicate red rose pattern. "Found something you like?"

You almost forgot she was here. You shake your head, placing the dress back. Your eyes fall to a display case of pistols that stood centre. "Are those real?" You ask as you walk over.

"Real enough," She responds; the guns were in perfect 3 x 3 lines.

"I thought you couldn't get hurt here," you comment as you look over the following case which held a few shotguns.

"Only the right amount." You look to her, brows furrowed a little before focusing on the suits. You didn't have anything against the dresses but they weren't practical for what you had in mind. A suit on the other hand; you'd look like a traditional cowboy.  You select a black jacket before turning to your little companion.

"Uh... should I get changed in another room or?"

"I can help you or I can step out of you like," you chucked a little until you realised she was serious. The blonde takes a few steps closer, you swallow hard at how close she is. She smells good; sweet. "Whatever, you want."

You're stunned for a moment. "I... can dress myself- thank you though, really."

she smiled tightly before wandering away. "I'll be outside if you need anything."

You opted for a long black jacket with matching slacks that were held up by suspenders. A striped white shirt and a little red scarf to complete the look. You had a gun holster strapped to your hip with a small silver pistol lodged in it. You'd gotten changed a couple of times before finally settling on this look and went to find your guide. "How do I look?"

"Time for the final touch," she leads you to a corridor with hats hug up on the wall. In different colours and sizes. You select a white hat to help break up the black a little; it was more tan than white. An Ivory hat. And thus concluded your introduction to the world, she left you to walk down a long corridor to a brown door. You twisted the nob and walked through to an ensemble of men and women. It was old fashioned, really looked the part. You find Natasha sat at the bar, nursing a whiskey.

"Damn, cowboy," you comment playfully, "Is this seat taken?"

Natasha turns to you, eyes drifting over your outfit as you take in hers. She wore dark brown trousers with a lighter brown vest no shirt underneath which showed off her arms. A brown hat on her head. "I'm surprised you didn't come out in one of those dresses, you're not gonna be too hot in that?"

"I almost did," You shrug a little, glancing around at the men in costumes. "I don't reckon so but I can always take off the jacket."

The bartender poured you a drink you never asked for which you took with a smile, heading over to get a look out the window. There was nothing but darknesses you twisted on your heel to glance back at her. "I wonder what it's like...

The once cramped compartment felt so much freer as light spilled into the cabin. You turn quickly to get the first glimpse of Westworld. The large mountains, canyons, the blue sky. It was all... surreal. This place must be absolutely huge.

Pulling up to the station; you're not even sure how you got on the train. Yes you walked through the door but how did a static door lead to a moving train? You get down off the train almost too scared to step into the unknown. Natasha trailed behind you as you walk into the small town of Sweetwater. It didn't seem all that big but it was busy. Too many things were hitting you at once you weren't sure what part to take in.

"Slow down, dude," you almost stumble into two girls as she calls out to you but you manage to dodge, with each step you feel your confidence grow.

"Come on Natasha," she's a fair few paces behind. "What should we do first- Hurry up,"

You wait for her to catch up before continuing. Glancing at each building as if trying to find something to break the immersive experience but everything seemed like it fit into this world perfectly. You couldn't even tell who were guests and who were the hosts, everything just worked. "What do you wanna do?"

"I don't know, it's your present." A large white building catches your eye. MARIPOSA was written in large black letters across the top of the building, above some decking. Saloon and hotel were written slightly smaller. "I think we should-"

Her voice drifts as you wander over to a poster that was pinned to a post, fluttering gently in the breeze. You flatten it out and a giant smile spreads over your lips as the words WANTED becoming clear as day

"You sure you can handle that?" The voice of reason has returned. Natasha was stood behind you.

"I'm a tough girl," you argue, "I could do it."

"Maybe start smaller, yeah? Stay in town get the lay of the land-"

You're not in the mood for Natasha's sensibility. Maybe you weren't ready to go hunting for outlaws but you could if you wanted to and surely you could find someone around here willing to help out. It's almost second nature to drown out her talking when you don't wanna listen as your attention becomes drawn somewhere else once again. You catch sight of a woman with a tan and black horse. Her light blue dress stood out against the otherwise drab colour scheme. She had beautiful golden hair that absorbed the sun. You don't know what it is but you can't help but watch her for a moment as she tries to shove a bag into the satchel on her horse; a can spilling out and onto the floor. Without a second thought, you're walking towards her, scooping up the can.

"Excuse me miss, I think you dropped this." Her delicate features come into view and you have to take a step back to appreciate. She was beautiful; overly so. Some would even say perfect. Her lips curled up into a gracious smile that brings joy to your face.

"Stop running off on me," Natasha scolds as she walks up behind, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Who's this?"

It takes you a moment to even comprehend that Natasha is talking. "Uhhh... I don't know."

"I'm Dolores," the otherwise annoying southern drawl is charming to the ear. "Thank you for the can,"

"You're Welcome," you tilt your cowboy hat a little, introducing yourself and Natasha. "So are you from around here, Dolores?"

"I am," she nods, smiling brightly. "I live just down the road but I don't think I've ever seen you two before. Suppose you're some of those newcomers, we get a lot of those."

You glance to Natasha who just shrugs. If she lived here that meant she was a host even though she definitely didn't seem like one. And you technically were newcomers just not in the way she's probably thinking. "That we are ma'am. I hate to be a bother but we were wondering if you might now what there is to do for fun around here?"

"It's no bother," she deliberates for a moment, putting the can away on her horse. "I guess it would depend on what you're looking for."

"I guess it would," you chuckle. Half the fun is figuring it out but you had no clue where to start. "Uh... what do you do for fun?"

She looks to you for a moment, paused in thought. "I go to my favourite spot by the river and paint."

"That sounds nice," not what you were expecting her to say but sure. You look to Natasha wondering what she wants to do.

"I think we should secure a place to sleep and eat first, maybe get a drink too."

"Alright," You sigh, logic beats fun here. Secure food and shelter was a very Natasha thing to say. "Would you mind taking us out tomorrow? We could go down to the river- I promise we won't get in the way?"

"I would be delighted." You can't help but feel a little delight at her words. "I'll meet you two back here tomorrow morning then."

"Perfect."

"Do you have horses?" The blonde asks, climbing up and onto hers.

"I'm afraid not we came on the train, know where we can get one?"

"I can bring some if you like?" She offered, her hand patting her horse a couple of times. "Or there is a stable on the edge of town, they should have a few if you got the money."

"We'll buy a few, thanks." May as well get some for the duration of your stay.

"I guess I'll see you two tomorrow then,"

"Bye Dolores," you wave as she rides off. Instantly turning to Natasha with the giddiness of a small child.

"I can't believe we came all the way here and you just wanna sit on the side of a river with some random girl."

"I wanted to go bounty hunting but you said no," you huff. "Besides, it's just one day. I'm pacing myself so where to next?"

"I need a drink but maybe we should get a couple horses first?"

"Okay... let's find the stables,"

It takes a while to find the stables. In the end Natasha had to ask a local who pointed you in the right direction. The stables were a big reddish-brown barn with a paddock to the left. One door was left open so you just wandered on in. It was considerably darker inside, dirty too. Despite the smell, there didn't actually seem to be a horse in sight.

"Howdy, folks. You looking to sell or buy?" An older gentleman startles you from the right. He had a white mustache but lacked hair on top of his head.

"Buy? How much is a horse?"

"Depends on the horse missy." You weren't sure how you felt about being called missy but you let it slide. "I've only got one left, ain't too many selling these days but he's a real beaut."

"Can we afford this?" Natasha asks quietly. The thing with theme parks was that despite the expensive entry fee, nothing seemed to come for free. You could steal a horse but that seemed risky so buying one was the next option.

"I don't know but Tony said to go nuts. I'm taking that as buy the horse."

In the very back stood just that; a horse. Black as the night with patches of white across his back, a crescent of white adorned the top of his head. "He's a big fella but gentle as can be," he reaches over to run his hand across the horse's nose. "I should be getting more in soon but this is the best I got for now. I'll even throw in everything you need to look after him, saddle and all."

"We'll take him," you declare quickly before Natasha can have a chance to say no.

"Great, let me just grab his papers."

You smile to Natasha. "Go pay the man,"

With a roll of her eyes, she wonders after the stable keeper. Staying with the horse, you walk closer; reaching out slowly. The animal was soft to the touch and made your smile brighten. "I think I'll call you moonshine."

Natasha returns a moment later with papers in hand. "He's ours."

"Great... do you know how to ride a horse?" You ask Natasha. The stable guy opens the door to let the horse trot out so he can attach the saddle. You watch him carefully to make sure you remember the process just in case.

"Do you?" You didn't so you shake your head. You'd never thought the skill would come in handy.

"Guess it's time to learn."

"You're all set," The man announces, slapping his hands together.

"Thank you," you take the horse's reigns and begin walking back towards the door. Thankfully the horse follows. "Where to next?"

"Food?" Natasha suggests. "Find a place to sleep.

"Let's hitch the horse and grab some food, I think I saw a restaurant back in town."

"Hitch the horse- listen to you cowboy."

After dinner, you retire to the Sweetwater inn. It was incredibly cheap but money was different back then so it makes sense. The next morning, Natasha is up at the crack of dawn, waking you up at around ten. You have breakfast before finding Dolores at the wayside.

"Morning, you two."

"Good morning, Dolores." You answer with a yawn.

"I see you got yourself a horse,"

"His name is Moonshine," you answer. "They only had one though."

"That's alright. One of you can ride with me."

"I'll ride with you," You weren't giving up the chance to get closer to her. Natasha's brows furrow at your eagerness. "I don't trust Natasha on a horse."

You climb up behind Dolores and it's a little daunting being up so high up. It's instinctive to put your arms around her to make yourself feel safer. Heat rushing to your cheeks as you realise you've just grabbed a woman you hardly know.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" you pull away.

"It's alright, have you ever ridden a horse before?" Dolores quarries.

Your head shakes. "No."

Reaching behind her, she searches for your hands. You take hold of hers and she places them around her. "We'll be okay just hold tight."

Dolores feels warm in your embrace and she smells like fresh linen. It's weird how... normal she felt. You kind of expected her to feel hard and cold but she felt like any other human being. It's like when you put your arms around Natasha who gets annoyed when you don't let go. "I'll go slow at first so you can get used to it."

You nod a little even though she can't see and with a flick of her wrist, the horse starts moving. Your grip tightens around her at the motion but you relax with a heavy sigh. It takes a second but you work up the courage to look at Natasha who seems at home aboard Moonshine; no surprise there.

"You doing okay back there?"

"Mhmm,"

The horse gets faster but it's not as bad this time; you've grown accustomed to the motion. You don't know how long you're up there for but you approach the river with a gentle curiosity. Natasha helps you down form the horse, which doesn't seem as big from the ground. Looking out over the river, it was a beautiful spot of lush green. Natasha walks up beside you as Dolores collects her things from her horse. "She felt real," you hum quietly, not bothering to look at her. "Like I don't know how to explain it... she doesn't feel like a machine."

"Doesn't mean she isn't one," Natasha pats you firmly on the back. "Remember that,"

You watch her walk to the river edge before glancing at Dolores who had set up her axel.

"Whose horses are those?" You ask out loud, pointing to a spot where three horses roamed. They seemed to be enjoying the grass.

"Oh they're wild," Dolores replies. "Do you want to get closer?"

With Dolores leading the way, you approach the three beasts. One was chestnut brown, the other tan and finally the third was a greyish white. The white horse trots closer to the two of you as Dolores offers out her hand.

"Here," she hands you a slice of apple. "Put your hand out real flat."

Doing as instructed, the horse seems cautious but eventually takes the free food leaving a little slobber in its wake.

"Hey Nat, we could have just gotten a couple of these instead of buying one."

"I don't know about you but I don't think we could tame a wild one."

"They're really quite gentle," The host interrupts, stroking the neck of the horse. You're utterly amused by the whole situation. This place was, in terms of technology, so advanced, and yet life was simple. It was the little moments that were so enticing- although you still wanted to go chase criminals at some point.

The day is spent with Dolores. It's joyful and peaceful although you're not sure how much fun Natasha is having. As the sun began to set and Dolores insisted she had to get home, you go your separate ways and head back to Sweetwater with Natasha.

Tonight was Natasha's turn to pick and so you ended up in the Saloon. It was surprisingly full and lively. A man sat at the piano, playing tune after tune. There was a poker game taking place between a group of men. And you were pretty sure there were working girls wondering about offering their... services.

"How do you think they make them so realistic?" You think out loud as you stand at the bar. "Like Dolores was one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. And there's just no way you could tell she wasn't another human being without knowing beforehand."

"Will you shut up about Dolores," Natasha groaned. "There are plenty of other..."

Her voice trails off and you find a stranger stood just behind you. She was a pretty brunette and sporting a deep blue ruffled and laced corset dress. It looked good on her. A soft hand danced ever so lightly over the skin of your cheek. "You're new," she hums, bringing her fingertips to her lips. "Not much of a rind on you."

You swallow hard under her gaze as she smiles. "I can give you a discount. It's normally five dollars but I can do it for four."

You glance towards Natasha, it had become a habit since entering the park. You wanted to gauge her reaction; figure out what she deemed okay. "Go ahead," The redhead brings a shot glass to her lips, knocking it back. "I don't care if you fuck a robot,"

"She's not-" you cut yourself off, "thank you for the offer ma'am but I'm gonna have to decline. Maybe another time."

"You don't have to be so negative all the time." You growl as you lean down against the bar, signaling for the bartender to refill your glass. "Maybe actually pretend to enjoy this place."

"How am I being negative?"

"The point of this place is to have fun and experience the old west. Live without limits," you try to keep your voice down but not so much it's drowned out by everything else going on in here. "You don't have to keep telling me everything isn't real- I know that. I know the hosts aren't people but they're basically the same so just stop it. Maybe I should have come alone."

You down a shot of whiskey which burns as it drifts down your throat before finding a seat at an empty table. "Look I'm sorry," Natasha takes up the seat opposite you. "I'll try to take this more seriously okay? I don't mean to ruin your experience."

"Would you really not be mad if I fucked that girl?"

"I mean... it's your money to waste. Why? Are you curious."

"Maybe just a little," you chuckle. It was a genuine curiosity if you were being honest. Surely they can't feel real in those moments. "I won't though."

Natasha is relatively happy as you get a couple drinks in her, so the night practically flies by. You even try your hand at a little poker which you're bad at but Natasha seems to be cleaning up.

Day 3 of your Westworld adventure and you're not quite sure what to do. Where to go? Or who to talk to? You stood staring at the wanted poster from the day you walked in. Natasha was in the general store picking up some supplies. Maybe today was the day to do something a little more... exciting. Then you spot her again; Dolores. She brings a smile to your lips as you watch her but it's quick to fade as three men approach her. You can't hear them but you also can't just assume they have bad intentions so you keep an eye on the interaction. Mainly on Dolores in the middle and when she tries to push past and they stop her, you spring into action.

"Fellas, how about you leave my friend here alone."

They all turn to you and you take a step back. Are they hosts or guests? You couldn't tell. "Or what?" A nasally voice assaults your ears. The owner was a short man with thick brown hair. "We can do whatever we want so fuck off."

"I said, leave her alone." You stand your ground, hand lingering on the gun you hadn't had the honour of using just yet. "Now."

The biggest of the lot was a burly man with a thick beard. He definitely seemed like he would win if this ended in a fistfight. He towers over you, grabbing you by the arm but before you can react, Natasha is between you. Pressing the man's arm up against his back. "You so much as look at my girlfriend again and I will break your arm, you understand? Now the lady asked you nicely to leave so I'd listen if I were you."

Natasha releases him and he fixes himself. A triumphant smirk appears on your lips. You may have wanted to test out your gun but maybe Natasha jumping in had been for the best. "Come on boys. It's not worth it."

"Thank you," Dolores looks relieved to see you and it fills you with an undeniable warmth. There was just something about her that you absolutely adored; and it wasn't just the pretty face.

"It was no big deal," You respond casually. "Some guys can be such assholes."

"Still, I'm grateful." You're proud of yourself even if Natasha did the heavy lifting. "I'd love to have you over for dinner tonight to say thank you. I'm sure my daddy would love to have you join us."

"We would love to," Natasha answers for you; you a little surprised actually. This was the first time Natasha seemed interested in Dolores, you kinda thought she hated her. "As long as it's no trouble."

"None at all." Dolores insisted, climbing onto her horse. "Just grab your horse and we can go now. I'll show you the rest of the ranch too."

You walk alongside Natasha to collect moonshine from outside the general store. "I can't believe you nearly got into a fight over a fucking robot."

[shireness-says]

You’re Always 16 Hours Ahead

Summary: Killian Jones never expected to hit it big, but the opportunity of a lifetime pulls him away from home and the woman he pines for. Can a friendship that just might be more survive a concert world tour?

