#the Texas sun is not kind to his skin and his ass did not use sun screen so he’s a little wrinkly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

charnelhouse · 3 years ago

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Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x F!Reader Wordcount: 5K Warnings: Graphic Gore. Mentions of torture. Serious trauma. Very upsetting thoughts. Bad therapy. DARK subject matter. Smut. Angst. Ransom is probs OOC. Cheating. Drinking. Drug Use. The use of cunt in a mean way. This is bleak (sort of happy ending though :)) Summary: Ransom agrees to a road trip. A/N: I wrote a Ransom Drysdale/Texas Chainsaw Massacre mash-up. Don't ask me why. I started this a couple weeks ago after reading Kin and just had to get it done. Sometimes idk where my mind goes lmao. this is pretty messy bc I haven’t beta’d it. Tis a writing exercise

Ransom didn’t do road trips. He definitely didn’t do them when the whole ride was bathed in swampy heat. The air was so thick it stuck to the asphalt. They're in the middle of nowhere. Texas, maybe? He’d been drunk for most of it. He stashed expensive scotch in the trunk. Three bottles.

It’s a double date. You’re his childhood friend - a girl he’s known since he was ten years old. Harlan's goddaughter.

It’s the kind of friendship that was birthed out of necessity - force. Their parents did yearly vacations together and they just had to make something of it. Twenty years later and it’s him and it’s you and this girl, Lauren, he fucked like three times and then your somewhat-steady dimwit of a boyfriend, Paul.

Paul…the name gives him a rash.

Ransom appraises him from the backseat. The loser is tapping his fingers across the steering wheel as he hums to the music. He's like a ken doll with golden hair and tan skin and a baby-face. Ew. Lauren is riding shotgun because Ransom can’t deal with her right now. He’s just not in the mood to play his part for her today. He doesn't need her rubbing up against him as he tries to drown out whatever the hell is going spoiled in the interior of this car.

Why the fuck did he come here?

Ransom.

What?

You owe me.

For?

The millions of times that I’ve saved your ass from shit dates.

What do you want?

A road trip. New Orleans and all the way to Santa Fe. It’ll be fun.

You and me? How romantic.

No…no…bring someone.

He didn’t really bust your ass about it. He assumed that you thought that a one-on-one car ride with your kind-of-sort-of-boyfriend was just too much too soon. It’s not as if he had important things to do. He’d spent the entirety of the summer doing nothing, but jacking off to pornhub and developing a drinking problem.

As the red stain of the Texas sun bludgeons through his sunglasses, he takes another heavy swallow. The burn is more subtle now that he's reached a calming level of not-sober. It warms his esophagus, expanding throughout the shell of his chest. He’s buzzed and jittery and he can smell your flower market perfume.

At least - he was developing a drinking problem in motion rather than stretched out on his bed back in Boston.

Lauren reaches for him behind the seat - her long pink nails outstretched and waiting. He rolls his eyes and grasps her hand. He squeezes before letting go just as quickly.

You cast him an amused glance before staring past him and out toward the churning green-gold mass of the grass and fields and pale-blue sky.

Ransom can’t help but notice that you're sporting blunt nails and dark blue polish. Ugh. Lauren had been fine. She blew him in the backseat while you and 2005’s Abercrombie & Fitch rep were cuddling at a diner when they stopped in Round Rock. Lauren didn’t seem all that jealous of the fact that his closest friend was a chick and a hot one at that.

Wasn’t his fault that you grew into your face.

Also - wasn’t his fault that he’d fucked you a couple times.

It was easy for them. They were good with each other. They’d never gone beyond that because, quite frankly, he was a fucking bastard and you didn’t have the patience.

It's better this way Ransom. You'd drive me insane. We're too volatile.

You mean I'm too volatile.

Yes.

You don't complain about that when I have you on my cock.

Jesus. You're impossible.

He just liked you. He had memorized you. He knew your scent and your skin and the exact way you liked to come. Plus - you swallowed.

***

He may or may not have screwed you in the hotel back in New Orleans. They’d been out all day. Ransom had a sunburn and was surviving off a single beignet and a belly full of alcohol. Paul and Lauren had gone out to get more beers to bring back. Ransom had slipped Paul a bundle of cash to see if he could find any blow. He'd need it if he was going to get through the night.

You’d been lying next to him on the hotel’s garish crimson comforter. Both of them drunk off too many hurricanes as they rubbed against each other in that subtle way where they meant it to be platonic, but it turned into something too warm and too intimate. Your gaze met his and it happened as it always did.

His pants around his ankles and your shorts yanked off one leg so he could open you up. He spread your thighs wide and rocked into you in long, lazy strokes.

“You should break up with that guy,” he husked as he licked your jaw. The bed creaked and every punch of his cock made breathy little moans pop out of your mouth.

You didn’t answer him, but you did flex your cunt around his length so that he choked.

“Brat,” he growled as he hitched your knees over his shoulders and bent you in half. The room spun with the salt of their sweat and the wet slap of skin and his rumbling grunts. He pounded into your slick heat, feeling like he could die like this.

“C’mon, baby,” he taunted - his voice rich and smug. “You can’t tell me that someone gives it better to you than I do.”

You shook your head - eyes widening as he ground his pelvic bone into your clit. He really could make you cock dumb when he wanted. You’d be all noises - desperate uh uh uh ohmygod ohfuck ohshit -

“Ransom,” you gasped and he fucked you harder.

“That’s it,” he urged as he felt your pussy begin to spasm and twitch - milk him. He brushed his knuckles over your cheek. You were so warm - almost feverish. “That feels good, yeah? Fuck - you take my cock like you were made for it.”

It was the same song and dance. They’d date other people and then fuck once in a blue moon, which only served to remind them how sexually compatible they were. He claimed you. You claimed him. But all the rest - the emotional fallout - was sprinkled in the shadows outside the bed. Their friendship was too much to risk.

You dragged your fingers through his hair - the blunt nails scraping his scalp - before you lifted your hips so that he could plunge deeper. “Come for me, Ransom. Please…please…”

Afterward - they slowly fixed themselves. The air curiously sober. He glanced at your cunt - flushed and swollen and leaking the load he’d just filled you with. He traced his finger through your folds - making you shiver. He pushed his come back inside - his flaccid dick throbbing when you clamped around his knuckles.

“Do you use a condom with Paul?” He said his name like it was trash - like he was some nasty bothersome insect between them.

You blinked at him and the corner of your lips quirked. “What do you think?” There was no guilt in your eyes - no shock at what they'd done. This was just how it was with them. He wondered that if he ever got married - would he still keep fucking you? Probably. Your pussy was just too good. “I think they’re coming back,” you remarked with your legs still spread - your body boneless and your expression contemplative like it wouldn’t even matter if they did come back in and see them like this. He gripped the denim shorts and lacy pink underwear around your ankle and started tugging them up your leg - over the bump of your knee.

He kissed you - wet and messy and with too much tongue - until he heard the key card ping at the hotel door.

***

Ransom drops his forehead against the glass. It’s too hot here. Too sour with humidity. He shoots you a sidelong glance - grimacing as a wave of dizziness overtakes him. You're lounging against the other window, studying your phone. Weren’t you supposed to be enjoying the grand ole USA?

He swallows his spit. Too much alcohol had left him with cotton-mouth.

He wants to fuck you. Again. He wants to ditch Lauren and Paul and go back to a hotel and order expensive wine and lick your cunt.

He tips his bottle back and he feels the heat of you at his bare arm. You'd scooted closer when he wasn't looking. He’s dressed so casually. Jeans and a v-neck and he hasn’t shaved in a while because you said you liked it.

He takes another sip. Scotch really doesn’t fucking mesh with this thick Texas heat.

“You’re enjoying that,” you observe as you tap the bottle with your index finger.

You don’t chastise him. You never give him shit, which is why they work. It’s always just: Ransom. Ransom. Ransom. You’re a mess.

Sometimes you call him Hugh to really piss him off.

He smacks his lips and offers you a crooked smile. “It’s doing wonders for my boredom.”

“I heard this back way has some interesting spots,” Paul shouts over his shoulder - against the loud rolling beat of Semisonic. Lauren’s got her feet on the dash and the dude doesn’t say a word. It’s his car. If it had been Ransom’s he would have swatted her. But Ransom wouldn’t drive an SUV and Ransom wouldn’t fucking be here if it wasn’t for the girl beside him.

I can’t say no to you.

You’ve said no to me a thousand times.

Well - I don’t remember those.

You squeeze his thigh - cocking your head with a mischievous sort of gleam in your eyes. “Whaddya say, Drysdale? Want to go the back way?”

He shoves his hand under your ass and prods you through your jeans. You yelp. “I’d rather be up your back way.”