(With wide eyes and faith

That life could never pull us apart if we were ok

But distance kills the best of intentions…)

(~2.6K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3)

~~~~~

A/N: I’m so excited to share my contribution to the @csconcertseries! This is an idea I’ve had for a long time, and I’m excited to finally bring it to life. This is inspired by “Jet Lag” by Frank Turner, and also includes references to “Polaroid Picture,” “Get Better,” and “Plain Sailing Weather.” I’ve definitely been blasting his stuff all month long and dragging other people with me (looking at you, @thejollyroger-writer). Super thanks, as always, to @snidgetsafan for her beta talents. 

Without further ado: Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

POP PRINCESS ANNOUNCES WORLD TOUR

Great news, Fairy Fans: Wildly popular pop music star Tink is planning a world tour. The international exhibition will be undertaken to promote her latest album, “Neverland No More”. Tink will be joined on her tour by recent up-and-comer Killian Jones, who will serve as her opening act. Jones has captured the world’s ear with his recent hit single, “Green Eyes,” which continues to climb the pop charts. A full schedule of planned concerts can be found at…

  September 17th

Dear Emma,

I know it’s only been a few days, but I already miss you and Henry. Los Angeles is loud, and congested, and so much unlike Storybrooke that it scares me a little. But when that happens, I try to remember our bench on the docks, and it helps ground me. I’ve got a picture of us out there taped to the inside of my guitar case, just as a reminder that even if everything changes, I’ve always got something to come home to.

You didn’t think I was kidding when I said I’d write, did you? Mark my words, I intend to write you from every stop. To hell with blocking or setup or rehearsals or whatever, I’ll be sitting on an amp backstage writing you.

You must tell me everything, Swan - don’t you dare get skimpy with the details in your next email! I know it’s been less than a week, but I’m sure there’s something from the gossip mill. Has Liam secured a new Friday act yet? I’m sure he won’t find anyone nearly as talented (or handsome!) as yours truly, but I can’t imagine he and Robin are leaving that slot open in my honor. Tell me, how much do you think he’ll groan if I send back a signed world tour poster?

I’ve got to go - something about the lights. Such is the life of a rock star, isn’t it?

Your own personal celebrity (and best friend),

-Killian

September 19th

Liam - 

Brother, you’ve got to stop calling every few hours. I know you’re bored and your life is empty without me, but this is getting ridiculous. Half the road crew thinks you’re my father. Do you intend to run up your phone bill when the tour crosses the ocean? I love you, but please don’t go broke on my behalf. Now is the time to wean yourself off me.

All teasing aside, I do appreciate the calls, not to mention everything else. If you hadn’t insisted on making those demo tapes and forcing me to Boston and any venue or bar that would take me, I wouldn’t be here today. 

You’d have been so proud to see me - I must have been sweating gallons, but I got up on stage in front of that massive crowd and I did it, sang my pieces. The noise of all those people practically shakes your bones, Liam - and that wasn’t even half the noise that Tink elicited! I don’t know how she does it. I suppose I’ll find out, though, won’t I? After all, this is my big break, as long as I don’t screw it up too badly. 

I’m sure I’ll talk to you later - in the meantime, say hello to the lads for me.

-Killian.

P.S. Keep an eye on Emma and Henry for me, would you? I know you’ve already promised, but I worry. I owe you one, brother.

  October 2nd

Emma - 

Hello from Seattle! It is just as rainy as promised, and I’ve lost count of the coffee shops. Part of that might be the Starbucks, though. I swear, they’re like a plague, popping up all over the place. 

The tour is still going well. I might even get used to this tour bus life! I miss you all, of course - my love especially to Henry - but it’s exhilarating, getting up on stage every night in front of so many people. The crowds are huge, Swan, larger than I ever could have imagined. I know they’re mostly here for Tink, but there’s always applause and a handful of people singing along to my songs, and it’s the best kind of adrenaline. Leaves me with an itch in my fingers and a new song stuck in my head. I’ll work it out later. 

I’m so happy to hear that Henry is doing so well in kindergarten; he’s always been a little social butterfly. I’ll bet that he makes tons of friends; I’m glad he loves it so far. I’ll call soon, I promise. 

Yours, 

-Killian

  October 20th

Swan - 

Happy Birthday, darling! Technically, I’m mailing this a few days early, but I hope it’ll reach you just in time. I’m sorry to be missing the festivities this year - just know that I’ll be thinking of you all day, wishing I was there to celebrate with you. Keep an eye out for a package or two - and before you even try to protest that I don’t need to, they’re just little things, love. Stuff that made me think of you. Tokens of my affection, if you will. It’s your birthday, anyways - live a little! Let us spoil you for once.

Texas is… less than impressive. Large? Yes, in a way that feels almost performative. It’s missing some kind of charm, at least to me. Then again, I’ve never been much for cowboy hats; maybe that’s the real problem, here. Regardless, I’d gladly take the northeast fall colors any day. 

Make a good wish, alright? I hope the year to come is as wonderful as you are.

Yours,

-Killian

  November 26th

Dear Henry - 

Happy Thanksgiving! Did you have a good holiday? Did Granny make enough macaroni and cheese for you to eat your fill? I know that’s your favorite.

Thank you for watching the parade! I was really excited to be in it too. Sadly, the powers that be wouldn’t let me take home the Snoopy balloon for you, but I did manage to get a couple of handfuls of confetti for you. It should be inside this envelope. You would have loved it, Henry - the confetti was flying everywhere and I saw so many really cool floats up close and personal. We’ll maybe have to go together in a couple of years, aye? We’ll ask your mum.

Draw lots and lots of turkeys for me, little mate - I know you’re really good at that. And give your mum and Liam a great big hug for me!

Love,

-Killian

  CELEBRITY FILE EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH EVERYONE’S NEW FAVORITE HEARTTHROB - KILLIAN JONES

… In researching this piece, I heard over and over about how personal Jones’ lyrics were, how well they captured every feeling and variation of being in love. Every fan out there seems to feel like his words are written just for them, like a window into their soul. So when I finally met with the man himself, I couldn’t help but ask: Was there anyone who inspired such lyrical devotion? Some woman - or man! - in his own life who inspired such moving words?

“You know, the thing I’ve always liked in listening to music on my own is being able to recognize a little bit of myself in someone else’s words,” Jones told me in response to the question. “It always made me feel a little less alone - a little more connected to other people, I guess, to hear that they experienced or saw things the same way I do. It’s very rewarding to hear that people feel the same way about my music. I’m of the opinion that music should be a universal experience, and when I write, I write words that I hope other people can see a bit of themselves in.”

Something about that blush and the nervous scratch behind his ear that fans know so well tells me he’s holding out on us…

  December 11th

Dearest Swan - 

The holidays have crept right up on us, haven’t they? Do us both the favor of imagining me singing that sickly-sweet “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” nonsense, because it’s true. December 20th. Mark your calendar, and don’t blame me if I fall asleep on the car ride home from the airport. It’s all this travel, you see - takes it right out of you. You can’t blame a man for that, love.

(Also, please ignore that I’ll be flying in from Chicago. I still plan to claim jet lag. That one hour difference, love, it’s a real killer.)

Is there anything in particular that Henry especially wants this year? I’ve done my best to pick up things for you and Liam and everyone else, but I know the lad’s tastes change practically hour to hour, and he’s probably got a whole list stashed somewhere. I want to get him something he’ll really like instead of just wandering through the toy store in a panic, if at all possible.

Counting the hours until I see you again,

-Killian

  January 8th

Emma - 

I don’t even know where to start. How can I properly apologize for what happened at New Year’s? I struggle, because I can’t truthfully say that I regret it. I don’t think I’ve made it a secret all these years that I’m helplessly enthralled by you and everything you are. There are words - big words, three words - that rattle around in my heart every day, but I know you’re not willing to hear them yet. I’ll be here, love, whenever you’re ready.

I know you’re scared, Emma, but I’m begging you - just talk to me. We can forget all about this, if that’s what you want, but you’ve got to talk to me. Every day I don’t hear from you is just a little bit harder. I’ll follow your lead, whatever you say.

You’ll always be my best friend, Swan - no matter what else happens.

-Killian

  January 20th

I kissed her, Liam.

I’m sorry; that’s not much of a way to start a letter is it? How are you? Everything going well? 

But I’m sorry, I’ve got to talk about this and get it off my chest. Because I kissed her, Liam. Emma. I kissed Emma. And then it kind of… all went to shit. I guess that’s just like me, isn’t it? Give me one fine day of plain sailing weather, and I can turn it to stormy seas.

And I know where she’s coming from, really - I know better than almost anyone about how she’s been left behind too many times. As much as it hurts to have this sudden radio silence, I know she’s just trying to protect herself. But I love her, Liam. I’ve loved her forever. This isn’t just “distance makes the heart grow fonder,” or something stupid like that. I should have acted a long time ago. I should have done a thousand different things, but here we are.

If you have any ideas of how to fix this, please, let me know. I hope you’re having a happier new year than I so far.

-Killian

  February 2nd

Dear Emma - 

I can’t tell you how good it was to hear from you the other day. You may think that there’s nothing interesting about all the goings-on in the bar, but that particular kind of nothing is soothing. It’s like a little piece of home in every email. Besides, I know that the bar is never quite as boring as we always joked. And I’d welcome any word from you anyways, after how much I’ve missed you.

We’re in Paris right now. It’s gorgeous, truly - I’ll have to bring you and the lad back sometime. I know you’d call me a nerd, but I’ve been hitting museums - the Louvre, the Musee d’Orsay, the Rodin museum, etc. I made sure to do the Eiffel Tower too, just for you, even though the crowds were utterly terrible. Stuffed my face with pastries too, all on your behalf.

(Okay, you caught me, Swan - the pastries are for me too. The croissants, Swan! The bread! I surely won’t fit in my trousers if we’re here any longer, but I can’t regret it. I swear, I’d ship some back to you if I thought they’d survive the trip.)

We’ll have to schedule time for a call home soon - I find myself so often longing for your voice. I love your emails, but there’s something to a phone call that can’t be replaced. 

Yours,

-Killian

  March 11th

Dear Henry - 

Thank you for sending me that drawing! I love it. It’s taped to the inside of my guitar case now, where I can look at it every day. I especially like the yellow you used for your mum’s hair. You’ll have to thank her for scanning that for us on my behalf. That’s good form, you know.

I’m in Amsterdam right now. Your mum or Liam can show you where that is on a map; it’s in Western Europe. I went someplace I think you’d love today; it’s called Madurodam. It’s this entire miniature city, with little airplanes and zoo animals and everything. I had a lot of fun exploring it, and I think you would too.

A graduation, you say? From kindergarten? I wouldn’t miss it for the world, lad. I’ll be home, no matter what.

I miss you, Henry, and your mother too. It always brightens my day to see an email from you.

Sealed with a great big hug,

-Killian

  April 21st

Emma - 

London is rainy and cold. I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything different, but here I am, surprised all the same. It’s hard to convince myself to go do any of the tourist-y things when the weather is like this, so I’m stuck inside, writing to you. Not that that’s ever a hardship...

You’d hardly recognize me with this get-up I’ve found myself in for the show tonight - the heavy eyeliner especially. Gone are the days of some beat-up tee - though I think you might like the vest. Getting dressed feels like slipping into some other persona. I worry a lot of the time about whether I’ve changed beyond recognition, or if I’m still the same person you know. That’s the man I want to be, you know - someone you can be proud of, but somehow still that same poor bastard in the bar, just trying to write words that mean something. I hope I am. But you know how it goes - distance kills the best of intentions. 

I miss you terribly, Swan, and Henry too. Hell, even Liam. These letters are all that ground me some days, I fear. On the loneliest nights, I reread your emails and imagine you’re talking to me instead. It’s always just a too-brief daydream, unfortunately.

I’ve grown rather maudlin, haven’t I? That won’t do at all. I blame it on the rain. Here’s a happier note for us both: I’ll be home late next month. Perhaps I’ll have to make one of those paper chains Henry’s so fond of; if I do, I’ll include a picture with my next letter. 

Counting the days. Until then - 

Love, Killian

  May 17th

My Swan - 

By the time you get this, I’ll be home with you and the lad again, and hopefully have already told you in person everything I want to say now:

I love you, Emma. Every word of every song is for you. I’ve loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, and no time or distance or groupie is ever going to change that. I’m yours, love, body and soul. And I have faith that life can never tear us apart as long as that’s true.

I’m coming home, love. And my home is you.

Yours (in every sense),

-Killian

  BREAKING NEWS: KILLIAN JONES’ SECRET LOVER?

Bad news for all the fangirls and Killy-Tink shippers out there: Bad boy popstar Killian Jones appears to be off the market. The singer, 27, was spotted locking lips with an unidentified blonde at the Storybrooke Memorial Gardens, just outside of Boston, where Jones calls home. Sources have long speculated that Jones has a secret girlfriend back home, and this just might be confirmation. Check back as this story continues to develop. StarWatchOnline remains YOUR #1 celebrity news site… 

~~~~~

Tagging: @snowbellewells, @profdanglaisstuff, @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @teamhook, @ohmightydevviepuu, @optomisticgirl, @spartanguard, @thisonesatellite, @let-it-raines, @scientificapricot, @searchingwardrobes

[jadekitty777]

Baker’s Dozen, Part 1

Oh my god we are at the home stretch and I am still amazed I managed to do all eight days. This is a two-parter, so the second chapter will be up tomorrow.

Day 7: First Morning @taiqrowweek

Rating: K

Words: 6,000

Summary: When a desperate escape from fans leaves Qrow seeking shelter in a nearby restaurant, he expects little of the rundown, failing business that offers him a table. One bite is all it takes to change his mind. [Actor and Chef AU]

Ao3 Link: Baker’s Dozen

~

Early Saturday afternoon found downtown L.A. bustling with traffic on the sidewalks and the road. Qrow found himself in the heart of Pershing Square, lying on the grass and enjoying the midday sun beaming down on him, wondering why he didn’t do this more often.

“Oh my god! Qrow Branwen?!”

His eyes shot open, seeing a small gaggle of women hurrying his way as every head within earshot turned to look right at him.

Oh right.

That was why.

He shot to his feet, yelling over his shoulder as he sprinted away, “Sorry! No autographs today!”

He thanked whatever gods might be out there that his last role forced him to stay in excellent shape, because he was easily able to outdistance his pursuers. Unfortunately, as he skirted around the foot traffic, their yells only seemed to be attracting more attention his way. He ever spotted one desperate teenager pulling a phone from her purse.

He was about to be all over Instagram, wasn’t he?

Knowing this called for every actor’s Superman disguise, Qrow pulled his sunglasses from his pocket, shoving them onto his face as he took the first alleyway he could find. Coming out on the other side, he slowed his pace to a fast walk, lowering his head to avoid further detection and slipped into the doorway of one of the businesses a few doors down before the other crowd could catch up.

He sighed, grateful for the dark atmosphere inside the building as he pulled out his phone. Alright, time to call his driver and get out of dodge.

“Table for one?” The question had him jerking around, seeing a young woman in a cowboy getup smiling his way from a little podium. Her golden hair was particularly eye catching, long and untamed in a way that reminded him of his twin sister’s. Her name tag, which was in the shape of a star, read ‘Yang’.

He took in the environment around her, noticing the array of booths and tables that made up the majority of the room, and realized he’d ducked right into a restaurant. “Uh, no sorry I uh-” He started to say, only to trail off as he actually considered it. Why the hell not? It wasn’t like he’d eaten, and it would take his driver about the same time to get there when having to slog through the weekend traffic. “I mean, yeah, just me. Can I get a booth as isolated as possible?”

“You got it!” Yang agreed, picking up one of the menus and leading him to a booth in the back. He couldn’t help but notice she even had spurs on her boots that clanked when she walked. The walls were decorated with a similar Texan flair, bull horns and deer antlers interspaced with paintings of farm homes and woodland creatures and metal lone stars. How quaint.

Despite the aesthetics though, it was obvious from the minute he sat down and the bench creaked loudly, that upkeep wasn’t a priority. Or, he reassessed as he took note of the lack of patrons despite it being the lunch hour, it probably just wasn’t in the budget. That probably wasn’t a promising sign on the quality for his upcoming meal.

“Ruby will be with you soon.” Yang said, setting the menu before him. The cover had the name ‘The Dragon’s Den’ proudly printed across it. Wait, that wasn’t southern. Did he somehow run all the way to Chinatown instead?

“Uh, thanks.” He flipped the menu, but with the lighting so low, he couldn’t read the finer script. He pulled off his sunglasses, setting them on the table before looking through his options. Despite the slightly confused name, everything within seemed pretty par for the course; roast beef, fried chicken, catfish, and a large array of barbequed meats that any Tramp off the street would gladly steal for his Lady.

“Howdy there, can I get you started w- Oh my god!”

Ah, shit.

He looked up, seeing yet another starstruck gaze aimed at him by a petite girl in a similar get up to the hostess but was a few years younger – was she even old enough to work here?

He held up his hand in a desperate attempt to ward off any screaming. “Kid, I swear to give you the best tip of your life if you keep quiet.”

His waitress pressed her notepad against her mouth, a muffled squeak escaping around it. After a moment, she took a breath, then lowered the notepad slightly to reveal a sly smile. “I’ll make sure Yang seats any customers far away from you if you promise me an autograph and a picture too.”

He snorted. What a devious little brat! He could appreciate that. “Deal.”

“Hehe, yes!” She gave a little hop before quickly composing herself, placing her pen to the page. “Alright stranger that I’ve never met and do not know the name of, what would you like to drink?”

“Don’t oversell it kid. And water’s fine.”

“Coming right up!” She scurried away. He watched her detour towards the front, dragging the blond woman to the back where they disappeared behind a set of swinging double doors.

He counted down from five in his head.

“EEEEEEEEEEEE!” Came two screams from the kitchen.

Right on cue.

“OUT! BOTH OF YOU, OUT!!” Was the next shout he heard, the tone definitely masculine.

Yang came back out first, her gaze lingering his way before she hurried away, giggling all the while. Ruby was next, setting a glass of water on his table along with a straw.

“Your drink, mon-sir.”

He laughed. “Did you mean monsieur?”

“Yeah, that one!” She giggled good-naturedly. Despite the fact she was an obvious fangirl, he found himself taking a liking to her.

“Heard a bit of yelling back there.” He gestured towards the doorway.

“Yeah, dad just thinks we’re being dumb. He doesn’t believe you’re out here.”

Dad? Well, that might explain why it seemed this rustic establishment was getting away with breaking child labor laws. “Eh, it’s probably better that way anyways.” Kids were cute; but adults fawning over him was always a little weird, especially if they were around his age.

“He wouldn’t know how to appreciate the moment anyways.”  Ruby clacked her heels together, spurs chiming when she did. “So were you ready to order or did you want a few minutes?”

He glanced down towards the menu. He wasn’t really used to food like this. Growing up, his dad would favor getting the rice cooker going rather than tend to the BBQ gathering dust outside. As for now, his career tended to call for strict dietery needs depending on what shape he needed to be in for each role – none of which ever called for anything steeped so heavily in grease and fat. “Any suggestions?”

“Ooo,” She tapped her chin with her pen thoughtfully. “Well dad just took out the kolaches a half hour ago, so those are extra good right now.”

The question was out of his mouth before he could think to fake it, “What’s a kolach?”

“Oh, it’s a Texas thing. Basically, it’s a pasty with filling. Today’s strawberry, which is my favorite.”

“Trying to sell me dessert before the main course?”

“Well yeah! That’s like the highlight of being an adult, right? When I move out, that’s how I’m gonna do it.” Ruby said proudly. “But if you want to be all traditional about it, then by far dad’s best dish is the country-fried steak.”

He knew what that dish was at least. Steak fried in batter and slathered in gravy. It sounded like a heart attack on a plate. He closed the menu decisively, handing it to her. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Great!” She quickly wrote it down.

As the girl hurried over to go place his order, Qrow took the opportunity to look up the address and text it to An. ‘Pick me up in forty-five?’

‘Certainly sir.’ She replied.

He had just switched back to his browser, when Ruby came back, setting a small plate in front of him. The Kolach was about the size of a cookie, with a breading cooked to a nice golden brown and the bright red strawberry filling dusted over with powdered sugar.

“Here you go! The best dessert you’ll ever have.” She proclaimed.

It certainly looked good, but it wouldn’t have anything on his mother’s Ichigo Daifuku. “Maybe second greatest kiddo.”

Ruby looked about ready to defend her dessert’s honor when a call of ‘waiter’ had her drawing back. “Um, gotta go. Enjoy!”

Picking up the pastry, Qrow turned his attention back to his phone. He eyed the 2.9 rating the restaurant had on Yelp, his stomach turning with trepidation as he took his first bite. The outer crust had a nice crunch but the inner dough was fluffy and light, with a hint of butter. The sweetness also hit with less punch than he was expecting, the strawberry standing mostly on its own with only the sugar on top adding to it. Just the way he liked it.

He was right, it didn’t out beat the Daifuku… but it was pretty close.

As he polished it off, he pulled up the reviews, scanning through them.

‘Great food but the decor is just awful. Pretty sure the place hasn’t had an upgrade since the 70s.’

‘Nice staff but everyone looks like they should be operating out of a western drama.’

‘Terrible! The kid waiting on me didn’t even look fifteen. She was super clumsy too. Dropped a whole cup of BBQ right on my sweater. When I demanded to speak to the owner about it, the hostess gave me attitude about how he was too busy and called ME a blowhard! What a circus show! Never coming back!’

‘The food’s amazing, but the wait times are ridiculous. Forty-five minutes for a rack of ribs? Is there only one cook back there?’

And on they went. Complaints about the location, the confusing name, more on wait time and the staff. But, beyond a few issues on the food arriving too cold, there was nothing but stellar compliments for the taste. He lent back in his seat, hearing it give another dying groan. He watched Yang sit another table of five while Ruby bustled about to get their drinks. Eyed his crumb-dusted plate, realizing the treat was probably offered to him because someone hungry was more likely to notice the wait for the main course. What a sad state. Apparently great food but poor management and lack of funds to fix anything. The place probably wasn’t going to last another year.