You punch him hard in the shoulder and he hisses. “Fuck you gotta lay off those boxing classes. That hurt.”

You laugh - completely unfazed by his dirty mouth. He catches Paul’s narrowed glare in the rearview mirror and smirks. Dork.

“I’m down,” Lauren yells over Third Eye Blind. Ransom winces. He wonders if he could get Paul to fuck Lauren. He already doesn’t like him for you. He’s not good enough. Too clean cut. He’s wearing a fucking polo.

Paul twists the wheel to the left and starts driving down a narrow dusty road. Ransom frowns.

Texas is too flat. It’s all long grass. It’s all sky. He misses the city and his $10k mattress and the Italian spot he could order $30 spaghetti from.

“We’re gonna get eaten by cannibals,” he grumbles but doesn’t protest. He’s really getting drunk and a part of him thinks he’s about to blow this whole thing up. He’s going to fondle you or kiss you or finger you regardless of Lauren or Paul. You lean toward him - your warm breath fanning across his face. You’d been chewing bubble gum and he savors the sweet artificial bite to it. “I’ll protect you.”

He’s definitely gonna fuck you again.

“You’re good at that.”

“I’ve got decades of practice.”

He pushes the bottle into your hands. “Get drunk with me.”

You take a sip - a second - a third. He could lurch forward and tug your bottom lip between his teeth. He’s hoping the look he’s sending you reads: fuck me fuck me fuck me.

There’s no one else in this car, but them and Stephen Jenkins.

You wipe your chin and hand him the bottle back. His mouth sticks to the print of your lip gloss around the neck. He downs another shot. The car bounces over the unpaved road.

“I feel like this is a bad idea,” he mutters.

You shrug. “You and I do nothing, but bad ideas.”

“Touché, bestie.”

***

Eight months later - he still can’t sleep through the night. He hates open doors. He always catches figures strolling through the hallway outside his bedroom. Shadows. The smell of rotting meat.The buzz of flies.

Sometimes he looks in the mirror and flinches because he sees another Ransom. His eyes bloody - the vessels blown and turning the sclera to red. He grips the sink until his knuckles turn white. He can’t breathe. His chest is so tight that it shudders and twitches and his lungs won't inflate the way that they should.

He crawls into your bed when it gets too bad, which is pretty much every night. You’d moved in with him after your parents had finally allowed you to. Your mom stays over more often than not. Sometimes his mom stays over, which is a shock in itself. Joni brings them healing crystals, which makes you laugh (not a nice laugh either). Meg won’t shut up about how often they’re on the news until he finally blocks her number. It’s not like it matters. Nothing really matters to him anymore, but you and the hard thrum of your heart when it beats beneath his ear.

You had been soaked in blood and he had tasted it.

Now they are in his sumptuous bedroom with its dark green walls and linen sheets. Egyptian cotton. The taste of riches and everything - everything - is ash.

“How are we here?” he murmurs into your neck - his fingers twisting around yours - careful of the dull nub of flesh where one used to be. You had screamed when it had happened and it had gutted him.

I can’t get to you. I can’t get to you. I’m sorry.

“Because we got out,” you shrug like it’s not a big deal - like they hadn’t been on the very cusp of death. Not even death. It had been an event. It had been oily and disgusting. The scent of rot and old fat and so much blood. He’d never realized that blood could literally have a smell and a taste as it filled a room. Metallic. Bitter. Like licking rusty pipes.

“Did we?” he asks. “Doesn’t feel that way sometimes.”

You don’t reply. You curl your fingers into his shirt. The Henley is soft on his skin. He can’t stand anything not soft. Starched fabric and paper gowns had caught on his stitches. They'd left him cold and shivering and vulnerable. Sometimes you’ll take his shirt off to drag your touch across the newly closed wounds - still pink and angry. His torso was going to be nothing, but scars. His muscles - so carefully built by his trainer and his protein shakes - had lost their thickness. They had to shave his chest when they attended to him at that horrific hospital in Texas. It’s all barely growing back.

His throat works. He wraps his arms around your waist - pressing the side of his face to your breast where he can feel your lungs expand.

“Do you think they know where we are?”

You make a soft, contemplative sound.

“Do you dream of them? Do you remember?”

“Yes,” you reply in a tight voice - your entire body locking up in Ransom’s hold. He’s a little loopy from his meds. He’d gotten bottles of anti-anxiety solutions: Xanax. Klonopin. Zoloft. Ambien.

He has a lot of doctors.

All the orange bottles stand on his bedside table like toy soldiers. He can’t drink Scotch anymore.

***

He’s not sure how you manage. You’d gotten the worst of it.

At least he’s pretty sure you did. You’d looked like something not living when you’d crawled toward him. They’d been separated into different rooms. Wooden backwoods huts. The monsters who’d done it were all yellowed teeth and greasy hair and yet there’d been something like mischief in their eyes when they took him apart - like this was all a game - it was all so fun -

“Whaddya say, Drysdale? Want to go the back way?”

You had come out stronger. He was tortured - unable to make sense. Sick. You were bitter and pissed off and so fucking quiet even though you had saved him. You had ripped yourself out of those chains and clawed your way to him. Your body broken. Your mouth bleeding. Your beautiful face distorted into something...unreal.

Your hands are warm on his cheeks and he flinches. He hurts everywhere. Agony in his stomach. He’d been stabbed more than once. He thinks. He can’t feel his feet. He hangs like a sack of meat. That’s what they are. They’re cattle. Pigs. He’s half-carved up. He’s missing something. He knows he is. His teeth even hurt. He doesn’t want to look down.

Ransom. Ransom. We have to get out of here.

Look at me, Drysdale.

His eyes are swollen shut, but he manages to peel one lid open. He tries to. For you. Your expression is horrific - disfigured. Still lovely, though. He can't fucking imagine what monsters do to beautiful things. He wishes he’d taken you to that hotel. Something hot and loud screams in your pupils. Your swollen lips curl into a terrifying sort of smile. There's blood in your perfect white teeth.

I killed one of them. We don’t have much time. I’m gonna get you down.

He’s missing two fingers and three toes and you’re missing fragments in vital places. Chunks. A screw loose. You’ll never be the same again and neither will he and that somehow works. They hadn’t fit together before. He was too sharp and narcissistic and you were too rounded and sweet.

Apparently, he’d been a coward and you’d been built for disaster. You’d thrived in it - blossomed and unfurled into something those pieces of shit could be scared of.

Ransom thinks they mold now - slip into each other’s openings. He’s honestly glad that he fucked you in that New Orleans hotel before they’d gone down that wrong road in bum fuck nowhere. He’s glad he got to have you as you were before. It’s always before now. Before that. Before the fall. Before Ransom discovered what true fear really felt like.

He’s glad he got to have you because now he can compare. The girl - the woman - he has now is galaxies removed from who she’d been. You are brighter regardless of what you are missing. You’re his. He tastes your grief when he drinks from you because it’s his, as well. They share this. There is no one else who’d understand because the others died almost immediately.

It should have been me. I should have saved you.

You didn’t have the opening that I did. I’m sure you would have if you got the chance.

He doesn’t have the same faith in himself that you do. He’d been pretty ready to die after your screams started to go quiet and he had lost track of the flesh he was losing.

***

A year passes and his grandfather strips him for stories. He’s not blunt or mean about it, but he does ask out of his own morbid curiosity.

Harlan waits for what he must think is the appropriate amount of time. He tries to shove his questions into his concerned observations at the dinner table

“My god - you’re lucky to be alive, Ransom! You poor boy. What did they use?”

What did they use?

What did they NOT use?

The question sends him right back to those manacles and those wooden walls and all that blood. He glares at the chicken on his plate. Vomit curdles in his throat. Something pinches behind his nose - his eyes.

Ransom starts crying and his grandfather shuts up - horrified. Marta even stares at him with something akin to pity - sorrow - as if he’s just a flattened animal on the road. His mother does this strange thing where she opens and closes her mouth like a dying carp.

You act quickly - scooting out of your chair, rushing toward him, and sweeping him up with the intensity of a rogue wave. You cradle his face to your warm soft tits and he hates that he’s thinking of your tits while you’re trying to rescue him from a panic attack - but then he thinks:

Shit - that’s somewhat close to who I was before.

His hand comes to rest on your ass and he inhales your cashmere sweater - the plush smell of detergent. He’d like to be inside you. He’d like to push himself into you and watch your face change as you stretch around him.

He’s suddenly overwhelmed with the thought of sex.

Yes - that’s a relief. Bits of Ransom still remain.

***

In his nightmares, he still hears the chains clink and tick. They’d hung from the roof of that shack. Rusted hooks. His wrists had been chafed to raw, red tissue.

The tires of Paul’s SUV had been torn to shreds. Ransom remembers stumbling out of the car and seeing the sun glint off a spike strip in the distance.