Ruby was all smiles when she came back to him, clearing his dish. “So, did you like it?”

“It was excellent, just like you promised.” Qrow told her honestly. For a split second, he almost let that be the end of it all. To just have his meal and leave, forgetting all about the reviews that foreshadowed the Dragon Den’s closure and the innocent kid whose family would be facing thousands of dollars in debt.

Instead he found himself strangely invested. Perhaps it was just human curiosity or pure boredom, but whatever it was, something made him lean forward, cross his arms over the table and ask, “So Ruby, you said your dad’s the one cooking, but who runs the place?”

“He does.”

He arched a brow. “He’s the owner and the chef? And he makes his kids work here?”

She shifted on her feet. “Uh well, I only help out on weekends and maybe a weekday here or there when dad really needs me. Yang’s got it real bad tho. She has to rush from her classes at Cal State to here five times a week.”

As the suspicion niggled at the back of his mind, he almost asked, but figured the deliberate omission about the whereabouts of their mother was all the answer he needed.

“There’s no other waiters?” He asked instead.

“No, we’ve got a few part timers, just not enough for a full day. Dad keeps saying when business picks back up he’ll hire a few more and a new chef too but,” Ruby averted her gaze. “That was a year ago.”

“What happened?” He pressed.

She shook her head. “We kept losing staff and now I just think he’s too busy. He sometimes doesn’t even come home. He’ll just sleep at one of the tables and then be up for the next day.”

“He’s here every day? From open to close?”

“Yeah.”

He whistled low between his teeth, placing his palm under his chin. He’d had some rough shoots over the years, but at least he had the solace of taking breaks. “Wow. That’s awful. And I bet a teenager like you hates having to work when you’d rather be at home playing video games.”

“Oh, no. I don’t mind.” Ruby refuted, before amending shortly after, “Uh well, most times, at least. Jerky customers kind of ruin my day. But otherwise, it’s okay.”

He had a feeling it was anything but. “You sure ‘bout that?”

“Yeah. I mean, when we first moved here, this place was dad’s dream.” She waved vaguely in the air as if to encompass the little establishment. “He always loved making people happy by cooking for them. Even when I was a kid he’d tell me that the gift of a good meal is the smile on someone’s face when they eat it.” She faced him, resolute and steady. “I know it’s important to him, so if I can help him keep this place by working here every now and again, then that’s just what I’ll do.”

He studied her carefully, but nothing he could see seemed imply she was lying in any way. It was a value he could certainly respect, as he and his sister had grown up being told the importance of caring for and respecting their elders. But living in America taught him that not all families operated this way. It was surprising, but uplifting, to see it here. “That’s rather admirable of you.”

Before they could say more, a hiss of ‘Ruby!’ drew her up short, and then Yang was sidling over, an impressive stack of plates balanced precariously along her left arm. “Table 3 needs their check before they bounce on us.”

“Oh right.” She paused, just long enough to place the pastry dish on top of her sister’s already full load with an overly sweet smile.

Once his waitress had left, Qrow said, “Guess I’m distracting her.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised. You can distract half the nation.” Yang replied. “Must be awful, never having enough privacy.”

He shrugged it off, as if he hadn’t sprinted several blocks twenty minutes ago. “Comes with the business.”

“Well, I’d hate it. I get enough attention as it is.” She shifted some of the weight on her arm.

“Ah, what? You’re the total heartthrob in school or something?” He could see that. She had other assets that matched Raven’s – and he remembered how often that had the boys trailing after her like stray dogs desperate for affection.

“Or something.” She echoed vaguely. “I’m going to go check on your meal.”

It was only as she turned away, he noticed her right hand as it caught the faint light from above. The shine to the skin too bright to be natural and its immobility too revealing that the limb was anything but real.  

Or something indeed.

God, maybe he should pitch a show because this was starting to feel like a classic TV sitcom. A single dad, running a failing restaurant and just struggling to get by to provide for his two kids, one of whom was disabled and the other was sacrificing the last of her childhood. Ruby, with her boundless optimism, would be the star of course. Yang would be the sassy, fiery-tempered co-host. Their dad would be a bumbling fool with a heart of gold. It would either top the charts or fail after the first season.

Not having much else to do as he waited, he texted the inane thought off to his agent.

Your writing leaves a lot to be desired. Stick to acting Qrow. Willow ordered.

He chuckled silently, replying: Is this why you gave your daughters such icy names? Because they were born from someone so cold?

Watch your tongue Branwen or I’ll tell Tommy Wiseau you want to co-star with him.

Ouch, I’ve got freezerburn.

I’m again questioning why I work with you.

You love me. He sent an obnoxious amount of kiss emojis along with it just to really annoy her.

She sent back swords. Ah, she was the best.  

He decided to leave her alone, switching over to one of his racing game apps and immersing himself in the competition. Every now and again, he’d catch sight of the girls in the corner of his eye. Ruby taking orders and checking on customers. Yang fetching refills or cleaning up. His red Alpine racer was just passing the finish line of the second race when Ruby was coming back.

“Here you go, the best meal in the house.” She set down the dish before him. It was an excellent presentation, like it came right out of a cooking magazine. The fry-battered steak was a light, golden brown, slathered with a brownish-white, peppered gravy. A generous helping of fluffy, buttery mashed potatoes and bright yellow corn, both flecked with more pepper, completed the meal. All of it was framed by the plate with its dark blue flower trim that made the colors pop and really sold the southern charm.

“Thanks kiddo.” He said, feeling his stomach grumble.

“Enjoy!” She hesitated, adding in a small rush, “Just um, call me if you need me!”

He unrolled his utensils as she hurried away, shaking his head. She was probably hoping he’d call her every five minutes, just so she’d have more of an excuse to talk to him. Poor kid probably thought she was missing the opportunity of a lifetime. He didn’t let it bother him. After all, everyone who’s ever sat down with an interview with him knew he was a terrible conversationalist.

He cut down into the steak, finding it came apart easily and was perfectly cooked through. He dripped the bottom in the gravy, twisted it around on his fork, said a silent prayer to his arteries, and took the first bite.

Oh.

Oh.

Holy Mother of Mary.

The fried breading crunched nicely but the steak practically melted into his mouth, combining with the gravy and a series of spices he couldn’t even begin to name but knew it was doing something wonderful to his taste buds.

He hummed happily. It was good. It was beyond good. As he cut another piece and took another bite, finding it as delectable as the last, he still couldn’t believe it. There was just no way anything could be this delicious.

He was over three-quarters of the way through the steak by the time Ruby came to check on him.

“Sooo,” She glanced at his plate then to him, smirking, “You like it, don’t you?”

“Don’t look so smug.” Qrow replied halfheartedly, stuffing another forkful in his mouth and hearing her fading giggle.

He didn’t get it though; with food like this, the place should be packed. If people could wait in line to get his autograph for six hours, then why couldn’t they wait a measly half hour for an incredible meal?

“Hey kid.” He said when Ruby came back around again, this time to collect his empty plate.

“Yeah?”

“We still got to take your picture. Any chance I can give my compliments to the chef while we’re at it?”

“If Yang can be in it too, you got yourself a deal.”

He chuckled. Should have expected that. “You got it.”

“Eeeee!” She squealed, hopping in excitement. “Okay, okay, let’s go now!”

He obliged, finding it hard to move at first. Wow, he was stuffed. He managed to follow Ruby to the back, seeing her wave her sister over before he was led through the double doors.

Walking into the kitchen was like walking backstage on a set – wherein the stage was just a collection of pieces meant to play their positions and what was behind the curtain was where the magic truly happened to bring it all together. But instead of sound design and lights, it was sizzling grills and knives chopping down. And instead of half a dozen people rushing about, there was only one. He was mincing up an onion with a swift finesse only the best of chefs had while singing along with a cassette player that was peddling out country tunes.

“It’s a quarter after one, I’m all alone and I need you nooow.”

Singing badly, Qrow thought, cringing inwardly.

“Dad, no!” Ruby cried. Not even looking their way, the man just continued on, more loudly and off-key then before.

“Oh god, please smite me.” Yang groaned as she walked in, hiding her face in her hand.

Her sister raced across the room, pulling at his sleeve, hissing insistently. “Dad, we have company.”

“Meaning I have an audience that actually appreciates my performance?” His laughter was hearty as he peered over her head. The cutting stopped immediately. “U-Uhh…” Was all he managed to splutter before looking down at his daughter. “Uh?!”

“Told you he was here.” She said in a know-it-all sort of tone.

Used to this, Qrow just cleared his throat, introducing himself even if it felt a bit arbitrary. “Qrow Branwen. A pleasure to meet you.”

The man didn’t reply straight away, still taken aback by his very presence – or perhaps, from the faint lines of panic crinkling his brow, weighing over the fact he’d just served a celebrity without actually knowing it. Whatever it was, he seemed to catch his bearings, setting down his knife and crossing the kitchen. As he introduced himself in turn, he held out his hand, “Believe me, pleasure’s all mine. Name’s Taiyang Xiao Long.”

Xiao Long? Strange, he didn’t appear to have any Chinese in him, which likely meant he was married into the surname. At least now he really understood the restaurant’s title. Qrow shook his hand, surprised by the strong grip. He could feel the calluses built onto his hands from years of using cooking utensils.

“I apologize,” Taiyang said as he pulled back. “Had I taken my daughter’s word for it, I would have offered you a meal more extravagant. Or at the very least, some good wine.”

He had to keep himself from chuckling at the way Ruby stuck out her tongue at her dad’s back. “That’s alright. If I’m being honest, that was one of the finest meals I’ve had in quite some time.”

The chef’s cheeks turned a little rosy but his smile was just like his daughter’s, toothy and bright. “That’s mighty kind of you to say.” Heh, cute. He even talked like the aesthetic.

Before they could converse more, the ringing of a timer drew Taiyang’s attention. “Ah, pardon me.” He hurried to the stove, pausing only long enough to wash his hands.

“Sooooo,” Ruby stretched out the word as she slid back over, pulling out her phone. “Picture?”

“Wait, hold on!” Yang ripped off her hat, finger-combing through her golden locks. “Does my hair look okay?”

Her sister gave her a thumb’s up. “Like a rat’s nest. So yes- Ack!” She got smacked in the face with the hat.

“Girls, don’t be bothering him like that.” Their father chastised, stirring something in a large pot.

“We’re not!” Yang claimed.

He shook his head, but it was hard to tell if it was at her or at the soup he was tasting. “Really Mr. Branwen, you don’t have to.”

Ruby looked scandalized. “What?!”

“He owes us. I kept all the other customers away from him.” His eldest explained.

His head whipped around. “That’s worse! A man shouldn’t have to pay for his privacy!” As he pulled down some spices, he continued, “What you two ought to be doing is just appreciating the moment.”

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea dad. Now if only I had something to capture it with and keep it forever. Oh wait!” Ruby waved around her phone violently. “I DO!”

Unable to hold it in anymore, Qrow started to laugh. He was right; they would make a good sitcom. “It’s been a long time since I’ve met such interesting people.” He addressed the chef, “It’s alright, really. I did promise them.”

Taiyang opened his mouth to protest further, but another timer went off – how many did he have? – so he just said, “To each his own I suppose.” Before he turned to go check something in the oven.

Taking the opportunity for what it was, he held up his arms. “Alright, bring it in ladies.”

Ruby tossed her own hat next to Yang’s, giggling as his arm came around her shoulders. Yang was a little more uncomfortable, so he let his hand rest on her shoulder, above where he assumed her arm ended, and felt her relax almost instantly.

“Okay, 3, 2, 1!” They all smiled widely as the camera shutter clicked. They pulled away and Ruby looked it over to make sure it was good, before squealing happily. “Oh gosh it’s perfect! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“You’re – oof! – welcome.” He huffed out when she nearly tackled him with a hug. He pat her back. “Now, I believe I promised an autograph too?”

She grinned hugely. “Right, yes!” She grabbed Yang, “Come on we got to find something for him to sign!” The two hurried to a small office, and he caught Ruby saying, “He could even sign your arm!”

“You think?” Yang’s voice faded to the background, overtaken by a loud sizzling.

As Qrow came as close as he dared, Taiyang said, “Thank you for this. You really made their year.” He was stirring the onion he had minced earlier around a nice heap of melting butter in a hot pan.

“Like I said, it’s fine.” He echoed.

“Still, it’s appreciated.” The burner was flipped off and the pan taken from the heat, but the onions continued to sauté.  “‘Fraid I can’t offer you much in compensation though, beyond giving you your meal free.”

He tilted his head. “Can you afford that?”

“Really, I insist. As they say, happiness is priceless.” Was the curt reply.

Only the rich say that. He scoffed at the obvious farce – not that Taiyang noticed as he turned away to attend to something else. Subtlety by words had never been his strong suit, and it wouldn’t be in the next five minutes either. So, he cut to the chase, “Listen bud, I’m not going to sit here and pretend I know everything, but it’s pretty obvious from the state of this place to the lack of non-relative employees, that you’re not exactly in good standing.”

“An astute observation, but I don’t believe you needed to bring up all that just to make a case to pay for your meal.” He was back to chopping – this time, potatoes. Stubborn as a mule was a term invented for this guy, wasn’t it?

“It wasn’t.” Qrow assured. “It was a case to buy your restaurant.”

The knife chopped down so hard, it went right into the wood. Taiyang turned around to stare at him. A clatter to their left caught Qrow’s attention. The girls were both standing just outside of the office, the things they’d brought for him to sign now strewn across the ground.

No one spoke.

A beeping filled the air, and still no one spoke.

“Uh. Timer?” He said, awkwardly.

Taiyang seemed to blink out of whatever daze he was in. He came forward, almost aggressively enough that Qrow tried not to shrink back, but the other man only reached over his shoulder to turn off the timer, side-eyeing him as he walked away.

“Really?” Ruby’s small but hopeful voice shook the tense air.

Yang’s was more suspicious. “You do know you’re buying a failing business, right?”

He offered the duo a smile. “Won’t be failing when I’m done with it. This place just needs a bit of sprucing up. More staff. Maybe a new location-”

Slam! Went a cooking sheet on the countertop.

“No.” Taiyang said rigidly.

Unperturbed, Qrow carried on. “Alright, no new location. Kind of a bad move but I can work with that. But the name has got to-”

“Stop.” He commanded. “Do not treat me like a fool. I may not have grown up here, but I learned rather quickly that folks around here will do a lot for 15 minutes of fame. I will not allow you to do the same to my family.”

“What, dad-!” Yang started

“Can’t you just-!” Ruby spoke over her.

“Quiet, both of you!” He bellowed, before turning his back to them, grabbing some tongs to turn the racks of ribs around a bit more aggressively then needed. “The answer is no, and that’s final. Now, I will thank you kindly to take your empty offer and walk it out the door.”

When the girls started to raise protest again, Qrow was the one to silence them this time, raising a finger to his lips, before he took a few steps closer to the chef. “Believe me when I say the offer is not empty. Your daughter over there tells me how much this place meant to you when you first got it, but now you’re letting it rot under your feet. Is that really how you want it to go out?” The other man’s jaw clenched and he refused to look at him. He took that as a good sign, reaching out to place a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Let me help you and your family.”

For his efforts, a set of tongs were shoved so close to his face, they almost touched his nose.

Behind the makeshift weapon, Taiyang’s eyes bored into his own. He spoke steady and sharp, “Mr. Branwen, I will say this once and only once. I have put everything I got, my entire heart and soul, into this restaurant. It is the only thing I have for my girls and I am NOT about to gamble it away on some publicity stunt to stroke a rich man’s ego. So, you ask me to believe you? Then come back with a lawyer and a contract full of terms we both agree on, as I will settle for nothing less. Am I understood?”

The storm brewing in those blue eyes didn’t intimidate him, because this close, he could see the dark circles etching a deep exhaustion around them. The mark of a person desperate and at the end of their rope. Despite only knowing him for a few minutes, Qrow could tell that he was a good man, as well as aggravatingly hardheaded.

“Got it.” He told him, reaching into his pocket to fetch his shades. “I’ll see you in a few days then.”

As he pulled them on and turned away, he thought perhaps he heard Tai give some biting remark about how tomorrow, perhaps he’d be offered the moon. But he didn’t let it faze him. Instead, he crossed over to where the girls still stood, frozen – but unlike their father, they did nothing to hide the tentative hope on their faces.

Qrow lent down, fetching the sharpie and two sheets of paper, using a nearby counter to pen out the autographs. He even took the time to add his signature calligraphy, making the tail of the Q look like a feather. He offered each one in turn, “Ruby, Yang. Thank you for the pleasant experience.”

Yang was slow to take hers, as if she might say something. In the end she only thanked him.

Contrastingly, Ruby’s vibrancy was back, an almost nervous energy pitching her tone as she quickly offered to walk him to the door. It didn’t take him long to figure out why, as she hid her face in her treasured autograph and groaned. “I’m sorry about my dad. He’s just so, so, embarrassing!”

“He’s not so bad.” He refuted, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Against his fingertips, he felt the buzz from his phone signaling an incoming message – no doubt An letting him know she’d arrived. “He’s playing it smart. Even I don’t do a job without a contract.”

“Still, he could have been more polite.”

Her tone allowed no argument, so he didn’t bother to tell her that for him, it was actually a refreshing change of pace. He had all sorts of people tripping over themselves to fawn at his feet and, while some celebrities ate up all that attention, Qrow had certainly never been one of them. It was nice being talked to like an equal – a privilege often reserved only to his closest coworkers and manager.

There was also just something so honestly genuine about Tai. Call it simple intuition, but he knew what it took to play all sorts of characters and he could say without a doubt that the blond wouldn’t be able to fool a preschooler if he tried. He was the kind of man who hid nothing and wore his emotions right on his sleeve.

Qrow, who shuttered his behind fake smiles and sunglasses all day, could really appreciate a quality like that.

“It was really amazing to meet you.” Ruby said as she pulled open the front door for him. “Like, as in the-best-thing-to-ever-happen-to-me amazing.”

“You’re setting the standard pretty high there, considering it won’t be the last time you see me.” Qrow said, stepping outside.

Her expression lifted, her youth seeing to shine through in her eyes. “You mean, you’re really coming back? Ever after dad was, well, a total jerkwad?”

“Well, you know what they say. You feed a crow once, and it’ll come back to roost.” He pulled down his sunglasses, enough to wink at her. “See you ‘round kiddo.”

“Y-Yeah! See you! Thank you so much, Mr. Branwen!”

He was pretty sure she waved after his car long after it left the street.

~

Three days would pass before Qrow would return to the Dragon’s Den. Like a knight readying for battle, he stood in front of the door over an hour before opening time.

When Tai finally arrived, he almost dropped his keys in the gutter at the mere sight of him.

“Why hello thar pardner.” Qrow drawled, tipping an imaginary hat. “Fancy meeting you here.”

For a moment, he just stared blankly. But finally, a snort escaped him. “You need to do more westerns if that’s the best you got, pardner.” He stepped forward, adding more softly, “You, came back.”

He nodded. “’Fraid I don’t have the moon to offer you, but I got the next best thing.”

Taking his cue, the gentlemen standing nearby fixed up his tie and strode forward. “Mr. Xiao Long? I’m Hei Xiong. I work in property management. It’s my understanding Mr. Branwen here would like to strike a deal with you.”

“Does he now?” That same bite Qrow’d heard in the kitchen was back, the blonde’s hackles already raised. Not missing a beat, Hei ruffled through a few papers in his folder, pulling out the top one to show him. Tai read it aloud. “Claim of co-ownership?”

“Yes. Mr. Branwen is interested in becoming your business partner.” The manager supplied.

“…Does he now?” He echoed as he looked towards Qrow, but the fiery attitude he’d expelled like a shield had doused some.

“We would be happy to discuss it in more detail this morning, if you’ve available?” Hei asked.

Anticipation held Qrow’s breath and anxiety jumped his heart as he waited for the other man’s response.

For the second time, he was rewarded with another of Tai’s bright and toothy grins. “I certainly am.” He stepped past them both and opened the door to the Den. “Please come in.”

[hadestownmodern]

Thrift Shop Birthday

It’s Reeve Carney’s birthday so this came out of me today instead of my actual adult work, whoops -Danielle ------ On the first birthday Eurydice spends with Orpheus, she wakes up with a nervous energy. She hasn’t known him long, but feels the strange complexity of their relationship called for some kind of celebration on her end. It isn’t simple; what do you get the person who’d confessed his love to you the night you’d met-who’d convinced you to stay?

              She’d settled on an idea-one little inkling. He’d mentioned a jacket she wears-oversized, warm, comforting. She’d told him she’d thrifted it and he’d nearly jumped with excitement, asking question after question about her favorite places to go and what it’d been like. This man, with his completely eclectic style, had only been once or twice. Eurydice vowed to change that.

              They’d started out their morning at a smaller shop settled awkwardly between a bank and a chiropractor with walls of little trinkets, coffee cups and vases and statuettes with seemingly no purpose at all. He’d taken his time, looking through each of them with quizzical interest.

“Who do you think was the last person that had this?” He’d asked her, holding up a figurine of a porcelain duck wearing a sailor’s hat. Eurydice laughs, taking the figure from his hand to examine it further. It’s sturdily made, with some sort of etching on the bottom to claim its ownership-Dottie written in expansive cursive.

“This woman definitely collected these; had a big shelf of them,”

“Oh!” He lights up at the notion, “She spent hours looking for them. ”

“She was very rich-she definitely paid someone to make them because she couldn’t find any more.”

“And her family used to try and make them, too, but those didn’t end up like this one-those were Play-Doh, but the good thing about her is that those were her favorite. I think she has this whole collection of Play-Doh ducks somewhere because she wouldn’t give them away.”

She hands the duck back to him and he turns it over, tracing the etching on the bottom with a warm smile before putting it back on the shelf. They continue this game, a back-and-forth storytelling of ordinary people living their ordinary lives. Somehow, still, the stories are laced with a fantastical mystery, a beautiful what if that lies within the effortless pace of his narration.

              Eurydice stops them to buy two pretzels, to slow their pace as they walk from block to block. The weather’s turned quickly into its first signs of winter; grey sky, bitter air, crowds thinning in a way that only a city native’s eye can take notice of. She laughs to herself as he dangles his hand in the space between them, fingers flexing and retracting, nervously brushing against hers.

              “You can hold my hand, Orpheus.” He fits her hand in his and she can feel the hesitation, as if he’s afraid she’s going to change her mind. She does-taking her hand away for only a moment. She loops her arm around his instead, presses against his side.

 They walk for a while, filling the space between them with snippets of conversation. Orpheus and Eurydice lingered on the line of polite, we just started dating conversation and talking like they’d known each other for years, volleying between stories of movies they’d seen and how they felt about the world as a whole, then back to which colors were the most aesthetically pleasing. The pauses within are filled with Eurydice against his side, pointing out places with rude storeowners or cats on their windowsills. Then, she stops at a narrow door, brings him up a flight of old wooden stairs to an ornate looking door with a bell that rings when she opens it.

The room is a sprawling mass of clothing racks, of hats and scarves hung on the walls. She turns to him, hands him a simply made greeting card with twenty dollars stuck inside. Orpheus attempts to give it back, shaking his head. She pulls an identical bill from her own pocket and shoves his back toward him.

              “This is all part of the birthday, Orpheus. This is the best thrift store you’ll find, my favorite place in the whole city. You’re lucky, I don’t usually want people to know about this place. But you seem like you’ll keep my secret.” She holds his hand, squeezes it once before stepping back from him.

“Buy me an outfit, and I’ll buy one for you. It can be anything you want, but it has to stay within the twenty dollar limit.”

              “Okay,” He’d laughed at her chaotic spirit, pocketing the $20 bill.

              “Orpheus? The only catch is that when we’re done, we have to wear these out to dinner later. Choose wisely.”

              He nods, taking his job very seriously as they part ways at the entrance. Moving through the women’s section he can barely find anything, peeking over the racks to search for the top of her head bopping along, wandering between aisles with a calculated grin. He wonders what her angle is as he holds a few choices out in his hands. This section doesn’t seem to suit her, with its prom dresses and old work blouses. He breezes into the men’s section, hoping to find a hint of inspiration.

              “Hey, no peeking!” He hears her voice from two aisles over, where Eurydice hides her choices behind a rack of coats.

“Not peeking, just…looking for you!” He stammers through his words, flipping through the rack of tacky Hawaiian shirts with a smirk.

              Eurydice holds a finger in the air, looks at him through teasingly narrowed eyes before turning her back to him, thumbing through a rack of clothes he can not see. His hands catch on strange fabric-thick, imposing-and he takes a moment to hold the garment in question up to the sky before grinning and draping it over his arm. Different, unique. He can’t wait to see the look on her face when she’s presented with it.

              They go back to his apartment immediately afterward, their garments wrapped up in the canvas bags they’d brought to the store. They sit on the floor with their legs crossed,

              “Orpheus…what the fuck is this?” The garment is heavy on her lap and she’s laughing as she holds it up, watches it unfurl. She shakes her head, holding the firefighter’s jacket against her body. It dwarfs her small frame, hits slightly past her knees.  

              “I only had three dollars left afterward” He shrugs. “You can put whatever you want on to go with it, I just felt like this was the best idea.”

              “Oh no,” She drapes the jacket over her shoulders. “This is perfect.”

              “Open yours,” She urges, pushing the bag toward him. He picks it up from the bottom, weighing it in his hands. It seems far heavier than hers had, even with the weight of the jacket. He pulls a pair of pants out first-jeans, seeming normal until he unfurls them. There are small patches of scrap fabric handily sewn in random places, tiny enough to draw notice only when looking close enough. The back pockets are also covered, but in a more blatant fashion. The cross-hatched fabric that had been chosen is slightly bold, creating a style all their own. He nods appreciatively as Eurydice shifts in her seat, brimming with anticipation.

              There is an old band tee next, a graphic of a cowboy hat and text reading Thift Shop Cowboys. They’d toured, according to the three dates on the back of the shirt, all in Nebraska. Then, a button from the same band-it was a combo deal, we got lucky. There is a flannel, green and yellow and impossibly warm, fabric that feels invitingly soft between his fingers. A complete outfit; Eurydice grins in triumph when he points this out, shrugging.

              “I had money leftover too, but you’ll have to wait to see how I spent it. Come on, get dressed, I’m starving!”

              They’re quite the pair as they walk hand in hand down the street, Orpheus in his charmingly off-beat alternative outfit and Eurydice in her big jacket. Before they can enter the little diner she’d chosen Eurydice pulls an old, worn looking camera from the middle of her bag.

              “Hold on,” She instructs, pulling him to the edge of the sidewalk closest to the building. “Take a picture with me.”

              She fiddles with the old camera-another thrift shop treasure she’d fussed over until it worked just good enough to take a picture after jiggling the buttons a few times. The photo prints out instantly, and Eurydice waves it around as it develops, looking at it only briefly before laughing. They both sport confused faces, quirked eyebrows and half-opened mouths as they figure out how to work the vintage machine. They take one more, this one a different moment frozen in time. Shoulder to shoulder, their cheeks are pressed close together, Eruydice’s eyes closed as Orpheus has his eyes turned toward her. Both pictures make a return to her backpack, treasured.

              The diner is full of eclectic decoration-old postcards, framed photos with seemingly no purpose…as if a thrift shop had come to life in the place. They sit on the same side of a big corner booth by the window, watch the foot traffic go by as they order milkshakes and fries. They keep the food between them, taking sips from each other’s drinks and dipping their fries in. Eurydice can’t help but keep herself close to him, feet tucked under her knees, head on his shoulder. Occasionally his head falls onto hers, stays there as he keeps his arm around her, reminds himself of the hefty fireman’s jacket with a laugh.

              She only removes herself from his side to rifle through her backpack, taking out one of the photographs and a pin. Her tongue darts gently, quickly between her lips in concentration before she becomes animated once more, looking around before sticking their photograph to the wall.

              “Eurydice!” He squeaks. She shakes her head while admiring her handiwork.

              “Nobody will even notice, Orpheus. And then when we come back? This is our booth.”

              They walk home in contented silence, full of comfort food and bliss, shielding each other from the biting cold as their pace quickens. The warmth of his apartment is a welcome thing, Eurydice hanging the fireman’s jacket on the coat hook and making her way briskly to the kitchen counter, where she pulls a small bundle from the front pocket.

              “Ok, last thing.” She instructs him to sit on the couch. “Hold out your hands.” He feels the small weight drop and looks up at her in question, wondering what the newspaper-wrapped bundle could be. Eurydice watches with a tightness in her chest, an inner voice wondering if this is something stupid-silly. As his eyes widen, his grin reaches from ear to ear, her doubts are instantly quelled.

              “No way.” He laughs as he holds the gift in his hands, looking up at her in disbelief. “This is incredible.”          

              “I thought he might need a new home.”

              “Eurydice,” He rises from the couch, wraps her in a tight hug and kisses her gently. “Wait.”

              He bounds over to the small shelf holding his record player, with the most narrow little shelf at the top. He puts the gift on the little lip, just above the record player, a near-perfect display.

              “There’s something missing.” He gestures to her backpack, a silent request, and then delves in. When his handiwork is finished they stand in front of it together, Orpheus kissing the top of Eurydice’s head. Each time he chooses a record for years to come, Orpheus feels his heart warm at the photograph of their confused faces and the porcelain duck with a sailor’s hat.

[prouvaireafterdark]

Temporary Wounds (1/2)

When Alex brings his new boyfriend to the Wild Pony, Michael could really use a friend.

Also on AO3! 

***

Michael’s pretty sure he’s never hated anyone more in his life.

Well, he thinks, clenching his newly healed left hand into a fist, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. But still. Fuck this guy.

Michael can see him in the reflection of the mirror above the bar, crowding into Alex’s space, his hand very clearly on Alex’s thigh, where they sit at one of the back tables with a bunch of dudes Michael doesn’t recognize. He sees how relaxed Alex looks too, all confidence and casual smiles, his arm slung across the back of that blue-haired fuck’s chair, and it just… well, it breaks his fucking heart.

He’s lost track of how many daydreams he’s had that looked just like that: Alex, relaxed and happy in Michael’s presence, not a care in the world that other people can see the two of them clearly together, fitting like two halves of the same whole.

It was a nice fantasy, but that kind of PDA was always, always off the table for them. Alex was just too scared.

Not that Michael can blame him exactly. He knows how internalized homophobia works. Still there’s that nasty voice inside him—getting louder and louder these days—that makes him wonder what’s so fucking special about this guy that he gets to bask in the glory of Alex Manes in full view of the whole damn bar, and Michael had to fight and beg for scraps of his attention for a decade.

Why wasn’t I worth it?  he wonders sadly, picking at the waterlogged label on the neck of his beer. He knows that’s not fair, knows he’s not exactly easy to love, but still. It hurts.

Before he has too long to stew in his feelings, Maria walks into his field of vision, polishing a glass behind the bar in front of him.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” she asks him.

Michael looks away and takes a sip of his beer. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure,” she says, “You’re just staring at your own reflection in the mirror like it just insulted your mother.”

The last person Michael needs to be reminded about right now is his mother, and the look he shoots her tells her that.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“ she says, eyes wide and apologetic.

Michael raises his hand up to stop her. “It’s fine,” he says. It’s not, the wound still fresh even after all these months, but none of that is Maria’s fault.

A woman at the other end of the bar waves Maria over, and she gives him another apologetic look before she puts the glass down and goes to take her order. He keeps his eyes fixed on the woodgrain in front of him, resisting the temptation to look back in the mirror.

It’s another long minute before Maria returns, so when she asks, “Do you want to talk about it?” Michael’s not entirely sure what she means.

“About what?” he asks, taking another sip of his beer.

“Your boy problems,” she clarifies, nodding discreetly in the direction of Alex’s table.

Surprise and suspicion war on his face at that. Michael can count on one hand the number of times the people in his life have showed any interest in listening to him talk about his feelings and he can’t help but feel like this is a trap.

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” he asks instead.

“Why?” Maria asks, “Because we used to—“ she starts to ask, but breaks off, struggling for the right words before she just finishes with, “you know.”

He does, though he isn’t sure what to call it any more than she is. Dating feels like too strong a word, but fucking doesn’t sit right either. Whatever it was, it went on for exactly long enough for Michael to ruin whatever chance he had to make it work with Alex before said blue-haired fuck waltzed into town with his stupid skinny jeans and denim jackets that were actually 80% patches and pins with dumb slogans on them like SAVE EACH OTHER THE WHALES ARE DOING FINE and WILL COMMIT SINS FOR CONCERT TICKETS.

“Because you’re his friend,” Michael answers.

“Sure, but, unless I’m mistaken, I’m yours too,” she says, and that... Well, that comes as more of a surprise than it probably should.

Sure she lets him back in the Pony for drinks and he listens to her vent about her latest troubles with Mimi, but there was a good two weeks where they didn’t talk at all after their non-relationship quietly imploded and she found out about the whole alien thing. He didn’t think he’d made it that far back into her good graces.

A year ago, he might’ve joked that Maria does like him after all, but now all he can do is ask, “Really?”

“Yes, Guerin, Jesus,” she says incredulously. She grabs a bottle of whiskey and pours him a glass. “I’d ask who hurt you, but I think I already know the answer.”

Michael can’t help but laugh. “If you want to make a list, we’ll be here all night,” he says, lifting the glass of whiskey and shooting it back in one go.

When he meets Maria’s gaze again, he sees that she’s frowning at him.

“Look, Guerin…” she says, hesitating before she reaches out to cover his hand resting on the bar with her own. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but if you don’t think you can talk about it, that you’re not allowed to or something, I just want you to know that that’s not true. If you need a shoulder to cry on, I’m here.”

He lets that hang between them for a moment before he replies.

“You don’t have to be, you know,” he says. He knows Maria’s feelings for him went a little deeper than his went for her and he doesn’t want to hurt her again.

Maria just rolls her eyes. “I’m trying to be nice to you here, Guerin,” she says. “Would you just shut up and let me? Besides, I’m psychic. I know you want to say yes.”

Michael bites his lip to hide his smile.

“Yeah, okay. Thanks,” he says. He’s planning on leaving it at that, not wanting to spill his guts during opening hours where anyone—including Alex, wouldn’t that be fun—could hear him, but he catches a glimpse of Alex in the mirror and he just can’t help but ask, “Look, I, uh, I don’t really want to get into it now, but…” Maria watches him patiently. “If I ask you something about him will you tell me the truth?”

Maria considers that carefully. “I won’t lie to you,” she says, “but I might not answer either.”

“Fair enough,” he nods. He wouldn’t want her to betray Alex’s confidence anyway.

“What do you want to know?”

“Is he happy?” Michael asks.

Maria hums in consideration, fingers toying with her pendant. Michael feels like she’s holding his heart in her hands.

When she finally says, “Yes,” he thinks he feels it break.

When, a second later, she adds, “Well, in a way, I guess,” Michael has to swallow the grief that’s clawing at his chest to ask, “No offense, but what the fuck does that mean, DeLuca?”

“Look, I don’t know everything, and I wouldn’t tell you even if I did, but…Okay, you’ve probably noticed Alex has been channeling his inner Gerard Way these days, right?”

Yeah, Michael’s noticed. He about had an aneurism when he saw Alex’s new leather jacket, and his hair is definitely not short enough to meet Air Force regulation. His new look is hot as fuck, but Michael doesn’t see how that plays in here.

“Yeah, and?”

“This new guy he’s with encourages that, I think. Makes him feel like he did in high school, back when he was a feisty little shit who took no prisoners, fuck the consequences, you know?”

Michael nods, eyes on the glass he’s twisting between his fingers. How could he forget? He watched that boy die in front of him in a tool shed eleven years ago.

Suddenly, he doesn’t feel much like talking anymore.

“Well, thanks for the pep talk, but, uh, I’m gonna head out,” Michael says as he stands up and puts his hat back on. “It okay if I settle up next time?”

“It’s on the house,” she says, a sympathetic smile on her face. “Sad cowboy discount, one time offer.”

He rolls his eyes, but smiles and tips his hat in gratitude. “Thanks, DeLuca.”

He tries not to let his gaze wander to the back of the bar on his way out, but Alex’s laugh draws his attention like a moth to a flame.

His new boyfriend isn’t hanging all over him anymore and he’s got his hand wrapped around a half-empty pint of beer. He must feel Michael’s eyes on him because he meets his gaze across the room.

Déjà vu hits Michael square in the chest, and he expects Alex’s smile to fall from his face, for him to look away and pretend he never saw him, but… he doesn’t.

Instead, Alex’s smile mellows into something softer, something meant just for him. It makes him feel like he’s been scraped raw and hollowed out, the ache in his chest so great he feels like he might keel over at the slightest breeze.

Michael plasters on a fake smile, waves for good measure, and leaves the bar to nurse his broken heart in peace.

[vagrantblvrd]

Lay Your Bones Down (1/1)

Summary: When it comes to soulmates people tend to fall into two camps of thought.

Notes: Prompt fill for the wonderful @ahwuum who has been super patient and supportive. <333!

(Read on AO3)

When it comes to soulmates people tend to fall into two camps of thought.

The ones who go all-out looking for their soulmate. Buy into what Vinewood and other “experts” have to say on the mater. Read all the books on how to recognize the signs or whatever, watch the television specials and pay close attention to their horoscopes and magazines aimed at helping people find them.

Sign up for the websites and download the apps once they become available because it’s a driving force for them, part of their pursuit of happiness and everything.

Sometimes it works, they find their soulmate and live happy fulfilling lives with them.

Other times it doesn’t, and they make themselves miserable looking for a needle in a haystack all their lives and let every other chance for happiness pass them by and it’s. It’s just sad, is what it is.

Then you have the ones like Jeremy who – he’s not going to lie, okay.

He’s curious who his soulmate is. What kind of person they are, if they’d even like each other, get along like a house on fire or hate one another at first sight. (A different way of getting along like a house on fire, and to be honest saying’s always bothered him but that’s a conversation for another day, or something. Whatever.)

He used to think about it a lot more when he was a kid, bright future ahead of him and all these possibilities, right? Smart kid like him? Could have done anything.

And he did.

For a while.

Then one of his buddies got caught up in some trouble of his own making, and stupid idiot Jeremy thought he could help get him out. Only got dragged into the same kind of trouble and into a literal pit facing off against guys twice his size trying to get back out again.

Stopped wondering who his soulmate was when his primary concern was not getting his face beaten in, and then things escalated to the point all of that slipped to the back of his mind.

Soulmates and the criminal life don’t go so well together, puts a crimp in things. (He figured if he did meet his soulmate doing the things he does now, it wouldn’t be a ringing endorsement for either of them.)

So, yeah.

Jeremy pulls himself out of the fighting rings in Boston, but doesn’t do it clean. Has people who’d be glad to put him down, so he decides it would be a good idea to get the hell out while he still can.