“Something’s wrong,” he said more to himself than anyone else. He’d sobered up almost immediately.

They’d trekked a mile until they’d come upon the lone house. He’d gotten a sick feeling, but he’d blamed it on the alcohol. The Scotch churned in his gut. Sweat sheeted down his shoulders and into the back of his jeans.

The house was dilapidated. Peeling white paint. A splintering porch. A threadbare rope swing in the trees.

They’d knocked on the door and Lauren was the first to die. Ransom still remembers the shock of seeing a skull get crushed in by a mallet. It had felt far away as if he didn’t know that the body in front of him was Lauren - that the wet spray that touched his face was blood and tissue and brain. Not sweat.

The sound stuck with him though. He can’t forget it. He can't eat melons anymore.

At that moment, he hadn’t really thought. He’d grabbed your wrist and yanked you down the stairs of that shitty porch and ran.

***

They sleepover at his grandfather’s because he doesn’t feel like driving home. He’s stunned that he had cried in front of them. He didn’t do that. He hasn’t cried in front of anyone since he was eight.

“Let’s go to bed,” you murmur as you touch his shoulder. He stares at the scarred tissue where your index finger was and grimaces.

They sleep together and no one says a word because that’s just how it is now. It’s you. It’s me.

***

Their parents are pleased that they’re together now. It's what they've assumed since they don't leave each other's side. Maybe - it really is true. That day had sewn them into one single body. They'd been close before. You were closer than anyone had ever been to Ransom. But, now, they were stuck. They were mated.

"We always knew you two would end up like this," his mother smiled before frowning - perhaps realizing what she'd said and what it implied seeing as they'd had to crawl through Hell to get there. "I just - I just meant that you're a couple. You're finally a couple. I always thought she was good for you-“

"Shut up, mom." Ransom hissed. "Just shut up."

Funny that no one in the family realized they’d been fucking since they were teenagers. The first time had been in the sand on Nantucket and you hadn’t even been beautiful then. You’d just been awkward and soft and it felt like a good idea. They’d shared ice cream afterward.

He stares up at the ceiling as you lie beside him. Your breathing is even and comforting. Harlan’s house makes too many noises, but Ransom likes the fact that it’s filled with people. Staff. His mother who had become overly maternal since Ransom nearly died. It was strange because it didn't fit her. She wasn’t the shape of a mother.

Without looking at you - he places his hand on your stomach. You jerk a bit before you relax. You put your palm on the top of his hand.

“I love you,” he declares like he declared it a year ago.

***

He hadn’t been the hero. You’d saved him. You’d gotten loose and shoved a shard of wood through one of their eyes and then had dragged him to the road. You had thick splinters stuck in the tender meat of your fingers.

Come on. Come on. Come on, Ransom. You have to work with me here. I can’t lift you.

Yes - yeah good job just like that. Fuck - don’t stop. The others might come back.

A selfish part of him - the old envious part - wondered if you would have saved Paul had he been alive. He doubts it. He hadn’t even thought of anyone else when he had tried to run from the house with your wrist in his hand. Paul didn’t exist. Lauren was definitely dead (there'd been brain on his shirt to prove it) and even if she had been alive, it still would have been you he tried to protect.

He could barely see. His eyes were swollen and blood sluiced down his brow from a cut reopening. He had broken ribs. A punctured lung. He was sure of it. He gritted his teeth against the pain and kept his focus on the dead grass and dirt beneath their feet. You'd had pink toenail polish. He was missing toes.

From behind them, orange light filtered over the green and danced across the white wispy cotton. He tried to look over his shoulder.

"Don't," you hissed as you wrapped your arm tighter around his waist - his bones shifting together. He bit back a howl. "Don't look. Just move."

He had smelled smoke. Acrid and harsh on top of the hundred-plus heat.

"Did you burn the house down?" he managed to ask - a caustic laugh riding his tongue. It was the first thing he had said since you'd freed him from the chains. He was grateful his tongue worked. His throat was violently dry.

"Hopefully," You growl. He never asked how you were able to do it.

He thinks they may have run a mile though "run" was probably not the apt term. Crawled. Stumbled. Jerked. Neither of them had shoes and they had to walk beside the road because the asphalt was too hot. A pick-up slowed. The driver had nearly screamed at the sight of them until Ransom had gripped him roughly around his overalls - staining the denim with dark black blood.

"Hospital.” He grunted. "Hospital. Now."

"Get in," the driver wheezed - fingers trembling around the steering wheel. Thank. Fuck.

Ransom nodded and turned toward you. You blinked owlishly at him as if you couldn't quite remember where you were. It took a moment before your face completely crumpled.

"Shit," he cursed in a low voice before grasping your waist. "C'mon, baby. I've got you."

You went limp - deflating with the final sparks of your adrenaline. He used his last bit of strength to lift you up and drop you into the truck's bed.

“They’re still coming,” you mumbled as you grabbed at Ransom - tugging him in after you. “They could still be coming.”

He stared at the horizon - where they had escaped from. The great stain of smoke rushed toward the sun from the burning house. He thought he saw figures in the distance. He might have. He also could barely see three feet in front of him due to his crushed eye socket.

"No one is coming," he assured you. "No one."

You were shivering. Your skin like ice. Your lower lip quivered in a way that made him inhale sharply.

The bed of the truck was covered in rope and a plastic tarp. It reeked of a farm: manure and cattle. He missed the city.

He collapsed, resting his head in your wet lap. Blood in his hair. The house - those rooms - had painted them in their smell: meat, urine and sweat. There were those splinters in your palm as you stroked his face - your breathing hurried and panicked. He said your name. Repeated it.

It was no longer about him. It was no longer him at all. It was you. It was only you and the sun felt raw and white against his closed lids. At the time, he really thought he was dying. He could have been. The hospital had said both of them were in critical condition when they’d finally arrived. He had been going cold - the heat in his chest beginning to dissipate. His mouth was dry as wool as he struggled for each gasp of oxygen. His blood was leaving him too quickly.

“I love you,” he said as he tangled his gore-ridden fingers around yours.

“You’re not dying,” you replied bluntly. There’d been no room for argument.

***

It had been that way ever since. It was a push and pull. It was an equilibrium of sorts. You went dark and he found you - yanking you to the surface. He broke down and you shoved him back together.

He was still selfish in so many ways. The only difference was that his selfishness was now projected onto you. His entire fucking existence revolved around your well-being. It was probably unhealthy. His therapist, Dr. Stephens, had used words like "co-dependent" and "love addiction".

Dr. Stephens had also pointed out all the things that triggered him like when he threw up at the sight of the Christmas Roast or when he sat in his closet for an hour because he heard the rumble of a chainsaw. The gardeners were just cutting down a tree in the front yard.

"Don't you think she's a reminder for you? You both dealt with so much that day. You're relying on her to the point where you can't function without her presence."

Ransom's mouth parted - his fingers digging into the armrests of the velvet chair. His lungs shriveled. His chest tightened. Blood pounded at his temples. His fury knocked him flat. It had been shades of the old him - bursting forth and off his tongue and it spilled out of his veins and guts and brain. The very idea of removing you from his life made him sick.

"She saved me, you dumb cunt."

He stood up and walked out the door and found another therapist.

***

He sits back on his heels - studying your face - your body - painted across his bed like Ophelia in that Millais painting.

He uses one hand to clasp your waist as he braces his other hand beside your head. You’ve lost so much weight from anxiety. You look like you’ve been carved out. The memories split your mask in two and this is the face you give him. The real one. The burnt-out one.

I'm tired, Ransom. I'm really fucking tired.

The terror for them had been just as real as the agony those maniacs had inflicted.

I know. I know.

He’s gentle about it. He slowly tugs your pajama shorts off. He tastes the skin of your stomach - drags his mouth over your hip and inner thigh before he slips his tongue between your legs. You even taste different - like there’s the tiniest flicker of spice at the base of you. There are scars and he kisses them and he thinks that he will now always see you as that girl who had yanked him out of that shack - coated in a thick film of blood - eyes wild and feral and furious as you led him to safety.

He’s very careful when he sinks into you. He covers your mouth with his so he can lap at the moan that escapes from your throat. It’s a slow pace. He draws his cock back before he pushes in again. The mattress creaks. You bury your nose into his neck and sigh with each stroke he delivers.

“Is this okay?” he asks as he peppers kisses across the edge of your jaw.

He doesn’t remember how to fuck hard - how to be rough and unyielding. He doesn't remember how to be a piece of shit asshole or how to wear his Rolex again (they had taken it and his mother had bought him a new one). What he does remember is how to make you burst around him - he remembers your tells and your kinks and your wants before you need to voice them.

“Are you okay?” he repeats to be sure.