Goes from city to city doing what he can to get by. Realizes he’s in a goddamned ridiculous line of work and figures if he can’t beat them he might as well join them (something like that) and goes all-in.

Picks up the Rimmy Tim thing somewhere along the east coast. Browsing through the offerings in a thrift store where he finds these hideous yellow suit pants. Catch his eye, have him cackling like an idiot, but that might be more the painkillers blunting the ache of a stab wound in his shoulder.

Finds a purple suit jacket a few cities over and something about it hits him just right.

It isn’t until he’s somewhere in Texas he spots the cowboy hat. Gas station with a tired looking woman on the register and news on the television talking about something going on in a city named Los Santos.

Jeremy gives her a bright grin, all nice and friendly because he’s just passing through, ma’am, no trouble here. Watches the footage of another gang war in progress play on the television as the woman rings his purchases up.

He’s been seeing more and more about Los Santos the closer he gets, figures it’s a big deal in this part of the country. (Liberty city’s got the east coast locked down for chaos and carnage.)

Gets this little itch going in the palms of his hands because everything he’s seen tells him it would be smarter to stay the hell away from a city like that, but.

Jeremy’s kind of an idiot.

And, you know.

There are still people out there with a grudge to bear against him and a city as big as Los Santos seems like a good place to get lost in.

Can’t possibly get caught up in anything big enough to make the news like half the things he’s seen so far anyway, right?

========

There are books out there that have a lot to say about the placement of people’s Names. Conflicting information based on what old wives tale the author grew up on, their region of the country.

All of them agree on one thing, though. Names closest to the heart mean you’re bound for a happy match once you find your soulmate, get that happily ever after everyone’s running towards.

Jeremy’s Name is on his back, running along his spine, and the one book he read about Name placements had nothing to say on the matter. Didn’t look further into things because he was afraid of what he’d find.

Awkward placement for him to get a good look at it, but he’d tried when he thought he had a chance to find his soulmate. (When it would have been a good thing.)

Did all sorts of crazy things to get a picture.

Tried taking a picture using the bathroom mirror but he only got parts of it in the frame. Set up a series of mirrors like an idiot and got better pictures out of it he played around in the edit mode to flip it.

Other things like that.

Realized his soulmate has the shittiest handwriting known to man or maybe something was wrong with his eyes because even now he can barely make out what it’s supposed to be.

A signature for sure, the way most of them are.

Starts with a big looping letter and ends in this indecipherable scrawl like whoever they are they either gave up along the way or couldn’t be bothered with the rest.

Sometimes he’ll catch sight of it in a bathroom mirror of whatever shitty motel or apartment he’s staying in, wonder what could have been.

========

Jeremy’s supposed to be watching this hacker.

Keep an eye on him to make sure he’s doing what he’s supposed to be doing, or keep him safe, his current boss didn’t specify.

Squirrely little bastard, though.

Scrawny.

Looks like a twig with a wild tuft of hair and this nose that got him picked on as a kid. (If the way the rest of the crew treats him is any indication, that never stopped.

Jeremy might feel bad about how the others treat the guy, if he wasn’t such an asshole.

And anyways, it’s his first job in Los Santos. Some dirty little gang that’s been outsourced to do a job for an ally of theirs.

He’s hired muscle here and so low down in the pecking order he might as well not even have a name.

Just Goon #2 or something.

“What kind of name is Rimmy Tim?” the hacker asks out of the blue, not bothering to look up from his work. “Did your parents draw it out of a hat like a raffle?”

The two of them are alone in the warehouse the gang operates out of. It would be real easy to kill him and pretend he didn’t know how it happened.

Just.

So easy.

The thing that stops Jeremy from doing it is that murder is a bit of an overreaction to the annoying bastard. And, he’s being paid to watch the guy so he’d be shooting himself in the foot. Also, it’s clear he’s not thinking about the words coming out of his mouth.

Some idle thought floating around in his head while he focuses on his work and no brain-to-mouth filter.

“Yeah,” Jeremy drawls. “They used this hat to do it to. Gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday to commemorate the occasion. Even gave me a lasso so I could catch my first horse.”

The hacker keeps tap-tap-tapping away on his laptop for a few moments afterward before he processes what Jeremy said.

Slowly lifts his head to squint at Jeremy like he’s sure he’s being fucked with, but also maybe not?

“Wait, what?”

Jeremy smiles and tips his hat at the asshole as he gets up to grab a beer out of the fridge.

========

As much as Jeremy tries not to think about the Name on his back, the rest of the world makes that impossible.

Television shows and movies. Best-sellers at the store. Songs on the radio. Marketing campaigns every-fucking-where and shoved down people’s throats at every turn.

No wonder so many obsess over their Name when they’re made so aware of it every waking moment.

It’s still kind of weird, though, listening to the guys he works with gossiping about them. Doesn’t matter who he’s working for, where he is, there’s always someone like that.

Stone-cold killers and no remorse to them, and they’ll kick back for a poker game and someone will start up a conversation about the Name on their shoulder.

Curling script and little hearts dotting the ‘i’ and wondering what they have to think about their own rough scribble of a name. (Good penmanship isn’t a requirement for their line of work.)

It’s enough to make Jeremy wonder what it is about Los Santos that people like them think about their soulmates like that. Hope they’ll get the chance to meet them even though they’re on the wrong side of the law and the odds of them getting something good out of it are so damn low.

========

Jeremy’s been in Los Santos for about a year, two, before his name gets put out there as someone people might want to watch out for.

Well, one of his names, anyway.

He still gets strange looks when he introduces himself as Rimmy Tim, but considering Los Santos is the kind of city where everyone’s scared of some idiot in a rubber mask calling himself the Vagabond, he figures he's doing alright for himself.

He’s been hired on by a crew that hasn’t tried to fuck him over since they brought him on to be an extra gun for them. (Yet.)

Decent pay that helps with the rent for the place he shares with a couple of idiots he’s fallen in with in Matt and Trevor, and until recently they were playing it smart.

Did nothing to attract the notice of the bigger crews in town, but that’s changed the last few weeks. His boss with his eyes set on moving up in the pecking order which means coming up against those same crews who could squash them flat with barely a thought.

Trevor keeps harping on him to get the fuck out, fake his death if he has to and have Matt gimmick him up a new identity, the whole works, because.

Fuck, because his boss is taking swipes at the Fake AH Crew.

Just about the worst crew to mess with, what with their reputation for not taking kindly to that kind of thing and all.

The crew Jeremy’s working for keeps bringing in new blood because they’re dropping likes flies with every skirmish they get into with the Fakes.

No mercy to the Fakes when one of theirs gets hurt, just this single-minded anger snapping back around on whoever is stupid enough to go after them.

If Jeremy was smarter, he’d listen to Trevor, he would. But Matt’s got these debts and smart as Trevor is he hasn’t been able to find a way to get him out of them other than paying them off. Jeremy does his part to help, which means being the kind of idiot out there tempting fate working for a certified moron with a death wish.

It’s how you say, not great.

Jeremy’s boss knows he wants out, but he also knows Jeremy doesn’t have a lot of say about it, so he keeps giving Jeremy the worst jobs. Sends him out with the other expendables on what amount to suicide missions and no skin off his nose if they don’t come back.

Which is how Jeremy ends up being partnered with some other disgraced bastard in the crew to put a little pressure on a weapons dealer looking to side with the Fakes. Convince him he’d do well to stick with them, but they pick a bad (good?) time to do with, what with the Fake AH crew members they run into there.

Guy in a leather jacket with a snarling wolf’s head on the back, the goddamned Vagabond, and some pretentious asshole with gold-framed sunglasses and stupid hair.

There’s a moment where they all stare at one another in shock, and then at the scumbag weapons dealer has the temerity to hiccup nervously before the shooting starts.

Jeremy’s not sure who fires the first round, but the moment they do it’s a free-for-all. Bad lighting and not the best anything and it’s confusing as hell.

Bullets flying and enough yelling to almost drown out the gunshots.

He hears one of the Fakes yell something about bringing the car around when things get bad. Sees a figure go pelting out a side door like a bat out of hell. The remaining Fakes doubling down to push Jeremy and his partner back, buy time or just put an end to things.

Jeremy drops behind cover, pops off a few shots and watches his partner – stupid asshole, stubborn as hell and just plain dumb – go down without a sound.

Swears under his breath and returns fire, with the realization he can get the hell out of there or die, and he knows which one he prefers. Cuts and runs like a coward, or just someone with a brain who doesn’t need to run the numbers to know he’s facing shitty odds, whichever.

He finds a door that leads to an alley and runs like hell until he hits a side street. Glimpses an ugly little purple car puttering down the street towards him from the corner of his eye and jumps in front of it to get the driver to stop.

Thanks God the idiot didn’t think to lock their door before he’s ripping it open and forcing them into the passenger seat, means to kick them out entirely but the Fakes find them before he can, spilling into the street.

“Fuck it,” Jeremy says, and “sorry, pal, but you’re probably safer in here than out there,” and then his foot is on the gas and they’re zooming out of the alley to...somewhere.

Jeremy doesn’t fucking know, okay.

He’s shot and bleeding and apparently a kidnapper now?

So.

Yeah.

He drives for God knows how long until he hears this quiet little laugh next to him. Incredulous, disbelieving, and -

“I can’t believe you still have the damn cowboy hat.”

Jeremy almost slams on the brakes because that voice.

British accent and infuriating as hell and what are the odds?

But, the part where he’s running from the Fakes and can’t do that – traffic and all – and just, it would be bad if he slammed on the brakes.

Instead he slows down a bit to keep from plowing into the car in front of them as it slows down to make a turn, and then whips around it the moment he can and keeps on going. Waves his gun in the hacker’s direction to shut him up, intimidate him, who knows, and heads to a safehouse he knows.

Only, the gun doesn’t shut the little idiot up, no.

“You’re bleeding,” Jeremy hears, which is not news to him.

He also hears, “That looks nasty,” which, he imagines it would. Bullet plus squishy human flesh and he’s not great at math, but even he can figure that one out.

Also?

“This is going to be so difficult to explain later.”

That makes no sense at all to Jeremy, but then the hacker’s reaching for his arm and Jeremy sends him a sharp look, because maybe don’t fucking do that when he’s got a gun sort of kind of aimed at him?

Takes a chance by taking his eyes off the road and almost swallows his tongue as he goes to tell him to very fucking politely not because -

“Oh, fuck me,” Jeremy mutters, because.

Stupid hair and gold-framed sunglasses, and Jeremy's kidnapped the Fake AH Crew’s Golden Boy by accident.

Accident.

There are people in Los Santos who’d pay an obscene amount of money for someone to do it on purpose and Jeremy did it by accident.

Awesome.

========

The Golden Boy plays it smart, in his own way.

Doesn’t shut up, no, but realizes Jeremy doesn’t appreciate him trying to stop him from bleeding all over the interior of his car (not so much the bleeding part as the potential risks of what he could do to Jeremy instead, so yeah) and keeps his damn hands to himself.

Babbles as Jeremy navigates backstreets and alleys to get to the shitty little safehouse Trevor scouted out for the three of them a few months back. Paranoid as hell, Trevor, and smart enough to know things would go to hell on them sooner or later.

Either Matt’s debts or the mess Jeremy’s trapped in, who the hell knows.

Trevor’s good about planning ahead, and Jeremy trusts him like no one else he’s met in this shithole city. (He trusts Matt, don’t get him wrong on that. But Matt is the same kind of dumb as Jeremy and it’s just. Better to look to Trevor for shit like this.)

Safe enough to hide out here to patch himself up, figure out what to do from there.

He parks the car a few streets over because you can never be too paranoid in this city. Pushes the Golden Boy ahead of him while they keep to the shadows and the gun ins his jacket pocket as incentive to go along with things for now.

No damn idea what he’s going to do with the little idiot, not that it matters because Jeremy’s fucked any way you look at it.

The Fakes will tear the city apart looking for him, and they know where to start looking. His own crew would sell him out in a heartbeat to save their own skins.

The only good part about this, if it can be called that, is that Trevor will figure out something went wrong when Jeremy doesn’t go back to their crappy little apartment and want to know what happened.

(Hell, now might not be a bad time to listen to him about faking his death before the Fakes find him.)

So until then...yeah.

It’s a mess.

Jeremy’s a mess, suit jacket ruined along with the shirt underneath. Something more than a simple graze that turns his stomach and hands nowhere near steady enough to stitch himself up.

“Fuck,” he says, and again a little stronger as he stares at the his wound, still bleeding sluggishly, ”fuck.”

The Golden Boy shifts. Nervous? Anxious? Who knows.

Says, quiet, careful, “I could help?” like he’s not sure how Jeremy will take it after the whole thing in the car with the glaring and everything that followed.

He shrugs when Jeremy looks up at him, pushes his stupid sunglasses up into his stupid hair. Looks tired without them hiding his eyes. Dark bags and under his eyes and this crooked little smile Jeremy doesn’t remember seeing before.

“I’ve done my share of stitching people up.”

There’s something to the way he says it that makes Jeremy believe it. Him. Whatever.

(The Fakes are known for being vicious about protecting their own, hurt one of them and you’re fucked and he’s never thought much about it before, but. There’s got to be a reason for it beyond not looking weak to their enemies, rivals.)

Jeremy’s out of options, knows he’s probably making a mistake here, but that part about being fucked anyway, so.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, and pushes the first-aide kit towards the Golden Boy.

Watches him like a hawk as he picks through the thing making these little tutting noises as he does because Jeremy may or may not have forgotten to restock it after the last time.

Rolls up his sleeves and Jeremy follows the motion without thought. Eyes going to the line of letters he can see just on the Golden Boy’s his inner forearm. Something familiar about them, but then the Golden Boy notices Jeremy staring.

Clears his throat and pulls his sleeve down to hide the Name inked on his skin. They’re a liability in this business, get people killed, and Jeremy pulls his gaze away guiltily.

“Sorry,” he says, because he’s an asshole and a ruthless criminal as these things go, but even he’s not that far gone. Not the kind of monster who’d take advantage of knowing who the Golden Boy’s soulmate is, use that against him. Not like he can say that and expected to be believed, but still. “It’s...sorry.”

He can feel eyes on him, knows the Golden Boy is watching him, judging him, and then there’s a little sigh.

“No worries, love,” he says, striving for bright and cheerful, just this hint of uncertainty, maybe even fear to it. “Not your fault, now is it?”

(Is it?)

Jeremy remains silent, winces as the Golden Boy sighs again before he picks up a washcloth Jeremy scrounged out of a cabinet to clean away the blood. He works quickly and efficiently, murmurs an apology when Jeremy hisses in pain as he plucks out cloth fibers and whatever else have gotten into the wound before he starts on the stitches.

Neat, even things, and a little laugh afterward when he says it might not scar noticeably.

Not a major concern for Jeremy, but still nice to know.

“Thanks,” he says, as the Golden Boy tapes off the bandage covering the stitches. “Just, uh. Thanks.”

Awkward as hell, thanking the guy you’ve kidnapped (accidentally, and he’s never going to get over that) for patching him up, but hey.

That’s Jeremy’s life in a nutshell.

(Or...something.)

He watches the Golden Boy pack the first-aide kit up nice and neat, reach for a stay bit of trash from the supplies he used, sleeve riding up again and this time Jeremy gets a good look at the Name on his arm.

Realizes why it had seemed so familiar from the glimpse he caught, and reacts without thinking.

Grabs the Golden Boy’s wrist with his good hand, painfully aware of the way the Golden Boy freezes like a deer in the headlights because Jeremy’s still got his gun and the whole being kidnapped thing.

Ignores the pain ins his bad arm as he pushes the Golden Boy’s sleeve up to reveal the Name on his inner forearm.

Jeremy’s name.

Knows his signature after years of using it, every upward sweep and downward loop, and his heart drops because this, this is how he meets his soulmate, of course it is.

“Jesus Christ,” Jeremy mutters, releasing the Golden Boy’s wrist, aware of the way he recoils away from him like he’s been burned. Holds his arm close to himself, hiding the Name on his skin from Jeremy, and he feels sick about his reaction.

(How could he? Why would he?)

Probably thinks Jeremy’s like all the other sick fucks in this city who’d pay anything to know whose Name someone has on their skin. Use it against them and do it happily because it gives them power over them, and fucking hell.

“I - “ Jeremy’s voice fails him and he thinks about just whipping his shirt off to show him why, but that’s.

Gonna send a bad message if he can’t explain himself first, and he can feel himself on the verge of laughing like a lunatic because this is not now he saw today going at all.

He looks up to see the Golden Boy watching him. Wary, as Jeremy would expect him to be after watching Jeremy act like the aforementioned lunatic.

“What,” the Golden Boy asks, voice cracking a little. “What was that all about?”

Jeremy stares at him, because he looks scared, sure, but also?

Angry.

Like he’d kill Jeremy rather than let him use his Name as a weapon or a threat against him. Willing to protect the idiot whose name is indelibly inked on his skin with everything he has because that’s what you do for your soulmate if you give even the tiniest of fucks about them. (Even without their unique situation.)

People are so stupid that way, and it’s both the funniest and saddest things about them to Jeremy.

Because.

He’s got a name running along his spine and he may not know a hundred percent what it is, what with the horrible handwriting, but he knows without a doubt it’s this little idiot’s.

Knows it like he knows every other important thing in his life, and this just complicates things even further, doesn’t it?

Rival crews and a carjacking that led to an (accidental) kidnapping. A soulmate that looks like he’s trying to decide the best way to kill him to keep Jeremy from using himself against him, and it’s getting real confusing in Jeremy’s head.

One thing he does know, though. He can’t let his soulmate (Jesus, Trevor will never let him live this down and neither will Matt) think he’s one of those scumbags who’d use his Name against him.

“Rimmy Tim isn’t my real name,” he says, which should be obvious by now because no self-respecting human being would go through life with it as a name and not have it legally changed at some point.

Just, no.

The Golden Boy’s still watching him. Cocks his head at Jeremy’s admission, eyes narrowing as he tries to figure out where Jeremy’s going with this.

“This is...” Jeremy trails off, knows if he just tells him his name is Jeremy it’s not going to come off well, given the current situation, so. “Uh, this is going to seem weird, but bear with me, okay?”

It’s a bit of a risk, what he’s about to do.

Turn his back on someone with every reason to use the opportunity to attack him, kill him, but he can’t think of a better idea. Just. No better idea and sure as hell doesn’t want his soulmate to think he’s in a situation where his Name is something to be used against him, that fear, even if it backfires on Jeremy.

He twists around and pulls his shirt up, hears the Golden Boy’s confused ”What?” and ”Oh, God, what?” and then this sharp inhale followed by silence.

A long, long moment of silence and this shuddery exhale, cool fingers on Jeremy’s back tracing the letters running along his spine.

Quiet laugh, shaky, and, “Bloody hell,” he hears, followed by, “I knew that couldn’t be your real name,” and another laugh that just sounds tired.

Which, yeah.

Jeremy gets that, he does.

He pulls his shirt back down and turns around to find the Golden Boy watching him again, but there’s a thoughtful quality to it this time.

“So,” he says like he still can’t believe it. “You’re my soulmate, are you?”

Hard to get a bead on how he feels about that, what with the being carjacked and kidnapped at gunpoint thing they have going for them. The way things are a little too Romeo and Juliet for Jeremy’s tastes seeing how well that went for all parties involved in that little disaster.

“Uh, yeah,” Jeremy says, for whatever it’s worth. “I guess I am.”