“Yes,” You spread your thighs wider. You dig your nails into his ass to force him deeper.

He quickens his movements. He sneaks his arm between them and uses his thumb to circle your clit. Your breathing becomes more hurried - your lashes fluttering - sweat collecting at your hairline. Your eyes glassy with all the bushes tears you save for him. “Ransom,” you plead in a way that is nearly a sob. “Please.”

He claims your lips just as you come. Your pussy contracting around him - your knees tightening at his hips. He is soon to follow - wrung dry by your body as you swallow him whole. He rolls onto his back, bringing you along so that you’re lying flat on top of him. Chest to chest.

“I don’t feel like sleeping.” You trace the gnarled flesh of his shoulder where a dirty blade had pierced him and given him tetanus. He grabs a handful of your ass. You’re so warm - feverish with the afterglow of sex. Your heart pounds against his. He touches you all over sometimes. Just to make sure.

“Get drunk with me?” he proposes and it reminds him of the last time he had said that. His lungs wrinkle and distort. His stomach turns over. You lift yourself up to gaze down at him - fully aware of where his mind has gone. You clasp his chin to wrench his face to yours.

“Let’s do it,” You steal his breath with a harsh, desperate kiss that burns right through him. It kind of hurts and he kind of likes it. No surprise that their relationship to pain has been thoroughly fucked.

“No Scotch,” He brushes his knuckles over your cheek - right where another scar stretches under your eye.

“No Scotch,” you agree.

He smirks and it tastes like himself.

#ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale imagine #knives out fanfiction #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drydale x you #horror au #knives out #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction

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shiftingsands14 · 3 years ago

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I’VE GOT YOU

Javier Peña x Femreader

18+ NSFW; Smut; Fingering, Cunnilingus, P in V; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

A one shot in which you and your husband Javier Peña share an intimate moment, post season 3 narcos world.

This was an idea brought about with @lowlights and @coastielaceispunk and I’m so sorry I tortured y’all for so long and took forever to finally write purple shirt javi lmao thank you for your patience with me 🤣♥️

The sweltering Texas sun beat down mercilessly on Javi’s skin. The sky was clear. No clouds to offer any kind of reprieve from the hot rays as he worked in the yard.

He let out an angry sigh, watching as the container of nails he was using fell over and spilled out into the grass— the unfortunate result of him attempting to align the wooden logs just right for the fence he was trying to put together.

You watched from the kitchen window as you cleaned the dishes. Shaking your head and laughing quietly at your stubborn husband. You had suggested he get someone to help him with it but he insisted he didn’t need it. Swearing that the time he spent helping his father growing up, gave him the experience and skills he needed to do it himself.

Javi was someone who didn’t like to admit when he needed help. He’d rather try it on his own. And even though it often drove you crazy, it wasn’t worth pushing.

Besides, it was way more fun to give him shit for it later on.

Javi looked up and saw you through the window. He wiped off the beads of sweat with the sleeve of his purple shirt, trying not to touch his face with his gloves. You were looking down, scrubbing extra hard to get the remnants of food off of the frying pan.

Your hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and even though you were quite a distance away, Javier could see your beauty even from all the way out here. He never got tired of it.

He would never understand how he managed to score someone like you. He didn’t think he had much to offer anyone besides stress and good sex.

But you saw the messy parts of Javi. The good and the bad. And though there were times he tried to push you away because of his shame—the way you looked at him never changed. You somehow saw something good in him and you made sure to tell him that everyday.

Javi knew he would do anything and everything to make sure you were always taken care of and happy.

•••••••••

You had just finished up with the dishes, rinsing out any residue leftover in the sink, when you suddenly felt a pair of hands slide around your waist. You gasped and slightly jumped, startled at the sudden contact.

“Did I scare you, mi amor?” Javi whispered in your ear, pulling you tight against him.

“Oh it’s just you. I thought it was the milk man I’ve been screwing around with when you’re not home. Thought we were about to get caught.” You teased, turning your neck to get a glimpse of Javi.

He narrowed his eyes before playfully swatting your ass. “Not funny.”

You arch your back a bit, your ass pressing right into his crotch. Him spanking you shouldn't turn you on the way it does but Javi’s hands always feel so good on you.

He lets out a low groan before placing kisses along your neck. You tilt your head back to lean against him, exposing more of your neck for him to continue exploring.

You let out a soft sigh, already feeling the desire pool deep within you. Javi moves his hand to the front of your shorts, undoing the button and zipper.

He slides a finger down your slit and you can’t help but gasp, opening your legs a little wider for him. “So wet for me already, cariño.” He whispers.

He moves his other hand up to grab onto your neck, holding you in place. He continues to kiss your neck and circles his finger on your clit.

Your breathing picks up and you start to moan out his name. “I know, baby.” He says. “Let me hear you.”

Javi continued to move his finger up and down, gathering more of your slick before circling your clit slowly. He always knew the right tempo to drive you crazy. He’d start slow with just the right amount of pressure, before speeding up and slowing down again.

You felt your knees start to weaken the closer you got, and you gripped the sink for support. “Good girl.” Javi praised.

Before you could completely come undone, Javi spins you around. He drops to his knees—pulling your shorts and underwear down—and hikes one of your legs up, draping it over his shoulder.

“Fuck.” You cry out when his tongue licks your clit. He lets out a low groan and buries his face deeper.

Your grip on the counter starts to slip and you almost collapse as the pleasure takes over you. Javi holds your hips in place as he continues to eat your pussy like a man starved.

Javi catches a glimpse of you and the strain on his cock is starting to become overwhelming. As much as he would love to make you finish this way, he was desperate to be inside you. To feel your walls close in around him.

“You taste so good mi amor.” He moans. “But I need to feel you.”

Javi stands up, gripping your ass and placing you on the counter. You grab his face and pull his mouth onto yours, not even caring that you can taste yourself on his lips.

Javi’s hands are all over your body, needy and insatiable. Like he can’t decide what he wants to hold onto first. The two of you cling to one another.

It’s as though the two of you are trying to convey to the other just how much you love the other person. Through your touch and movements.

Javi spreads your legs apart and he pulls you to the edge of the counter. You wrap your legs around him and lock them at your ankles. You both moan as he enters inside you; your head collapsing on his shoulder.

Javi slams into you relentlessly, the pace making you cling to his neck to hold steady. He smacks your ass and you clench around him. “Holy shit, you almost got me.” He whispers and you whimper as he slows his tempo.

His strokes are slower and more languid as he pulls your head back to look at him. He brushes a piece of hair out of your eyes as you run your fingers along the nape of his neck.

He starts to pick up his pace again, letting out shaky breaths that matched your own. You cry out his name as you feel yourself getting so close. But you’re not quite ready for this to be over.

“Your pussy is so perfect for me, cariño.” He moans, gripping onto your hips so tight you knew there would be bruises.

“It’s only yours, Javi.” You whimper, rolling your hips to match his rhythm.

“Fuck. Say that again.” He ordered, his thrusts becoming more rough and hasty. He wasn’t sure he could last much longer.

“This pussy is yours, Javi.” You cry and you finally come, screaming as you cling to Javi’s neck.

Javi groans deep into your neck and squeezes you tight against him as he releases inside of you. His moan is deep and long as he comes undone. He starts to slowly still his hips.

Your body feels like jello and you continue to hug his neck. You don’t want him to move.

Javi leans his head back, kissing your lips hard.

He lets go and plants kisses all over your face and neck as you let out a soft, contented sigh.

“You did so good, baby.” He says, running his hands gently up and down your back.

You smiled at him, wiping some of the beads of sweat off his forehead.

“I don’t think I can walk.”

Javi pulls out of you, and you let out a soft gasp at the sudden absence of him. He scoops you up into his arms, bridal style.

“I’ve got you, mi amor.” Javi said, walking over to the staircase. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You leaned against his chest as he carried you up the steps, knowing good and well what a shower with Javi was going to lead to.

Even though you were wiped out, deep down you knew you’d be down for round two.

•••••••••

Shoutout to my besties @lowlights and @coastielaceispunk for being the best beta readers and hype women a girl could ask for. Love you both sm.

#pedro pascal #javier peña x reader #javierpeña #narcos fic #narcos #Javier Pena x you

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justapoet · 3 years ago

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and when i break, it's in a million pieces

He got used to closing doors, turning off the lights, shutting off the blinds, and keeping quiet when someone else could hear him.

TK got used to the pain.

After a while, if being honest, it wasn't something that would make him cry every single night. The weight on his chest eventually became familiar, and it would only ache too much when something, somehow, would hit a nerve ― these were the nights he would spend crying and the days he would avoid existing.

Maybe if he could convince himself he didn't exist anymore, people would forget about it too.

That was probably why TK never saw it coming when Alex stepped into his life.

Or,

A bowl falls to the floor at the firehouse, and the glass isn't the only thing to shatter apart.

8.0k

read it on Ao3

Trigger warning: Past abuse.

We shouldn't, but we get used to it.

We get used to doing the dishes every day after a while, and Mom doesn't need to ask for it anymore. We get suited to making the bed after waking up, no matter how much the brain tries to argue that it's pointless if someone it's going to lay down again. We get used to closing the doors, turning off the lights, closing off the blinds, and keeping quiet when someone else speaks.

We're supposed to, so we get used to it.

Growing up, TK would learn that soon. It was natural, anyway ― he was a kid, and kids are supposed to absorb everything their parents have to teach or not, growing up to be, usually, what they're molded to. It was plain, ordinary, trivial ― it was it, just like that.

He got used to getting up alone and taking off his pajamas before leaving his room in the morning. He got used to kissing his Mom goodbye and hugging his dad hello on the occasions their busy schedule would match TK's kid one. He got used to choosing his clothes alone, hiding the mess quite nicely, and going to sleep without a goodnight kiss.

As the years passed, TK got used to learning new names and faces every time Mom fired a babysitter for reasons she would never explain. He got used to being kind, quiet, and sweet ― even with Dianne, who he was sure that didn't like being there for a second.

He got used to the silence and to see his parents on occasion. He got used to asking for some attention and being ignored when a phone call popped up or that loud-ass alarm ringed off around the station in the few times Owen took him to work, promising it would be a good time between father and son. TK got used to choosing his clothes, buying his food, and cooking something so he wouldn't be starving to death ― he got used to being alone.

At a young age, TK got used to the silence and to the absence of people only to be surprised, after a few years, with loud noise and the way-too-heavy presence of his parents. Suddenly, the quietness wasn't too quiet anymore, and the vacancy was far better than fights, shouting, and yelling ― it took him a few times, but he got used to it too.

He shouldn't, but he did.

Then, when he was nine-ish, he got used to being in two different houses. His father's apartment, where things wouldn't change much, and his Mom's new residence ― where he would always find Enzo. There, he learned to get used to snores ― Enzo would deny fiercely ― and waking up to crumbled eggs and pancakes that had a definitely weird shape but tasted good. He got used to it, but not too much ― it never lasted, after all.

Then, in his teenage years, he got used to too much all at once. To the pain, heaviness, and the pounding headache he would always get after the numbness, which he wished he had more time to get used to.

He got used to closing doors, turning off the lights, shutting off the blinds, and keeping quiet when someone else could hear him.

TK got used to the pain.

Maybe if he could convince himself he didn't exist anymore, people would forget about it too.

That was probably why TK never saw it coming when Alex stepped into his life.

Alex ― against all TK tried to do ― acknowledged his existence and made sure TK did the same all the time, too, making him constantly self-conscious and agonizing over himself. The firefighter didn't really know if it was on purpose or not ― he didn't want to think about it, not then and not now ― but Alex noticed his existence and made it far too real ― and TK assumed that the pain was a mere side effect to it.

When it got physical, he just didn't want to see it anyway. He got used to it because that's just what we do.

He got used to getting used to everything around him.

And maybe that was why he was pretty much freaked out when he and his father firstly got to Texas ― TK could get used to all of it, but he was terrified of doing so. Not because it was a new state or another station, but because, for the first time, he wanted to get used to it.

He wanted to get used to the warm breeze in the morning and the subtle chill as the sun goes down. He aspired to get readjusted to walk to the station without worries and wave hello to the new faces that would soon become familiar.

He wanted to get used to the hang-outs to bars and clubs and even to Judd's big-brotherly bothering every time TK did something reckless or stupid. He wished to get used to Mateo's ramblings about Thor and Marvel and Marjan's bets with Paul over a game he wouldn't watch.

He wanted to get used to his father getting better and Michelle's constant teasing over anything they'd do. He wished to get customary to Grace's visits to the firehouse and Judd's jokes over Owen's coffee machine.

And he wanted, far too much, to get used to Carlos.

It was something new, and that was pretty much terrifying because the weight over TK's chest was prevalent and natural and familiar, but the lightness of Carlos' touch was something way too fresh and far too good to be freely given to TK.

But he wanted to get used to it, and so he did.

It took him a while, and TK would still have to try most days ― the pain on his chest was still there, settled, but it wouldn't spread to his bones, and even less would get over his skin. He was getting used to Carlos' touch, and his smooth and calm voice, and that smile that would flip the world around.

He would get used to wake up to the smell of bacon and waffles and go to sleep curled up on the man's side. TK would get used to the hugs, and the comfortable silence, and the peace ― he would get used to a few reasons to get out of bed in the morning fighting against the familiar grief inside his soul.

And Carlos, too, would get used to TK's nuances ― and fall in love with each one of them. He would learn how to read the new yorker and understand when he was supposed to say something or just carry the silence for a little while. He would get used to the silent mornings and bad days, in which TK would pace around like a ghost. And would get even more familiar with those afternoons in which his boyfriend looked like a sugar-high kid after a birthday party.

He would get used to it and to the pain that he knew TK carried. And TK would get used to not understanding what would go on inside Carlos' head.

They would get used to their moments of bitterness, just to be surprised by the next second they would love each other even more.

But, sometimes, getting used to something doesn't make it any easier to deal with the consequences; and TK knew that. He knew but chose to mostly ignore it, maybe because he was too scared to face the demons he wasn't seeing every day anymore, perhaps because TK wished he had never gotten used to it in the first place.

Because it was only a bowl.

Or it used to be, for now, it was shattered, in pieces, on the floor.

It was funny to think about just how the tiniest things could turn into a downfall.

Read the rest on Ao3

#tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star #carlos reyes #tk strand #tk strand x carlos reyes #my fic #my writing #tw: past abuse #carlos reyes x tk strand #anatomy of a broken heart (and its pieces)#911 lone star fic

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fangirlxwritesx67 · 4 years ago

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Texas Peach

J2 RPF, 1250 words, implied smut Jensen reflects back on falling in love with Jared in spite of his inability to use a chair properly.

This one is for @there-must-be-a-lock, with thanks for all the beta reads and sexy Jared pics and most of all, the friendship. I asked you to send me the “best picture of Jared” and you sent me this and well, shenanigans ensued. Check out her ode to the tenuous relationship between Jared and chairs. Pre-read by @mskathywriteswords ***

“You think you’re so cute, and clever?” Jensen slams Jared up against the closet doors in their shared hotel room. “Falling all over that chair on stage?”

“I tripped!” Jared protests, without making any effort to escape from his grasp.

“Okay, I believe that, you’re as clumsy as a puppy. But what was that wiggle, those spread legs? You just needed to show everyone your ‘Texas peach’? I swear sometimes you’re the biggest fuckin’ tease.”

“And you like it,” Jared sasses back, eyebrows going high.

“That’s not for everyone to see.” Jensen has him pinned with one arm across his chest and he pushes, just to make his point. “You’re mine, and don’t you forget it!”

Jared smirks and that’s all Jensen needs to press his lips against his. One hand slides up into his long hair and yanks while the other sinks to his ass and squeezes, hard.

Mine mine mine.

It takes a minute to register that Jared is answering him between kisses, sinking into his embrace.

Yours, yours, yours.

Jensen keeps his commands short, his tone firm. "On the bed. Naked.”

Jared obeys, and when he’s settled in, ass in the air, he tosses a look over his shoulder. Those kaleidoscope eyes and deep dimples, the flash of mischief in his gaze -- it throws Jensen back.

*** Jensen remembers the first time he saw that look, those eyes, meeting Jared all those years ago.

“I looked at him and thought, this guy is so handsome, there’s no way I can play his brother!”

This is the way he always tells the story of that first moment. What he leaves out every time is the rush of longing that almost choked him the first time he met Jared. He was so taken with the flash of his eyes, his wide smile, the almost electric feel of skin on skin in something as simple as a handshake.

He remembers Jared at the first table read, turning a chair backward and straddling it. He took up space in a room easily, his sunshine smile splashing light everywhere. When the read was over, he tripped getting up, and Jensen wondered how someone so beautiful could be so goddamn clumsy.

Jensen followed Jared out of the room and he could swear there was a tiny little sway to his hips, something only he could see. He wondered if Jared knew he was doing it, if it was meant for him.

They treated themselves to dinner together when they found out they both got the roles. Jensen told himself that his invitation was purely professional, that he needed to know this guy better if they would be playing brothers.

Jensen pulled out a chair for Jared and the taller man sat down willingly.

“Oh, is this a date?” Jared teased.

“Just wanted to make sure you sat in the chair properly,” Jensen retorted. Jared blushed. Jensen couldn’t tear his eyes away, fascinated by the way rosy color crept over his high cheekbones and into the shaggy dark hair that framed his handsome face.