========

The mirror in the safehouse’s bathroom is dirty as hell, has this crack running straight down the middle of it like the fault lines under Los Santos.

Good enough to get a decent picture of his back at least, have Jeremy frowning at all the scars he’s picked up since the last time he did this. (Five, six years ago? Maybe longer.)

It’s late now, few hours past midnight and the Golden Boy’s sacked out in the bedroom. Tired after a long day and what seems to have been an even longer week for him. Put up a fight because he wasn’t the one with a bullet wound, but Jeremy had overruled him on the basis of 1.) being carjacked, and 2.) being kidnapped after being carjacked.

Not to mention the reason for the carjacking and subsequent kidnapping and just...everything else on top of that they haven’t addressed properly.

More like stared at one another for a long moment trying to process before the Golden Boy yawned, reminding them both of the late hour, and they decided it would be better to pick things back up in the morning.

Sleep on all of it and figure things out then and Jesus if that’s not reason for Jeremy to grab his stuff and get the fuck out. Run off with his tail between his legs before his soulmate tells him thanks for the terrifying day and all, but he just doesn’t see things working out between them – carjackings and kidnappings do not a good relationship make – but do take care.

But he hasn’t, has he. Is creeping around the safehouse being an idiot instead.

Jeremy sighs as he fiddles with the limited photo editor app on his phone, flips the picture he just took so he can read the Name on his back.

Everyone in Los Santos calls him the Golden Boy, sometimes though they refer to him as the Fake AH Crew’s Golden Boy, sometimes he’s Ramsey’s Golden Boy, but his name’s not a secret.

That first letter on Jeremy’s back is definitely a ‘G’, and knowing what he knows now, he can see the rest.

And now that he knows, he’s afraid to say it out loud because there are -

Just.

A lot of unknowns in their future.

Or, not.

At the very least, he knows who his soulmate is now, won’t have to wonder about it anymore, and that. Well, it has to count for something, doesn’t it?

========

“So now what?”

The Golden Boy – no, Gavin – is watching Jeremy closely. Head cocked to the side and so very careful.

Looking at him, Jeremy realizes he never searched him for weapons when they got the safehouse. Wasn’t in the frame of mind to think of it with the chaos of the shootout, pain from his injury and everything that followed. World-changing realizations and all.

Can spot at least one gun on him. A few knives. Who the hell knows what else because rumors say he worked with the Vagabond for a while before the Fakes snatched him up and he’s picked up a few habits of his along the way.

Good news, no immediate rejection regarding the soulmate situation. Bad news, he’s still not indicating how he feels about the fact Jeremy’s his soulmate.

Playing it safe, smart, given the everything else that’s happened or something else, Jeremy doesn’t know.

“What do you mean?” Jeremy asks, because what does that even mean?

Gavin gives him this look, and gestures at himself.

Ego aside, he makes for one hell of a prize.

Any of the Fakes would be to be fair, but the Golden Boy?

Jesus, what stroke of luck to catch him.

Hit the Fakes where it would hurt the most because he’s always been considered untouchable, all these attack dogs keeping him from harm and poster boy for the crew, more so than Ramsey ever was.

Silver-tongued negotiator with an impressive string of successes behind him in the allies the Fakes have won over to their side since they clawed their way to the top.

That whole thing where he’s got a price on his head in the city only the craziest bastards would even think about cashing in on. Catch him and sell him to the highest bidder and live a life of luxury. (Until the Fakes found out who’d managed it and went hunting.)

Jeremy stares at him because 1.), no, and 2.)? Also no.

“How about this,” Jeremy says slowly. “You take that piece of shit car of yours and go back to your crew and I go back to mine and we pretend you did not just suggest what I think you did.”

Because, and Jeremy cannot emphasize this enough, no.

Even if he wasn’t Jeremy’s soulmate the answer would be the same. Jeremy’s an asshole, but he’s got limits. Lines he won’t cross and something like that?

No.

If he did have a personal grudge against the Fakes, well.

Honestly, there are only two things that would be part of that, and they’re both idiots. If something happened to them and the Fakes were involved...

Jeremy can’t say what he’d do then, but he likes to think he wouldn’t sink so low as to do something like that. (You never know what you’d do until you’re in that situation though, do you.)

There’s a long, long moment where they stare at one another, Jeremy’s heart beating double-quick time in his chest because Jesus fucking Christ. Also this sudden, violent urge to throw up because the whole soulmate thing on top of everything and how repugnant the matter of selling him out is with that factoring in?

Yeah.

Gavin laughs, tension seeping out of him as he regards Jeremy.

“Well,” he says, “that’s good to know.”

Like he really thought Jeremy could – would – sell him off like that even without the soulmate thing, Jesus.

“Yeah, sure.” Jeremy scrubs a hand over his face. “You’re welcome?”

Gavin hums, and then Jeremy feels a touch to the back of his hand and looks up to see him watching him.

“I never would have thought,” he says, and laughs like he’s still processing the whole soulmate thing. “I never would have thought you’d be the one.”

There’s...Jeremy swallows because there’s this note of wonder in his voice, the way he’s looking at Jeremy.

“Thought for sure I’d annoyed you past all reason.”

Not...not quite.

Annoying as hell, sure, but there was a part of him that appreciated watching a fellow horrible little bastard at work. Amused as hell at the way Gavin got under the skin of the others they were working with just because he could.

Yeah.

He should have known something was up then, but it was just a job at the time. Jeremy scrabbling to get by and just another job to put money in his pocket and all kinds of excuses that fall flat when he looks back on it.

“Nah,” Jeremy says, and smiles. “I mean, I wouldn’t say past all reason.”

He laughs to soften things, and is rewarded with a quiet laugh and then...it’s not awkward between them, just.

There’s.

“I should contact the others,” Gavin says, reluctant about it. “They’re sure to be worried by now.”

As if they wouldn’t have been the moment they realized something was wrong with a crew known to be as close-knit as theirs.

Trevor and Matt have to be worried about him as well by now, and the two of them can’t just hide away here forever no matter how tempting it is.

Should have gone their own ways the night before everything got complicated on them. Kicked Gavin out of the car somewhere his crew would be sure to pick him up before continuing on to the safehouse, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly.

Too late for that now, though.

“I - “ Jeremy sighs, because there’s no putting things off any longer. They’ve done enough of that as it is. “Yeah, okay.”

========

There’s not much for Jeremy to do as Gavin makes his phone call, but he finds reasons to be out of the room. Give him some privacy.

Wanders around straightening up for the next time someone needs to use the safehouse. Make a list of things he needs to get to restock the first-aide kit. Sends Matt a text letting him know he’s not dead in a ditch somewhere and he’ll tell them everything when he gets back home because he’d rather avoid Trevor’s heavy judgment for the time being.

He laughs when he gets a thumb’s up emoji from Matt, and then a few moments later a succinct Fuck you, man, that’s sure to result from Trevor expressing his disappointment in Matt for not pressing Jeremy for details.

Jeremy makes his way back to the living room just in time to catch the end of the conversation the Gavin’s having with whoever he called. All this exasperation to it and dumb little smile and he just.

Watches him for a long moment since Gavin doesn’t seem to know he’s there yet.

No telling what will happen once they leave the safehouse.

Jeremy’s got to be high on the Fakes’ most wanted list by now, and the smart thing for him to do is stay under the radar until that changes, if it will.

So. Yeah.

Gavin finishes his call and looks up to catch Jeremy’s eye, amused smile playing on his lips so so much for going unnoticed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, just,” Jeremy shrugs. The safehouse isn’t big, not a lot of places for him to putter about while Gavin was on the phone.

Thankfully Gavin seems to understand that because he laughs, and Jeremy.

God.

He’s heard the stories, you know?

From his parents, other people who found their soulmates and had things work out. The way you just. It’s not some magical thing where everything’s suddenly easy, everything nice and clear and simple, but.

There’s a difference.

This thing where you look at your soulmate and you know.

Their smile seems brighter than anyone else’s, fills you with this. Love, warmth, whatever the hell that can help flip a shitty day over into one that’s a little more bearable. Small things that make life better in a million little ways, make you feel less alone in the world.

Not easy, and shit still happens, but it’s not. Not overwhelming anymore, like you know you can make it through a bad day and any others that come after it because someone’s there to help you through them.

Jeremy sits down next to him and reaches for his hand, feels stupidly relieved when Gavin reaches back.

========

In the end, Gavin gets in his Blista and drives back to his crew, and Jeremy watches him until he’s out of view.

Out of the two of them, he’s the one with the target painted on his back, and while Jeremy’s not delighted about letting him go alone, it’s the smart thing to do.

Jeremy’s a nobody compared to him, can find his own way home without worrying about running into trouble, and he does.

Gets an earful from Trevor who’s doing a good job of looking his usual put-together self, but Jeremy knows him too well by now to miss the signs of Trevor in full-on Deeply Concerned mode.

“Trevor,” he says, because goddamn they’re all kind of dumb. “Shut up.”

He drags Trevor into a hug despite his half-hearted protests – he is lecturing, Jeremy, and hugs are illegal you fiend. And then he does the same to Matt who’s off the side nibbling on a breadstick and trying to look bored and disinterested like he’s not just as worried.

“Where the hell were you?” Trevor demands, hands on his hips and ridiculous as ever. “We heard about what what happened, and then you didn’t come home and - “

Jeremy winces at the fear he can hear plain as day in Trevor’s voice even with the dramatics he’s throwing in to cover for it. The dark circles under his eyes and bloodshot eyes from a lack of sleep and just. Everything he can see mirrored in Matt.

“It’s a long story,” Jeremy says, which is the wrong thing to say even if it’s the truth because it sets Trevor off all over again with his own side of things.

Because Matt keeps tabs on Jeremy, on Trevor. Might as well have animal tracking collars on them or gone and microchipped them in their sleep. No way to hide from him even if they wanted to. (A lie, because they’d find ways around it, but what would be the point when he does it to look after them in his own Matt Bragg way?)

And when Jeremy dropped off the radar after the shootout with all the “extra touches” at the safehouse to prevent them from being tracked there...yeah.

“I, uh.” Jeremy doesn’t know how to put this gently, so he just goes for it. “I carjacked the Golden Boy and found out he’s my soulmate?”

There.

Perfect.

Good job all around, well done him.

Jeremy turns on his heel and power walks to the kitchen to grab something strong to drink while Trevor’s brain tries to process that and Matt stops choking on his breadstick.

While he’s there he decides to be civilized and grabs glasses for Trevor and Matt because he gets the feeling they’re going to need them.

========

Trevor can’t actually ground Jeremy, because for one, Jeremy’s a fucking adult? And two, he’s not the boss of him. (Something Jeremy thinks in the safety and privacy of his own mind lest he give Trevor ideas.)

But.

The three of them are in agreement it would be safest for Jeremy if he kept a low profile for the time being, which means he is more or less grounded.

Sits around the apartment pestering Matt while he works on whatever Matt does. Offering unhelpful suggestions until even Matt has enough of his bullshit and kicks him out of his nerd lair so he can work in peace.

Thinks about doing the same to Trevor, but Trevor is by far the smartest one out of them and voted most likely to plot intricate, painful revenge Jeremy will never see coming, so he doesn’t pester him.

Watches a lot of daytime dramas and talk shows instead. Some DIY videos from the internet on his laptop which is great, because he finds this one channel of a guy who helps him expand on his homemade explosives repertoire.

Also?

Picks up a few delicious recipes and other things from people not out to topple governments or just make really, really, questionable life choices involving explosives.

And then one day Trevor comes up to him with a package bearing the logo of a small delivery company.

He looks conflicted, like he’s not sure what he’s doing is a good thing.

“This came for you the other day,” he says, and holds it just out of reach. “I had Matt check it over first, just in case.”

Jeremy sets his game controller aside, because Trevor has a shifty look on his face. Is having a hard time looking Jeremy in the eye.

“Trevor?”

Trevor clears his throat, fidgets in a way that is very, very alarming coming from him.

“I realize I may not have come across as happy for you as I should have,” he says, waving a hand at Jeremy and his everything. “About this whole. Soulmate thing of yours, and I apologize. For that.”

Jeremy cocks his head.

While Trevor’s not wrong, he’s not. Jeremy knows him, okay. Knows Trevor’s glad he found his soulmate, but there was the matter of everything else to deal with too because Jeremy’s a damn idiot who can’t do anything the easy way.

“You really don’t need to - “ Jeremy starts to say, and snaps his mouth shut when Trevor levels him with a look. “But, ah. Thank you?”

Trevor harrumphs, scowl slowly lightening to a rueful smile as he holds the package out to Jeremy.

“Anyway, this came for you the other day and Matt says it’s not going to kill you. Or, it might, but if it does it will be from cancer due to long-term exposure to radiofreqeuncy radiation and not explosives or what have you.” Trevor pauses for a breath. “But as we both know, that won’t happen for decades if there really is a link between cell phone usage and cancer, so, uh. Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

Jeremy doesn’t know what to say to any of that, so he accepts the package with a simple thanks and scurries off to his room before he catches whatever the hell Trevor has.

(Too late to avoid the insanity, but he already knew that.)

========

There’s a cell phone in the package, but Trevor gave that away with his unsettling warning about the hazards of cell phones or whatever that was.

There’s also a note.

From Gavin.

Awkward and sweet, and Jeremy laughs as he reads if for the third time because he’s an idiot and a sap.

It’s a chance to get to know Gavin better and a burner phone to make that possible.

Side note about this being for the best until Gavin can talk sense into his crew regarding Jeremy and this rambling tangent that has nothing to do with anything, but still makes Jeremy smile.

They’re getting further and further away from the bizarre Romeo and Juliet situation they were in at first, but everything’s still unbelievably stupid and ridiculous in their own way.

Still.

Jeremy sets the note aside and unlocks the phone and brings up the contacts. Stares at the only one saved for a long moment, nerves and whatever else getting the best of him for a moment before he shoves all of that aside and presses the send button before he can think better of it.

========

A month goes by before Trevor deems it safe to let Jeremy out on his own unsupervised, which is just as insulting as it sounds.

To be fair, it’s taken that long for his bullet wound to heal to a point he can take on work again without making things worse, so it works out.

He’s been talking to Gavin every chance he can get, gone from once or twice a week to three to four to every day thy better they got to know one another. Realizing they might be among the lucky ones to find their soulmate and someone they could stand to share the rest of their lives together with.

He’s been itching at the chance to see him in person again, and Gavin feels the same because he texts Jeremy the name of a cafe along with a time and date, and Jeremy -

“Good God man, you can’t wear that abomination on your little lunch date!” Trevor looks personally offended because Jeremy’s dressed in his finest Rimmy Tim ensemble, complete with a new hat to replace the one he lost in the shootout with the Fakes.

All shiny and white because he felt like a change was in order, and also they were out of brown.

Jeremy keeps a straight face by sheer strength of will, something not helped by the thumb’s up Matt’s shooting him over Trevor’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong with it?” Jeremy asks, looking down at himself like he’s looking for a stray piece of lint or wrinkled fabric. A loose button, something along those lines. And, “You don’t like it?”

Trevor makes this...this noise in the back of his throat that somehow conveys frustration, disgust, and barest touch of rage as he throws his hands up.

“You march right back into your room and find something to wear that isn’t both horrendous and garish right now, young man!”

There’s a delicate silence in the moment after his outburst.

And then Jeremy makes the mistake of looking at Matt, and that’s the end of that. The two of them crack up laughing while Trevor heaves this sigh of utmost suffering that comes from having to deal with idiots like them.

========

Jeremy changes into clothes Trevor deems far more reasonable than Jeremy’s Rimmy Tim getup and makes it to the cafe with time to spare.

Follows the hostess out to an outside seating area and can’t help the goofy smile on his face when he spots Gavin waiting for him at one of the tables.

He looks.

Well.

He looks nervous, fussing with this coin he’s rolling over his knuckles in an obvious nervous habit, but he also looks good.

Button-down shirt that makes his eyes stand out. Pressed slacks and dress shoes, hair – still an unruly mess but it’s more artfully messy rather than all-out disastrous. Those ridiculously expensive sunglasses of his hooked into the collar of his shirt and best of all, he looks rested. Like he’s finally managed to get enough sleep, and the smile that crosses his face when he catches sight of Jeremy -

Blinding.

“Jeremy!” he gets to his feet and pulls Jeremy into a hug, and the last of Jeremy’s nervousness vanishes in the face of his clear excitement at seeing him again after so long.

Jeremy closes his eyes and breathes out a sigh of relief as he hugs Gavin, because nerves and this...he doesn’t even know.

Like part of him somehow thought he’d imagined it all from the shootout to the carjacking (Jesus Christ, that’s going to make the story of how they discovered they were soulmates a tricky one to tell people) to the events at the safehouse.

The phone calls that had spilled over from one burner phone to the next until Jeremy had decided the hell with things and started using his own instead. (A risk, sure, of the Fakes finding him to “have a little chat with him” Gavin had warned him about when he told him, but more than worth it.)

Everything.

This ache in his chest at being so close and so far after all these years of wondering. Maybe there is something to the soulmates thing science can’t explain because it feels like Jeremy’s taking his first full breath in far too long.

The world feels a little more real, brighter when he opens his eyes to look at Gavin.

Something.

Gavin laughs again and they untangle themselves, sit down at the table Gavin’s gotten for them and stare at one another like idiots for a moment.

It’s a beautiful day, sunny and bright and the people of Los Santos are making the most of it. Pedestrians out for a walk for the hell of it or out and about on errands or other business talking on their cell phones or enjoying the break in weather from the spate of rain they’ve had the last week.

Dogs barking, birds singing. People laughing.

All of it paints a different picture of the city than Jeremy’s used to seeing and for a moment he can almost pretend it’s any other city.

Almost.

“Uh,” Jeremy says, because pretty as things are right now, Los Santos is certainly not any other city. “Did you know - “

Gavin rolls his eyes, mouth quirking as he leans towards Jeremy. Drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Ignore them,” he says, gleam of amusement in his eye. “It’ll drive them mental.”

Jeremy raises his eyebrows at that because Gavin knows his crew best, of course, but still.

There’s a car idling at the curb just beyond the patio they’re seated at.

Shiny chrome number and the guy with the wolf on the back of his jacket Jeremy remembers seeing from the shootout behind the wheel.

Glaring at Jeremy.

Another car is parked across the street opposite him. Sleek black number with bright green accents. Too far to make out more than an outline of the driver, but Jeremy’s sure he’s wearing a skull mask. (He’s seen that car on the news too often not to know its owner.)

Not even two tables away from them are a pair of people in the absolute worst disguises Jeremy’s seen outside of a spy parody movie.

Dark sunglasses, fake mustaches and beards, and holes cut out of the newspaper one of them is reading along with oversize trench coats on a beautiful early summer afternoon in sunny Los Santos.

“...Okay?” Jeremy says, because okay.

And...he gets it, he does.

The Fakes are a close-knit crew and he and Gavin didn’t kick off this whole...soulmates thing between them in the traditional way.

At all.

To be honest, there’s a part of him that’s relieved they’re being this overprotective of Gavin. Watching out for him in an admittedly creepy way.

It’s just.

Weird as hell, too.

“Jeremy,” Gavin says, and gives him this look like he knows, but better to go along with it than fight it at this point, which.

Again, yeah, okay.

He can handle dealing with Gavin’s crew if it means he gets to have this...chance with Gavin. (Besides,  he hasn’t even met Trevor or Matt, and God knows they’re going to be as terrible in their own ways, idiots that they are.)

They chat for a bit as they look over the menu, knot of worry and doubt in Jeremy’s chest unraveling as Gavin laughs at Jeremy’s stupid jokes. Smiles at the truly awful ones like he can’t help himself even though they both know how terrible they are.

Jeremy doing the same as Gavin tells him about his recent exploits with the Fakes, little adventures he got up to on his own when he managed to slip away from his minders. (Paranoid after the incident where some inconsiderate bloke carjacked Gavin.)

“Are you ready to order?”

Jeremy freezes.

Looks over to see a man dressed like one of the cafe’s waiters standing next to their table. Impressive mustache and tattoos he can see peeking over the collar of his shirt. More on his hands holding a notepad and pencil and this glint in his eye as he ignores Gavin to stare Jeremy down.

He’s seen the Kingpin on the news. Heard all kinds of wild stories about him, the things he did with the Roosters before coming to Los Santos to start his own crew.

Ruthless.

Merciless.

Only man in all of Los Santos who could get the Vagabond to join a crew and all the other rumors out there making him to be this terrifying figure in his own right, and for good reason.

And now he’s in a waiter’s uniform waiting to take their lunch order and Jeremy has no idea how to proceed, because his brain is having difficulty processing the situation.

Jesus.

He feels a sharp pain on his shin and snaps out of his daze or whatever the hell he’s fallen into to look at Gavin.

Gavin, who just kicked him under the table and is now giving him this look. All remember what I told you, and follow my lead and God’s sakes, Jeremy, don’t let them get to you, they can smell fear.

A lot to convey with a single look, but somehow Gavin pulls it off

“Actually,” Gavin says, looking back at his menu. “I was wondering if there’s any shellfish in the shellfish cioppino? I’m allergic, and it would absolutely ruin my day if I had even the smallest bite.”

That’s a blatant lie. They were just talking about Gavin’s love for shellfish after they got onto the topic of the east coast and Jeremy’s hometown of Boston in particular, but alright.

Jeremy stares at Gavin who lifts his eyes from his menu to wink at Jeremy before gifting their waiter with an arch look.

The Kingpin glares at him.

Takes a deep breath and in a voice that says he’s going to have words with Gavin later, and says, ”Yes, sir. Unfortunately there is shellfish in the shellfish cioppino as the name implies. Perhaps something else on the menu appeals to you?”

“Oh,” Gavin says, crestfallen that his first choice might kill him if he was in fact allergic as he’s claiming to be. “That’s a shame. What about the steamed mussels?”

It goes on like that for a while as Gavin asks about every dish on the menu where shellfish is a key ingredient and several where no seafood is involved at all.

The Kingpin goes from being annoyed to resigned and defeated, staring off into the middle distance as he answers Gavin’s questions.

“Well then,” Gavin says, when he’s done torturing one of the most feared men in Los Santos. “I suppose I’ll have the shellfish cioppino.”

There’s no reaction at first, but when the Kingpin realizes Gavin’s done tormenting him he snaps back to himself. Draws himself up to his full height and scowls down at Gavin as he angrily scribbles down his order to keep up the pretense as their waiter.

Gavin beams at him, hands folded neatly in front of him on the table.

The Kingpin snorts, corner of his mouth twitching before he turns his attention on Jeremy.

“And what would you like to order?”

He’s not glaring at Jeremy now, but it’s close enough to count.

“Hmm,” Jeremy says, mimicking the posh accent Gavin had slipped into. “Are there any mushrooms in your smoked mushroom ravioli? I have this allergy to them.”

No doubt he’ll regret it in the long run, but when he hears Gavin laugh figures it’s another one of those things he can deal with just for that.

========

They go for a walk along the beach after lunch, a nice leisurely stroll.

Sure, they’re being watched by members of Gavin’s crew, but Jeremy barely notices it anymore with Gavin laughing next to him.

“Oh, God, did you see his face?” Gavin’s giggling, all lit up with it, and Jeremy’s heart does that little flippy thing it started doing halfway through lunch with Gavin laughing and smiling and happy. “Geoff will make me pay for it, but his face.”

Gavin won’t be the only one paying for what they did, but that’s a future worry.

Right now it’s the two of them enjoying a nice day and being the horrible little bastards they are.

Amazing.

Their shoulders bump every so often, shifting sand under their feet and wandering along aimlessly as people are wont to do like this. Their hands do too, and after a while it gets to be a problem, so Jeremy has no choice but to tangle his fingers with Gavin to put an end to that.

Heart in his throat as he reaches for his hand, and that flippy sensation in his chest when Gavin slides a look at him, crooked grin on his face as he slides his fingers through Jeremy’s.

========

All good things end, or something like that, and Jeremy and Gavin find their way back up to the street next to the beach.

Gavin leads them to a pretty little thing parked next to the curb. Matte black and low-slung. Looks like it could go from zero to sixty in no time flat and Jeremy would love to see that happen one day.

He laughs when he notices Jeremy admiring it, hint of a blush on his cheeks as he gives it a fond pat on the hood.

“It was in the shop at the time,” he says, and shrugs, a story behind it he’s not telling Jeremy just yet. “That’s why I was driving my Blista.”

Jeremy raises an eyebrow because those stories Gavin told him earlier and his far from spotless driving record. Gavin coughs, gaze sliding away.

They lean against Gavin’s car and watch the waves roll in below them, sun starting to sink towards the horizon. They’ve shed their escort in Gavin’s crew, one by one until it’s just the two of them now.

Jeremy passing a test he wasn’t aware of or them getting bored enough to go off to wreak havoc in another part of the city, who the hell knows.

“We should do this again sometime,” Gavin says, light and casual, like he’s not holding on to Jeremy’s hand as though it’s a lifeline. “I had fun.”

Jeremy could do that. He could. Spend hours with Gavin without keeping an eye on the time.

“Me too,” Jeremy says, and squeezes Gavin’s hand. “I’d like that.”

Gavin ducks his head, and Jeremy laughs because.

Yeah.

The whole soulmate thing isn’t a guarantee you’ll fall in love the moment you meet yours, or that you’ll even like them, but goddamn is it nice when you do. (Amazing.)

After a moment Gavin looks up at him, expression on his face like he’s thinking hard on something, and then he breaths out this sigh. Annoyed at himself for something as he straightens.

“Jeremy,” he says, and he sounds determined. Focused. About to take a risk and intent on following through. “I think I’d like to kiss you.”

Jeremy bites back a laugh because it’s so formal of him. Right and proper and all that. Very British sounding.

“Yeah?” he asks, grinning at the annoyed huff from Gavin. “I think I’d like it if you did.”

Gavin’s eyes narrow because he knows Jeremy’s laughing at him, and try as he might he can’t hide his own amusement at their ridiculousness.

“Jeremy,” Gavin says, because this is no joking matter.

Jeremy tries to wipe the grin off his face, he does, but he can’t with the way Gavin’s looking at him and the way his heart is doing that flippy thing again.

Good thing, then, that Gavin does it for him when he leans in for that kiss of his.

========

Jeremy’s life isn’t all kittens and sunshine now, no.

Matt still has those debts of his that Jeremy and Trevor are helping him with because God knows he’s an idiot and things are getting better on that front.

Los Santos is still the same shithole it’s always been.

He’s still at the top of the Fake AH Crew’s most wanted list, albeit for a very different reason now.

But.

Jeremy’s found his soulmate and while the two of them have to deal with a few more hurdles in their path than most people do, they manage just fine for themselves.

“Gavin - “

Gavin laughs, pecks Jeremy on the cheek to shush him as the lights go down in the movie theater around them.

“Ignore them,” he he whispers, like Ryan and Michael aren’t a few rows behind them making sure Jeremy doesn’t kidnap Gavin (intentionally) under cover of darkness. “They’re just being ridiculous.”

“I - “Jeremy sighs, because Gavin’s got a point. “Okay.”

The Fakes like to show up on their dates from time to time, scowl and glare at Jeremy because they’re just “like that” according to Gavin, but they disappear after a while to let them have time to themselves.

More of a running gag by now than actual threat, even if Ryan still wears the mask half the time.

It’s weird as hell and definitely not the way Jeremy imagined what finding his soulmate would be like back when he used to think about it, but it works for them and that’s the only thing that matters.

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

Something to Remember

Took a few days to write this, it’s long cause I’m a sucker for detail!

Summary: Arthur Morgan was a video game character who you enjoyed playing, up until that same character appeared in your house one day without any explanation. Two weeks later, he’s still learning things about the modern world.

Pairings: Arthur Morgan x Modern!Reader

Warnings: SMUT. Very light angst, unrealistic expectations of the male refractory period

A soft whisper of your name rouses you from your comfortable sleep. You groan and open your eyes, first glancing at the digital clock on your nightstand. It was 6:30 am.

Annoyance washed over you. You hated being woken up early, especially on your day off.

Your room was washed in the faint glow of the morning light as it was just starting to peek over the horizon.

You hear your name again, this time a little louder. You glance toward the source of the noise, noticing your door stood ajar with a face peeking out at you.

Arthur Morgan.

“Arthur?” You sat up, your voice plagued with a yawn. “What’s wrong?”

He opened the door more, hovering within the doorway. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Didn’t mean to disturb ya.”

You observed him silently. It’d been two weeks since this man had somehow appeared into your life, and you mean that in a literal sense. One night you were sitting at your TV, running a mission on your game, and somehow something had changed. You remember waking up to an odd sound elsewhere in your small house, and you hurriedly ran out of your bedroom thinking your cat had gotten into something. Nope. Instead you saw the cowboy, dressed as how he appeared in your game, complete with the custom-made weapons that adorned his hips and back. He was just as wide-eyed and confused as you were.

So far, the last two weeks had been interesting. You weren’t sure as to how a character from one of your PlayStation games had come to life, although there had been no indication or intention of him being returned to said game. Trying to calm the riled up outlaw was one thing, when jumping a hundred and twenty years into the future and being surrounded by unfamiliar technology wasn’t something that was covered in any class you took at school. You couldn’t explain to him that he was a character from a video game. You couldn’t even explain whatever strange force brought him to life, to your house out of all places.

He was still adjusting, that’s for sure. You remember how he reacted to your phone ringing, nearly jumping out of his own skin like a damn cat. He was already on edge, and you had to calm him down before anything else would further set him off. Somehow you’d managed to do so, although keeping a wary eye on the pistols that sat in their holsters.

You’d somehow convinced him to stay here at your house, knowing that he’d more than likely run into trouble or BECOME the trouble had he ventured out into town. Despite this he couldn’t help but to touch literally everything in your possession. It was like watching a toddler, and it felt like it too. Intrigued by the TV, your Bluetooth stereo, and even your stove – electric – his blue eyes widened in awe as the surface lit up before him and instantly getting off heat. The microwave fascinated him too, same with the fridge- he could not keep his hands to himself the first day.

At some point you had to run out and buy him some actual modern clothing, although sticking close to his style just to keep him comfortable, you can thank the local Tractor Supply for the abundance of flannels and worker jeans. He watched in absolute fascination when you placed his original clothing into the wash, mumbling about how much better it was than river water.

Things started to ease after that day. You decided to take him out to town after a long conversation as to why it would be a bad idea to walk around in public with his multiple firearms. He didn’t like it but heeded your wishes regardless.

During the car ride, he was surprisingly quiet. He mentioned it was no different than taking a carriage somewhere, aside from the very obvious modern technology and the lack of horses. He loved the stereo, although confused by your choice of music. Fast paced and loud, it took him a while to understand the lyrics.

The first bite of a fast food burger blew his mind, and he promptly wolfed the rest of it down, along with the fries, exclaiming that was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

The local bar caught his sights and he immediately made a beeline toward it, and you hadn’t noticed for a moment. You finally realized he was not trailing behind and you see him disappear behind the door. You quickly find him gawking at the bartender, completely baffled by the fact that a shot of whiskey cost four dollars.

Despite everything else, it began to feel normal coming home to him. After painstakingly making sure he wouldn’t accidentally blow your house off the face of the earth somehow, you would leave for work. The worry that plagued your mind would ease as you walked in the door to find him on the couch, drawing contently in his journal while your kitten napped next to him. It was definitely a sight to see.

Somehow he’d learned how to use your kitchen, and the past week the smell of delicious food would grace your nose as you walked across the threshold. You knew he could cook; how many times have you had him roast oregano or thyme spiced venison in the game? But man, you didn’t know he could cook. He’d lay a plate in front of you, even though you mention that it wasn’t necessary. He only shook his head and said it was the least he could do for giving him a place to stay.

Every night it felt as if you were dreaming, and that you’d wake up the next morning without a trace of him. Every morning you’d feel happier when you saw him already up, bustling about and wondering what to do that day in particular.

“Mind if I come in?” He asked, noting your silence.

Snapping out of your trance, you nodded. He smiled and stepped in completely. He stood there silently, almost awkwardly, his broad frame only just visible in the dim dawn light. “Need something?” You asked, your curiosity beginning to pique.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting away for a moment. “I, uh, just wanted to say thank you for everything. Can’t be easy puttin’ up with my dumb ass.”

You let out a soft chuckle. “You’re anything but dumb, Arthur,” you responded. “Besides, I would be in the same way had I been sent over a century in the future.”

He made a small noise between a chuckle and a sigh. It’d fallen silent again, and you observed his stance. Something seemed off.

“Are you okay?” You asked. He didn’t answer, and you scooted from underneath your blanket toward the edge of your bed. Patting the space next to you, you added, “Come tell me.”

Arthur let out another sigh and took your offer, albeit hesitantly, taking the spot next to you. He was wearing one of the outfits you bought for him, a dark blue flannel and lighter blue jeans. His hands were adorned with the fingerless rifleman gloves. The top of the shirt was unbuttoned, allowing a little bit of chest hair to poke out. His hair, cut into the fade style that you loved, shone a dull gold within the growing sunlight behind you.

You were too busy caught in his appearance that you almost didn’t realize he began speaking again.

“I miss my family,” he murmured, his gaze fallen to his hands. “I reckon they’re all dead now. Hell, they definitely are,” he glanced up at you. “Dutch, Hosea, Charles, Lenny… I even miss Uncle complaining about his Lumbago.”

You frowned as your heart sank. You knew this simply wasn’t true; they never existed in the real world. Technically they were alive, if you were to boot up your console and show him yourself. However your PlayStation currently sat in your closet, determined for him not to accidentally discover the video game, if it even worked without its main protagonist.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I’m sure they were great.”

“I grew up with them, ya know,” Arthur continued. “Dutch n’ Hosea took me in when I was still a kid. Taught me everything I know.” A small, sad smile played at the edge of his lips.

Your heart sank further into your stomach. Whatever force brought Arthur to you, you briefly wished there was a way for him to see the Van der Linde gang once again. You then banished the thought, contemplating on how difficult it would be if you could fit another twenty-odd people in your living room.

“Well, if you can’t get back to your time, then you have all the time to make new friends.” Your feeble attempt to cheer him up didn’t seem to work as he let out a huff of disbelief.

“I ain’t a good man, Y/N. Don’t think nobody wants to be friends with someone like me.” There was a dark tone to his voice. Self pity.

The poor man had no self esteem. You knew this from how many times you’ve heard him disregard any kind comments towards him. He was always surrounded by the gang. You remember the distinct few times where a woman would hail him down in camp and have a personal discussion on what plagued his mind. He was such a complex, well-written character that despite his demons, he was surrounded by people that cared about him. Now, he was alone. You reached out and wrapped your arms around his torso for a brief hug. It was the first time you were this close to him, and he tensed from your touch. As you drew back, he looked at you with slight confusion.

“The hell was that for?” He asked, his voice shook with a humorless chuckle.

“You sounded like you needed a hug.” You simply said. “Sorry, did it bother you?”

He shook his head. “Not at all, just…surprised you’d do that. I ain’t worth it.”

More of the self-pity. You groaned at that. “Mr. Morgan,” you started, shoving your hands to your hips. “I don’t want to hear none of that now! You’re the coolest man I’ve ever come across. So stop this self-hating bullshit, its unhealthy!”

He blinked, surprised by your sudden outburst. It seemed like it took him a moment to understand what you were saying. His brow furrowed slightly as his gaze shifted downward once again. “You care that much, huh?”

“Course I do,” you responded proudly. “You show up in my living room from some sort of time warp and have been camping out on my couch for the past two weeks. How else am I gonna make sure you’re living and breathing?”

He let out another laugh, a lighter tone that made you smile. “I ‘spose that’s fair. Don’t find much hospitality back where I’m from unless ya pay for it. Can’t really imagine where I’d be if I hadn’t ended up here. You’ve helped me a lot.”

Your heart fluttered slightly against your rib cage as your face flushed from the compliment. Your smile grew as you placed your hand on his shoulder. “I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. You definitely have made my life more exciting since you’ve arrived.”

“Excitin’?” He repeated.

You nodded. “Who else can say they have a 19th century outlaw chilling at your house?”

“Chillin’,” he snorted. “I still ain’t used to the way you speak sometimes.”

Now you had to laugh. “You’ll get used to it, cowboy. Besides, you’ll have a place to stay until the day you get back to your time. You can count on that.”

He smiled now. A small, warm smile on his full lips. “Thanks Y/N. You know, even though I miss the gang, you make this place feel…like home.”

Oh, darn that Arthur. You felt the heat surge to your cheeks again. “Well, Mr. Morgan. I’m glad I can do so.” You said softly, your eyes never leaving him. His pretty blue eyes were bright as they met your gaze. His smile never left his face. You observed every feature, from his hard jawline to the stubble that graced it. The weathered look to his cheeks highlighted the hard years of his past.

Good lord, why were you falling for a video game character?

Truth be told, you thought Arthur was good looking before, the graphics did wonders on his character model. But now he sat before you, as real as day. He was even more gorgeous now. It was silly to think about, but damn if the Universe didn’t give you an opportunity.

It’d been a while since you’ve been with someone, anyone, in the romantic sense. You’d broken up with your last significant other almost a year ago. You were too busy to consider entering another relationship, yet your mind began to wonder…

You leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips. It was quick, and you pulled away before he could react. Your heart hammered as you looked for his response, his eyes wide and the shock plain on his face.

“Uh…”

Shit, maybe that wasn’t the right move.

“Y/N…”

“Sorry!” You spluttered. “I-I don’t know what I was thinking,” you placed your face in the palm of your hand, the embarrassment hitting you like a brick wall. “Please forget that happened…”

You waited for him to say something, to tell you off for the attempt, or even just getting up and leaving. The silence ticked on, blood rushing through your veins as your heart hammered wildly in your chest. You wondered what was taking him so long, when you felt the brush of fingers on your cheek.

Surprised, you looked up at him. His face was soft, not angry in any way. You blinked in surprise, and his hand moved from your cheek to your chin. He guided you closer until his lips met yours. The relief that washed over you was quickly replaced as you kissed him back. His lips were soft against yours, his hand still held you there as his other moved to rest gingerly on the small of your back.

You leaned closer, feeling the heat radiate from his body. Your arms wrapped around his neck, resting against his broad shoulders. It’d been so long since you felt the affection of another, so much that your craving overtook all other thought. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a little voice screamed at you for even thinking of such a thing. Yet the rest of you did not care. Carefully, you shifted your position to climb into his lap, straddling him between your thighs.

He stiffened again, and you parted the kiss to look at him. “Is this okay?” You asked quietly.

He stared back at you, his eyes dark. It seemed as if it took him a moment to consider, and then he nodded. His hands took their place on your hips.