Jensen was surprised by how much Jared wanted to be noticed, the way he almost needed to be the center of attention. But it was easy to see why -- his magnetic smile and irresistible charm could win over anyone. Jensen surprised himself by how much he wanted to give Jared that feeling of being seen, of being special. It was an almost magnetic attraction.

But he had to be sure. Unlike Jared, Jensen was shy, cautious. Wanted to know he was right before he made a move.

They weren’t stars, not then, got their own food and drinks from the craft services table. He had been watching closely, and one day, when he got coffee for himself, he brought one back for Jared too.

He was sitting sideways in a canvas cast chair, balanced with only one foot on the ground. Somehow, he looked like art.

“Here’s your coffee, Princess, extra vanilla creamer.” Jensen was teasing, but he saw the way Jared’s face lit up, all sunshine open and hopeful. He could’ve kissed him right then and there.

*** When they finally did kiss, it was electric, the first press of their lips together sending a thrill all the way through Jensen. Jared was desperate, almost sloppy. Jensen pulled him in and held him with one hand on the back of his neck. Jared melted into Jensen’s arms, long warm hands bracketing his face to keep him close.

Jensen’s grasp tightened around the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the silky chestnut curls there. He yanked, and Jared whimpered, hips bucking up hard.

“Wanna make you feel so good,” Jensen murmured. “Wanna take care of you, make you mine.”

“Yes,” Jared choked out breathlessly. “Yes, please yes.”

Jensen took a long look at him, at his wide lust blown hazel eyes, his flushed cheeks, his kiss-swollen lips. He was almost too beautiful, too bright.

It was late at night, after another dinner that they told themselves was for work. They had eaten at the hotel where they both had rooms while filming, so it was easy to go upstairs. Jensen opened the door to his room and held it open for Jared. As he walked, Jensen reached out and grabbed his ass -- so perky and perfect, he just couldn’t resist.

“Clothes off. Get on the bed.”

He watched the way Jared’s eyes went soft and his mouth dropped open, and then he was understood. He had suspected, but now he was sure. This Texas giant wanted nothing more than to be cared for.

Jared had obeyed eagerly, movements graceful, and Jensen’s lips curled up in a smug smile as he praised him. He knew, was absolutely sure, that Jared was offering what he wanted. And in return, he took control. He gave Jared that feeling of being small, safe, sexy.

The two of them spent hours exploring one another’s bodies, learning how to touch and taste and feel one another. When they were finally sweaty and sated, they showered together, and that was a whole new world of beauty and wonder. Under the hot spray, Jared buried his face in Jensen’s shoulder, and as he kissed the water droplets off the shell of his ear, he thought that he wanted to spend the rest of his life doing this with Jared.

Afterward, they fell asleep in the same hotel bed together. The king size bed had plenty of room but Jared was all over him, arms and legs sprawled and possessive even in sleep. Jensen wasn’t used to this kind of demonstrative physical contact, to being so obviously needed. But he took a deep breath and fell into the best sleep of his life. ***

Jared shimmies on the bed, tosses his hair, and the movement pulls Jensen out of his memories and back into the present.

“You know you don’t have to flaunt your ass on stage to get me to notice you, right?” Jensen asks dryly, running his hand down the broad slope of Jared's back and giving his ass a solid smack.

“What?” Jared winks, his face mock-innocent in a way that Jensen always finds irresistible.

“You could even sit on a chair the correct way like a normal human being.”

“I could never.” Jared nuzzles into him like a puppy, like he’s cold and Jensen is the sun.

“Do whatever you want, on stage, say whatever, I don’t care. You’ll always be mine.” Jensen pulls him in with a strong arm for a hard kiss.

“Yours,” is the last coherent thing Jared says. “Always yours.”

#j2 rpf #spn rpf #j2 #jensen x jared

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lambourngb · 4 years ago

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If you are still doing this, to make it through (with hearts and wrists intact)

combining the wip ask with WIP Wednesday ! Alright, so there’s two remix challenges going on right now, but I didn’t sign up for either of them because I have enormous anxiety about deadlines and I’m also kind of a control freak about my work. I do love the concept, so I decided to remix my own work.

to make it through (with hearts and wrists intact) is a remix of Last Years Wishes. It is completely the fault of @haloud who mused aloud about what if Jesse got to use the shed on Michael. You guys remember what I did to the shed in LYW right? Yeah. Poor Michael. So while Alex is waiting at the Airstream, talking to agents Ross and Rollins, this is how Michael’s day is going....

[warnings: canon divergent within 1x13, mention of Michael’s feelings for Maria, but nothing happens past the discovery of Rosa’s body in the cave ]

“Old man, you are calling me on my day off,” Michael yelled into the receiver of his cell phone speaker over the rushing sound of air after picking up the call.

The windows were down because his AC in his truck went on the frizz again sometime during when Max had stolen-borrowed it to drive Liz home from Texas, leaving him behind to share a long awkward ride with Maria in her classic Chevy. Awkward because he had been buzzing from the encounter in the desert. He hadn’t slept with anyone in weeks, not since Alex, and that had been a ridiculous attempt for him to pine in celibacy considering just how little the other man had missed him. Some things end in a whimper.

Texas had been about hope, about maybe finding someone who was connected to him on a species level. He hadn’t realized how deeply Max’s enthusiasm had sunk into him until the fraud had been revealed and disappointment had set in. Between Alex’s brusque brush off and realizing they really were alone on this planet, Michael hadn’t thought he could feel even lower with the weight of Isobel’s salvation fully on his shoulders (and Liz’s). Then shining like a bright star in the night sky, he had found Maria.

She had effectively chased away the touch starved ghouls that had haunted his skin that night, he could still barely believe they had dropped right to the rocky ground and scratchy blanket to fuck. It was the type of raw passion he had with- no, in that particular moment he hadn’t thought about Alex but afterwards? He couldn’t avoid the connection the next morning, particularly when she had sworn him to secrecy, and then had reinforced it when she had fully kicked him out in the cold after he had returned her repaired necklace.

It was unfortunate for her that he was already wired to enjoy a push-pull hot-cold dynamic.

Ten years of Alex Manes meant Michael had learned to read past a blustering denial to see the real truth. She really liked him, she just didn’t want to admit it, and good god, if that wasn’t a déjà vu moment for Michael, he didn’t know what was. Maybe it was stupid to believe it would work out any better with her than it had with Alex, but with Noah dead, his m- his reason for building his ship gone, what did it hurt to try again?

His healed hand curled around the grip on the steering wheel with a shiver of disorientation at the new flexibility, but he pushed it down to concentrate on that meager bubble of hope of what was ahead for him. Maria. Normalcy. When he had offered to leave her alone at the gala, she had refused to take him up on it. That's the problem, I never do.

It had felt good to hear that, that he was wanted, even as he heard the conflict in her voice over what she desired versus what she thought she deserved to have. That was also painfully familiar to Michael as well.

Caulfield had seeped into his skin, three layers deep in the worst type of burn. That brief moment of his mother, wrapping around his mind with her love and sorrow and hope, and then she was gone. The screaming, that he had heard from outside the chain link fence, suddenly disappeared as the explosion moved outward in a shockwave. For a few minutes he had stood on solid ground in that prison, for the first time since a sweet boy had returned his kiss at seventeen under a galaxy of plastic foam planets, and then it was over. His mother was gone, and in her stead, he had Alex telling him that -

Michael forcefully pushed that thought away and returned his attention back to the cranky drawl of Walt Sanders, “I know kid, but I’m already out with the wrecker in the other ass-end direction, so I need you to go help this cry baby who can’t change a flat. Help me make some money, so I can afford to keep your ass employed.”

“Fine, tell me the location, but this is holiday pay, not overtime.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sanders muttered, before rattling off the mile marker and the highway. “It’s a Lincoln sedan, black. Probably some old geezer out on a drive to church who ran into trouble.”

“You calling someone else a geezer is funny to me, I hope you know that,” Michael replied, hitting his turn signal to make a left to pick up the state road. It wasn’t as if he had a planned time to see Maria, the lunch hour and official opening of the bar was still an hour away. A little delay that made him some extra cash was doable.

“Shut the hell up kid, and get going,” Sanders griped good-naturedly, before hanging up on Michael.

The sun was bright overhead, the storm from the night before having washed the land and sky clean of clouds. Across the pavement ahead, the heat and the brightness, cast a mirage of dark shimmering water that creeped just out of reach as he drove toward his new destination. His mind ticked over the set of priorities ahead, to make a little money with a tire change, then to drop in on Maria to make his case, and finally, he knew he needed to swing by Isobel’s to check on her in the aftermath of Noah’s betrayal. Somewhere in all of that, he knew he would need to make it home to see Alex for that promised talk, but there was plenty of time for that because Alex rarely came by during the day to see him.