Smiling, you kissed him again, pressing yourself harder against his mouth. He complied and kissed you back with equal force. Your lips parted as his hot breath mixed with yours. One hand left your hip and made its way to your hair, tangling his fingers within it. The gentle tug sent your thoughts into a spiral of madness, the carnal urge beginning to rise within you.

Do you dare?

Your own hand slid down his body, slowly, marveling the planes and peaks of his muscles. He didn’t seem to mind as he gave a soft groan from your touch. Your fingers hovered over a button, and you slowly undid it, testing the waters. With no negative reaction you worked down his shirt, one by one, until the fabric fell completely open as he shrugged it off the rest of the way. Although you couldn’t see it, you remembered how he looked. You ran your palms along his chest and abdomen, allowing your nails to lightly scratch his skin. He twitched from the sensation, and you could feel his breathing slightly quicken.

A hardness made itself known against your inner thigh. You knew what it meant, and wasted no time in beginning the exploration below his belt. As you started to undo his jeans, only then did he pull back from you.

Your eyes bore into his. Your face was burning from the intensity, your own breathing was erratic as your heart hammered. Did you go too fast?

“Darlin’…” he began, a sadness reflecting on his face. “Are you sure? I don’t think you want to be with someone as ugly as me.”

You bit back a sigh as that self hatred reared its ugly head again. You inwardly cursed whoever kicked his self-esteem in the balls so you could return the favor. Instead, you placed your hand tenderly on his cheek. “I���m sure, Arthur. Plus, you’re the opposite of ugly.”

The look on his face told you that he didn’t exactly believe you, yet he didn’t argue. Without an indication of wanting to stop, you decided to go further. Your other hand pressed against the warm hard line in his jeans briefly, eliciting a groan from him. You unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, allowing what his underneath to be partially freed. It stood stark beneath the thin cotton of his boxers. Working around the fabric, you were able to free it completely from its confinement.

His size was impressive, you had to admit that. Bigger than average yet not frighteningly long, with quite the girth on him. He was uncut as well, remembering that circumcision was uncommon during that time period. The veins that spidered along his length stood prominent through his skin. Wrapping your fingers lightly at the base, you pumped your hand slowly.

A moan escaped his lips as he closed his eyes. As you worked your touch along his length, you could feel your own heat making its presence. As much as you wanted to pin him down and ride him, you staunched your desire for now. Placing pressure on his chest, he fell back onto the bed as he gave you a curious look. Scooting up to be eye level with him, you gave him a sultry smile and slowly inched down. Your eyes scoured his body as you leaned down to place kisses along his torso. Every blemish and scar was brushed by your lips. You took your time, listening to his shallow breathing. You wanted to make sure he knew you loved his body.

Placing one last kiss below his navel, you shifted to kneel in between his legs.

“What’re you doin’?” He asked, the bewilderment strong in his voice as you leaned toward his manhood.

Of course, the poor man probably never had a blowjob in his life. You wondered if he was even familiar with the act. Either way, it was time to change that. “Making you feel good.” You whisper, leaning forward to place a kiss on the head before taking it within your mouth, languidly working your tongue. Keeping eye contact, watching his face flush as you earned another moan. You took your time, working further and further down his length, swirling your tongue against his hot skin. He melted from underneath you, his murmurs of pleasure was like a sweet melody in your ears. It’d only gotten better when you began to bob your head.

Immediately, his hand found the back of your head. The slight pressure prompted you to go faster, allowing him to reach to the back of your throat. His hips quivered as if fighting the urge to buck further into your mouth. He groaned your name along with explicit sinful utterances, all which could drive you wild.

You continued, keeping a steady pace. A moment or two passed when he made a small noise when his hand suddenly moved. You glanced up at him again when he exclaimed your name. “I’m about to-!”

You deep throated him once more, which seemed to do the trick as he was cut off mid-sentence with a guttural groan. He bucked up once as you felt the heat spill into your mouth. You held yourself still as he emptied himself completely. As his muscles relaxed from underneath you, you slid yourself up and off, popping your lips as you swallowed his load. You didn’t mind that he was quick to finish, but you felt proud for your ability to pleasure him in such a way.

Catching his breath did not stop him from gawking at you, completely dumbfounded. You smiled at him, unable to help the giggle that escapes just by seeing his reaction alone.

“Christ, woman,” he breathlessly grunted. “You’re definitely somethin’.”

“I take pride in my work.” You laughed.

He rubbed his face and sat up, a smile stretching on his lips. “Mind if I, uh, return the favor then?”

Now it was your turn to blush, yet the pulsation that originated from your core eagerly awaiting allowed you to nod. “Have you done that before?” You asked.

Shaking his head, he responded, “Never in my lifetime. So…I’ll probably need a little guidance.”

How cute was he? Before you could reply, he grabbed you by your hips and pulled you toward him. The action made you fall back on the bed, letting out a short laugh as you did so. He took the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down along with your panties, exposing your hairless mound to him. You watched as he lowered his mouth to you, his eyes never leaving yours. His tongue slid down your slit, you welcomed the hot wetness with a shudder.

His mouth was fully against you, his scruff tickling you in a pleasant way, and he took no time in finding your bud. The movement was slow at first, careful strokes from him as he learned your body. You murmured to him, guiding as he followed effortlessly. He triggered a certain spot that released a loud moan from you. And this man has never eaten a pussy before? Upon your reaction, he repeated it, expertly using the tip of his tongue to make you squirm. He certainly was a quick learner.

He continued to please you, still with some breathless guidance from you. It felt like a dream, floating in your own bliss. He was slow and steady for you, knowingly observing how your body reacted. You moaned his name quietly, your hand finding its way to his head, running your fingers through his soft hair.

His hands roved your sides, pushing up your tank top and admiring your curves and smooth skin. His calloused fingers, as rough as they were, felt good against you. “Finger me.” You moaned.

He did so, without a pause in his current action he slowly inserted one in, exploring your inner walls. The sensation felt even greater, fighting hard to keep yourself from grinding into his face. He inserted another, soon finding that special spot that nearly sent you over the edge. You couldn’t help but to buck your hips up, feeling him startle from your movement. He soon realized what it meant and fervently brushed his fingers against the spot again.

You uttered his name again, louder this time, feeling your peak coming quick. Keeping yourself still to prevent from bucking again, you gripped onto Arthur’s hair. “Fuck…” you gasped, just seconds from the edge now. One last combination of his tongue and fingers and you lost yourself immediately, coming undone in his grip and leaving you in such ecstasy. Panting slightly, you let go of his hair and peered down at him.

His eyes met yours, and even you could see the pride within him. Prideful that he just did that to you.

“You can eat some pussy, ya know that Arthur?” You murmured, your breathing still shallow.

He chuckled at that. “Is that what you call it? Either way, I’m glad I am.”

You giggled and sat up, grabbing his hands to pull him closer to you. “You’re a fast learner, Mr. Morgan. I can’t wait to see what comes next.”

His face reddened slightly, casting his eyes downward in slight embarrassment although the smile never left his face. “It’s been a while, Y/N. Hope I don’t disappoint ya.”

“Then let me take over.” You purred, kissing him again. You could taste yourself on his lips as you overtook him again, allowing him to lay back on the bed. Pulling down his jeans and boxers completely, you straddled him once more. He was hard once again, and you briefly wondered how long he’d last now. You hovered yourself over him, just barely letting your folds slide across the head of his dick. You teased him and he shuddered between your legs, his fingers trailing up and down your thighs. The look in his eyes pleaded and told you the patience he had was beginning to wear thin.

You lowered yourself onto him. Almost painstakingly slow, you held the urge to thrust down and start riding him wild. His hands took their place once again on your hips as he stretched your inner walls in the most pleasant way. You buried him completely within you, watching his face contort in bliss as he let out a low groan.

You made the first move, rolling your hips carefully against his. The movement was slow and steady, the feeling absolutely amazing. He squeezed your flesh, his nails slightly spurring you. Your moans were continuous, tilting your head back as you continued to ride him. He groaned your name in between sinful whispers, his grip on you tightening. You felt his torso quiver below you before he thrust upward, earning a loud gasp.

“Fuck, Y/N. You feel amazing.” He rasped, bucking up into you again.

You didn’t respond, too caught up in your own ecstasy. You began to ride him a little harder, letting him deeper within you. His hands moved from your hips, trailing underneath your tank top, pushing the fabric up completely to expose yourself to him. He took a hold of your breasts. You shuddered as he massaged them slowly, soon beginning to tweak your nipples between his fingers.

“A-Arthur…” You whined, the stimulation almost too much for you. You kept your rhythm, even when he occasionally thrusted into you-letting out a gratuitous moan from you-lost in the complete pleasure that radiated from your core.

He continued to murmur, uttering your name every once in a while. His calloused hands explored every part of your body, moving from your breasts to your sides and to your midline. His slid his hand down to your bud, his thumb beginning to massage it. You shuddered at his touch, biting your lip as it only added to the amazing sensation. You reached down and grabbed his wrist, and he peered up at you with confusion.

“I don’t want to, not yet.” You sighed to him. He nodded once, placing his hand back on your waist. You wanted to prolong this, make it sweet for the both of you.

His hands moved to the small of your back, and before you could react, he pulled you down into a sweet kiss. You responded immediately, moaning into his mouth as he wrapped his arms around you tightly and took control, thrusting easy and deep within you. It wasn’t long until he rolled you over into your back, taking place on top. He parted the kiss to place his hands on either side of you. You gazed into his baby blue eyes as he smiled. He whispered into your ear, asking if that was okay. You nodded silently, and elicited a whimper as he drove deep within you. He was getting more confident with himself.

He continued to thrust deep, keeping it slow and steady like you were. He wanted to prolong it as well. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your nails scratching his strong back. He winced slightly and threw himself forward even rougher than before. A gasp left your lips as your legs wrapped around his waist, his hips flush with yours, burying him to his root.

He groaned out, cursing in your ear before nipping it slightly. He buried his lips to your neck next, kissing and nibbling along the front and collarbone. Your skin erupted into goosebumps wherever he trailed his mouth, and you knew you were going to have marks later, not that you minded. You were leaving marks of your own as your nails endlessly scoured his back, your whines none too quiet.

He had his face buried in the crook of your neck when he uttered, “I ain’t gonna last much longer, Y/N.” his breath hitched as he spoke into your skin. He reached in between you two to play with your nub again, this time you welcomed it, wanting nothing more than the sweet release yourself. His breathing became shallower as his thrusts quickened, although still reaching far within you. His fingers danced little circles on your clit.

Digging your nails hard into his muscles, it didn’t take too long for you to hit the height of your peak, calling out his name was you came undone underneath him. He didn’t cease his thrusting although removing his hand to wrap his arms tightly around you-using the leverage to quicken his pace. You had to refrain from yelping out loud, biting onto your lip as he relentlessly pounded into you. He grunted utterly filthy words to you, causing you to blush immensely. You couldn’t respond, out of breath yourself with no chance to recover from your own orgasm.

It wasn’t much too longer when he thrust into you one last time, holding you tight against his body, releasing a long groan as he finally emptied himself into you. It was quiet for a moment, nothing but the sounds of your combined breathing filled the air. His tense muscles relaxed as he gently released his hold on you. Your gazes met, his face flushed and his eyes glazed over. His lips parted as he took short breaths, yet it didn’t stop him from closing the space between you to give you a loving kiss. You held him to you, your arms still around his neck. It was only a short moment before he pulled back slowly.

As he pulled out of you, a slight shudder took your body as his cum dripped from you. He blinked in realization, and a look of guilt shot across his face.

“Oh, Jesus- I’m sorry, Y/N. I should have pulled out.” He sighed, sitting up straight and ducking his head low in shame.

Oh, what a sweet, sad man. Of course he wouldn’t know the miracles of modern world contraceptives yet. “Arthur,” you started. “It’s okay, I’m protected.”

He gave you a look of confusion.

“A lot of things have changed in the sexual world,” you explained. “And I’ll explain better when I’m not tired.” You emphasized your latter statement with a yawn. The sun was higher in the sky now, illuminating your room in the bright morning glow. Yet you definitely could use a nap, and patted the bed space next to you.

The confusion was replaced by curiosity, although he didn’t ask any further questions. A smile slowly appeared on his face as he took the spot next to you. At first he didn’t do anything, until his arms slowly slinked around you.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked quietly.

“Arthur, we just fucked,” you reminded him as you giggled softly. “I think you don’t have to ask to cuddle me.”

He chuckled, not hesitating to pull you closer, feeling his solid chest against your back. He felt comfortable and warm, and the fatigue washing over you. “Guess there’s much more I gotta get used to.” He drawled, his own voice heavy. He placed a small kiss on the back of your neck, and his touch was the last thing you felt as you drifted off to sleep.

[el-gilliath]

Day 7: Free Day

One thing I have always wanted to do is make a story based on a photoedit, but I’ve never had the chance. So when the delightful @bidemelza / @lsobelevans posted THIS, I jumped at the chance and said MAY I? Thankfully, she said yes (and I really hope you like it). So here, have some vigilante!Michael AU. Which I will be expanding on at a later date, yes.

“I didn’t think you would show.”

Alex spins around, taking in the masked man standing behind him. The beautiful hazel eyes he dreams of are watching him, taking him in. The curls, normally hidden underneath a black cowboy hat are flying freely, still looking as soft and beautiful as always. He’s wearing the same outfit he’s always in, black jeans and a black denim jacket overtop a white t-shirt, cowboy boots and large belt buckle. A vigilante known as The Cowboy is still hilarious to Alex, but damn if the mystery man doesn’t make it look good.

“You know your mask isn’t really hiding much of your face when you’re not wearing the hat, right?” And it’s not, the strip of leather over his eyes hides almost nothing without the cowboy hat there to throw more shadow on his face.

Cowboy just laughs, shrugging as he does. “It’s okay, I don’t mind if you see my face.”

“Have you forgotten that I’m the son of Chief Jesse Manes?”

“I still know who you are. You planning on turning me in, Alex?” Cowboy asks, his voice taking on a sultrier tone as he slowly moves closer to Alex. Alex feels almost hypnotized, watching Cowboy as he comes closer and closer. Up close, those hazel eyes are even more beautiful, like shining jewels created to torture Alex with the knowledge that he shouldn’t be looking at them this closely.

Cowboy is, after all, a sworn enemy of his family, someone his father and brothers have pledged to catch even if the vigilante has never done anything wrong, only stopped robberies and murders, caught a kidnapper or two. His dad doesn’t like anyone that shows up the police. Even less a vigilante that stopped his son from being murdered like his dad wanted him to be. Being Chief Jesse Manes’ son is never easy, being the son he knows his father hates is even worse. There are fragments of Alex that wonders if his father could love him if he wasn’t gay, but he doubts it. The curse of looking like his mother threw that possibility out the second she ran away with another woman.

“No, I don’t want to turn you in. But I don’t want anyone to see your face either,” Alex whispers in the small space between them, Cowboy now standing as close as he can be.

“Don’t worry, they won’t,” Cowboy whispers back, lifting his hands to cradle Alex’s face. “Your face though. How beautiful you are, darlin’.”

The slight twang in his voice takes Alex by surprise. He’s talked to Cowboy a dozen times by now, the Vigilante hiding his accent every time, only the smallest of snippets coming out. But there it is, in all its drawl-y nature. It makes him smile.

“What’re you smiling for?”

“Your accent. I’ve never really heard it before.”

Cowboy just looks at him, a small smile on his face. “Well that’s a damned shame. I’ll try to bust it out whenever I see you alone like this.”

“You planning on being alone with me a lot?”

“Well you know, as many times as I can.”

Alex snorts, his mind already supplying him with a dozen different comebacks. But he doesn’t get to say any of them, as Cowboy draws him into a kiss. 

It startles him, even though it shouldn’t. How many times has he wished for this, wished to have the Cowboy’s hands on him, their lips touching, their bodies pressed tight together. How many times have they been just this close, looking at each other, both of them wanting to kiss each other but not being able to for some reason or another. To have Cowboy’s lips on his is a sensation he’s been craving since their first chat a month ago, to have it finally happen is a wish come true.

And what a kisser he is, soft, full lips that make kissing a joy, soft brushes of tongue that makes his extremities tingle, quick nips of teeth on his lower lip, that makes him want to stay in his embrace forever. He presses closer, tangling his hands in Cowboy’s curls that are just as soft as they look. Cowboy’s hands move from holding his face, encircling him at his lower back, one hand clutching at the bottom of his shirt as if to ask for permission.

Alex moans into the kiss, one hand curling as he lightly tugs at the curls in his hand. Cowboy grins into the kiss as he slides his hand up Alex’s shirt, slowly touching his skin his palm spreading on Alex’s back. His other hand joins the first up Alex’s shirt, stroking his side softly.

It makes Alex giggle softly before he can stop himself. Cowboy breaks the kiss to look at him in surprise, a huge grin appearing on his face as Alex blushes.

“Are you ticklish?” He asks, his grin growing as Alex blushes even more.

“Shut ut, Cowboy.”

Cowboy laughs, his hazel eyes shining in a way that seems to be out of this earth. Eyes that beautiful shouldn’t be legal.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell,” Cowboy whispers, pressing another soft kiss to Alex’s lips, before he moves back. Alex makes a soft sound of protest, one that makes Cowboy smile again. “We’re not here to make out, Alex.”

“I know. I just-”

“Really like kissing me? Don’t worry darlin’, we can do more of that later.” Cowboy winks, making Alex glower at him. He might be beautiful, but god what a cheesy idiot he can also be. “I wouldn’t stop kissing you if I could, but I really need the intel you have.”

“Okay,” Alex says. “Why do you need intel on Project Shepherd anyway?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Not even a little?”

Cowboy shakes his head, sending him a wry smile in apology. “The less you know the better. For now at least.”

Alex searches his eyes, finding nothing but regret and pain in them. Whatever Cowboy needs info on Project Shepherd for, it’s probably something he shouldn’t be involved with. But he did steal the intel from his father, so even if Cowboy is trying to protect him, Alex will be looking into it on his own time. If nothing else, maybe the intel he finds can help protect Cowboy later down the line. Maybe it will protect him enough that one day he will finally get a name.

“I sorted the intel into three piles, one is about the project itself, one is about the people involved, and one is about its backers. At least what I could find, Shepherd is incredibly protected. I can get you more, but it’ll take time,” he says, fishing a USB drive out of his pocket and handing it over to Cowboy, who takes it gingerly and puts it in an inner pocket of his denim jacket.

“Thank you, Alex.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just, if you ever get the chance. Tell me your name?”

Cowboy grins, that smug, shit-eating grin that Alex loves hates. “One day, I will. I’ll take off my mask, show you my entire face, kiss you breathless and tell you my name. My entire, birth given name. Until then, hearing you call me Cowboy ain’t half bad.”

A laugh leaves Alex involuntarily, but he can’t help it. Cheesy, hot, idiot indeed.

He opens his mouth to reply, but sirens interrupt him. They’re not far, though as the sound gets closer it’s apparent that something must be happening. And he knows what that means.

“Guess that’s your clue.”

Cowboy smiles as he picks up the cowboy hat from the crate it was left on and puts on his head. 

“Guess it is. I’ll see you around, Alex,” he says with a wink before he runs off.

Alex smiles to himself, a small smile he knows betray all the crush like feelings he has for the vigilante. “Not if I see you first.”

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

It dawns on him as he walks away, even knowing with absolute certainty that he could see Cowboy’s face since the leather strip he calls a mask hides absolutely nothing, that the only thing he remembers about his face, are his eyes.