“I’m still fighting his battles, not mine.”

Michael flexed his hands on the steering wheel again and pushed down the heaviness in his heart that accompanied thinking about Alex. Ten long years of waiting and wanting him. If Michael cared to count up all of the trips to Roswell that Alex had made on leave, the two weeks together after the class reunion that frankly felt like a hallucination to Michael, all of those hours spent together would add up to a month. A month that stretched out over ten years, 520 weeks, or 3,650 days.

Counting the distance to the nearest star was in light years, but when it came to counting the distance between the stash of wedding rings he had purchased for Alex over the years and what he had been actually allowed to have with Alex, well, that was a calculation beyond the redshift spectrum. It would take energy to transverse that distance one more time, and Michael had nothing left inside to fuel that journey. He couldn’t afford to be lost in the black again, not with Isobel in free-fall from Noah’s years of manipulations, not with the prospect of telling Liz they had found Rosa’s body on the horizon. It was just too hard to believe that this time, with Alex calling him family, with Alex throwing back the closest declaration to love that he had ever made, actually meant he was ready to move toward Michael and work to cut the distance between them on his own.

It was better to head forward in a new direction, than to look back like Max had said. Besides, every other time he had failed to be enough of a reason to help Alex bridge his own chasm between what he wanted and what he had allowed himself to have. What could have changed? Caulfield had just cemented the complications for them both.

A dark shadow in the distance, parked just off the road caught Michael’s attention. He glanced down at the odometer to mark the mileage and started to ease up on the gas. That must be the motorist Sanders had fielded a call from earlier, he realized. The ‘old geezer’ in the black Lincoln with a flat tire. He glanced in the rearview mirror to check for traffic but the road behind him was devoid of other vehicles.

Michael hit the turn signal and hazard lights on his truck, turning briefly to the side to check that he had some spare water bottles for the customer and his toolbox within reach and then turned onto the shoulder of the highway. Mentally he was already five steps ahead of himself as he stepped out of the truck to approach the car, thinking about the size of socket to fit over the lug nuts for the Lincoln’s wheels, whether his torque wrench was even in his box, or if he would have to camouflage his telekinetic efforts to change out the tire, that it took a moment to realize the tires on the Lincoln were whole and unharmed on the driver’s side.

Puzzled, Michael slowed his approach, and started toward the passenger side of the car. The windows were rolled up and dark, the tint was straddling the threshold of legal for New Mexico. There was still no sign of defect in the tires, he noticed as he was halfway around the passenger fender. Faulty tire gauge, he mused before he noticed the engine was rumbling almost inaudibly. Fucking hybrid, which meant whatever issue it had been definitely beyond the parts available at Sanders.

It was a little odd that the driver hadn’t stepped out to greet Michael, but not terribly unusual when it came to elderly customers who seemed to have a healthy paranoia about everyone they encountered. Still, Michael pasted a smile on his face and tapped on the window.

The automatic window slipped downward in an expensive whisper, but it wasn’t a helpless old man on his way to church at the wheel.

Jesse Manes smiled at Michael flashing his teeth, “Surprise.” Before Michael could do more than step backward, Jesse lifted a large gun-shaped object and fired. Yellow particulate matter exploded into the air, enveloping Michael completely. Pulling his arm to his mouth to attempt to block the pollen, did little good as he felt the sedating effects almost immediately.

He coughed into the open air, scrambling back toward his truck on weak legs as he tried to clear his lungs of the fast-acting poison. Behind him, he heard the car door open, and the crunch of boots on the loose gravel from the road’s shoulder as Jesse approached him. Though his powers were gone and his strength was waning fast, Michael had never backed down from a fight in life.

Certainly, not a fight for his life.

Swinging with all of his might, he hurled his heavy toolbox at Jesse blindly. There was a thump and a curse, but the footsteps kept coming. Animal-like terror set in as Michael crawled now on his knees toward the cab of his truck. He had to move, he had to live, he wasn’t going to die here on the side of the damn road- Suddenly a black boot came down on his hand, pinning him place and lighting up a fierce agony of pain in its wake.

“I like the fight, Guerin, I do,” Jesse remarked with a quiet menace. “Shall I make this hand match your other-”

It was on the tip of Michael’s tongue to point out the obvious, but then Jesse saw it for himself. His left hand, healed and pristine, clutching at the hot blacktop surface.

“I see.” He barked out a laugh that chilled Michael. “I knew it. I knew you weren’t the only one in Roswell. I thought about killing you right here you know, but now, you might finally serve a purpose in your useless life. You thought you could use my son in your perverted schemes? Well now it’s your turn to be bait.”

Michael’s vision was already fading into blindness with the pollen taking hold, but he managed to spit out between numb lips, “Go fuck yourself.”

“Not today. You’re the one who is fucked.” A hand grabbed a tight hold of Michael’s hair, wrenching him backward, and then it was merciful darkness.

***

#malex fic #wip wednesday #last years wishes universe #wip meme #michael guerin #jesse manes is his own warning #Anonymous

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justatiredghost · 4 years ago

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Living for the moment Ch11 Read from the beginning AO3

A series of glimpses at Klaus’ life if he’d met Dave in his mid 20s. His life isn’t magically transformed, love can’t fix either of them when they’re both homeless and in a bad place. They’re not even really ready for a relationship yet. But maybe a supportive friendship can set them on a better path, the two of them inspiring each other to take care of themselves. It’s going to be a long and bumpy ride, and the question is, when will they actually admit to themselves that they have feelings for each other?

Klaus staggered out of the front door, propelled by a push he felt was completely unnecessary. At least he didn’t faceplant in a pile of garbage or something.

“Fine,” he yelled back over his shoulder as the door slammed closed behind him. “I’ve got plenty of other options, anyway.”

Except he didn’t. He tried not to think about that as he brushed himself off indignantly, straightening his jacket. The weather was getting colder which, of course, meant that all of the shelters were filling up fast. This one had a few vacancies since most people didn’t want to deal with the assholes who worked there, but now that he’d mouthed off and blown it, he was out of last resorts and the sun was setting fast.

He could always go to a club and see if he could pick someone up, but he didn’t really feel like it. For some reason, it just felt like too much work. He shoved his hands into his pockets and decided to wander around a bit until he could figure something out.

“Hey, Klaus!”

The voice took him by surprise and he had barely turned around when Dave half tackled him, arm across his shoulders, playfully tousling his hair.

“Jesus, Dave,” Klaus exclaimed as he barely kept his balance.

“Hey, pal, how’s it going?” Dave asked, cheerily. “You heading inside?” He gestured towards the door of the shelter, the one that had, only moments before, been slammed in his face.

“Nah,” Klaus said, waving a hand dismissively. “Apparently they don’t, ‘take my kind,’ or whatever.

“What?” Dave said, concerned.

“I mean, look at me,” Klaus said with a grin.

Dave stepped back and looked him up and down thoughtfully, which made Klaus laugh. “Hmm, too stylish?”

“And I’m, like, super high right now,” Klaus grinned. “But they seemed to have a bigger problem with the fact that I’m queer. Apparently they don’t want someone like me in their ‘nice Christian establishment.’”

“Well,” Dave said, shooting a glare towards the entrance. “I better take my gay Jewish ass elsewhere, then.”

“Oh, come on, you should stay,” Klaus tried to reassure. People in their situation couldn’t really afford to be picky. Or have dignity. “Stick it to them by enjoying one of their beds.”

“What about you?” Dave asked.

“Don’t worry, I know a place,” Klaus lied, trying to brush him off.

“Then I’ll come with,” Dave said. “Two can get through a cold night better than one, and I’m sure someone else would appreciate having a bed. Besides, I’d rather have your company than theirs.”

“Seems like a waste, but fine, suit yourself,” Klaus shrugged. He couldn’t deny the company would be nice. “To be completely honest, though; I don’t actually have a place in mind.”

“Thought so,” Dave said with a grin.

“Well, look at you, Mr. know-it-all,” Klaus taunted. Dave stuck his tongue out at him so of course Klaus had to respond in kind.

Finding a safe place to sleep was never a sure thing, but they managed to find an alcove in a backstreet where they could huddle on a bit of cardboard and be mostly unseen so long as they were out of there before the morning rush. It wasn’t ideal, and it was still much too cold for comfort, but at least they weren’t obvious targets.

“Times like these I really miss Texas,” Dave said, rubbing his hands together and blowing into them to warm up a little as he got comfortable.

“What I wouldn’t do for a nice warm bath,” Klaus said, curling up on his side close beside him.

“Here,” Dave said, sitting up to take off his coat to lay over the both of them. They pulled it up high enough to block out the street lights and he grinned at him in the darkness. “Now it’s like we’re having a sleepover.”

“Great, we can stay up late, gossip about boys and braid each other’s hair,” Klaus said. “What else do people do for sleepovers?”

“Did you not have any growing up?”

“That’s for sure a no. Dad barely let us talk to any other kids, let alone have friends. No, I’m a sleepover virgin, please be gentle.”

“You’ll do fine,” Dave said, rolling his eyes. “It’s just too bad we don’t have any ice cream.”

“Oh? Is that a requirement?”

“Yeah! You gotta get sick eating too much, it’s essential to the experience. Ah well, maybe next time.”

“You want me to steal you some? Because I’ll go steal you some.”

“No, no, I only just got comfortable, you can’t move now. And, if you get arrested, who's gonna keep me company?”

Klaus didn’t know why he was enjoying this so much; just this, their banter and their closeness. Sure, he found it a little distracting when Dave’s eyes caught the light just so, or when Klaus found himself staring at Dave’s lips a little too long, but somehow he was okay with just this. Just what Dave was willing to give.

He could always try to seduce Dave of course, usually he wouldn’t hesitate when he found himself attracted to someone, but he couldn't help but be too concerned with what that would mean for them. Klaus would probably feel the need to move on after that, before any messy feelings could crop up in either of them, and who knows who Dave would become. Klaus hated the idea of anyone growing too attached, and the stifling possessiveness that usually went along with that made his skin crawl. He hated the idea of anyone trying to control him.

Maybe Dave wouldn’t be like that, he didn’t seem the type, but he supposed it didn’t matter. Klaus knew he couldn’t be feeling the same tension when their hands brushed in the narrow space between them and he suddenly forgot how to breathe, but Dave didn’t even react. So he tried to let it all wash over him and concentrate on what he did have with Dave.

He had more fun with him than he ever had in his life. Everything was an adventure to Dave, even sleeping in some dirty back alley, and Klaus found it infectious. He didn’t want to risk losing this. Besides, it was certainly novel being around someone who wasn’t trying to get anything out of him. They talked and laughed until Klaus was so tired, all he could do was fall asleep.

Klaus woke with a strangled cry, nearly hyperventilating as he scrambled in search of the drugs he had hidden in his shoe. He swallowed two pills dry and laid back down, trying to catch his breath and block out the voices of the dead as he waited for the drugs to take effect.

“You okay?”

He glanced over to see Dave sitting up and watching him with concern, a hand outstretched like he wanted to touch him, but wasn’t sure if it would be welcomed. He’d forgotten he was even here.

“Oh, yeah, peachy,” he said, scrubbing a hand down his face, trying to wipe away some of the sweat. Now that he was beginning to calm down and cool off, he was starting to feel just how cold it was.

“Nightmares? Or—“ Dave began, but he trailed off, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to pry.

Klaus considered how he could reply. He could lie, maybe deflect with a joke and change the subject entirely. That was his usual strategy. But Dave already knew about the ghosts, so the deception seemed pointless. He wondered why he was being so honest with him. He didn’t trust anyone, and he certainly didn’t open up about anything that mattered, so why had Dave wedged his way in past his defenses?

But then Klaus glanced over at him, met his eyes and the depth of emotions they held, and something inside him cracked and melted away. He found himself making a decision before he could reason his way out of it.

“Hey, you try to sleep peacefully with hundreds of ghosts screaming at you,” he said, levity still the easiest way for him to admit anything.

“Shit,” Dave exclaimed, apparently putting together much more than Klaus had meant to give him. “How do you get any sleep at all?”

“Usually by getting blackout drunk or high,” Klaus said, like it was no big deal. Like he hadn’t been ruining his own life since he was 12 years old just for a bit of peace.

“Right, you mention it blocking them out,” Dave said, and there was more sympathy there than anyone should have. Especially someone who had known him as long as Dave had. Then he reached out, waiting a moment to make sure Klaus had time to pull away of he wanted, before laying a comforting hand on his arm.

Physical closeness didn’t really mean much to Klaus. In fact, he was practiced at not really having any boundaries. He’d found it easier to just go with the flow and not care if people touched him. But things felt different with Dave. Throughout their friendship, Dave had let him set the pace: Klaus had been the one to start with the playful roughhousing, to fall asleep on his shoulder. The contact they had felt comfortable and familiar. It made Klaus feel like he could pull away and Dave would do the same, no questions asked.

He wasn’t used to anyone respecting when he wanted space. Almost everyone pushed him around, or touched him like they owned him. He wasn’t used to feeling like a person. Maybe that was why he was still here, with Dave. Sure, there had been a few others who treated him well, but honestly, that had made him even more wary. If they got attached, things would get complicated. But that didn’t bother him now. Did he want Dave to get attached? Why was this different?

He couldn’t help but search Dave’s face, as if the answers he was looking for could be found there. That was when he noticed that he didn’t have the blurry look of someone who had just woken up. In fact, he looked even more exhausted than before. At least that was a handy tangent for him to grab onto.

“Can’t sleep?” He asked.

“Yeah, you know,” Dave said, letting him change the subject. “It’s still pretty cold, I just haven’t been able to get comfortable.”

“Okay, then,” Klaus said. “How about this?”

He never had been particularly good at controlling his impulses. That was how he lived his life, after all; indulging in every whim. So he scooted closer, taking Dave by surprise and causing him to instinctively raise his arm up out of the way. Klaus took that as an invitation and pressed in close, throwing his own arm casually across Dave’s side. He sighed contentedly, slowly but surely feeling Dave relax against him. After a moment, he lowered his hand as well, hesitating like he wasn’t sure what to do with it, until he finally rested it against Klaus’ arm.

He just wanted to touch, to wrap him in his arms and hold him, and be held. It didn’t mean anything, so why did it feel so right? He wasn’t really sure where all of this was coming from. This wasn’t the type of physical closeness he’d usually indulge in, but it seemed like they could both use some comfort and warmth, so why not? Idly, the thought crossed his mind that he’d been waiting ages to do this. It surprised him and he quickly had to backtrack. Surely that was just the drugs talking. Or the lack of drugs. Or just a result of the nightmares. Whatever, he didn’t want to think about this anymore.

“Now, get some sleep,” he said, as much to Dave as to himself.

‘Yeah, sure,” Dave said sarcastically and Klaus pulled away just enough to look up at him.

“What, still cold? Or, I could move back over there if you’d prefer,” Klaus said lightly, like he didn’t care either way, because he wanted Dave to feel just as comfortable as he made him feel and he wasn’t sure how else to do it.

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean—“ Dave said quickly, turning a bit pink, before taking a deep breath to gather himself and continue. “This is better, yeah. I’ll get some sleep now.”

He briefly squeezed his shoulder too, like he didn’t want him to go, and Klaus couldn’t help but grin in triumph, hiding his face against his chest as he settled back down, feeling proud that he’d managed to fluster Dave. And here he’d thought the night was going to be terrible.

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argylemnwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Why Are We Still Waiting? - Chapter 2

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe)

Word Count: ~4900

Rating: PG-13 (language)

Summary: A trip back to Cordonia, meeting someone new... just not the new person they thought they would be meeting.

Author’s Note: Well, I’ve utterly failed at posting this with any semblance of regularity, but... it’s back. And I’m trying to get back in the habit of more consistent editing/writing (so things don’t take me five times as long because I am rusty). We left Drake and Riley engaged, but with a postponed wedding due to Savannah and Bertrand’s unplanned pregnancy. They just recently had their second child, a little girl, and Drake and Riley are off to Cordonia to meet their niece. To catch up on this series, you can check out the It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment masterlist (link in bio).

Drake twisted slightly, stretching out his back as he waited for the rows ahead of them to exit the plane so he could stand up and finally move his legs. He’d gotten more used to flying coach in the past couple of years, but that still didn’t exactly make it a comfortable or enjoyable experience. But there was obviously no way that they could make the trip to Cordonia a few times a year if they didn’t keep the flights as cheap as humanly possible.

As soon as he could, he shifted into the aisle, handing Riley her coat from the overhead bin before grabbing his own jacket and their duffle bags. And then they were off, shuffling through the airport, over to immigration, then off to baggage claim and customs.

Drake pulled out his phone as soon as he and Riley and their luggage were cleared. It was odd that Bastien hadn’t responded. He had texted him when they landed. It had become their habit over the past couple of years. Since Drake had sold his car, having Bastien take it to a dealership for him a few months after he permanently vacated his old quarters at the palace and putting the money towards some furniture for their new apartment, Liam had let him just borrow a car from the palace garage to use during his trips. With expedited immigration and customs, giving Bastien a head’s up when they landed in Cordonia usually worked out pretty perfectly with time, with Bastien waiting for them in short term parking by the time they got out, keys in hand.

But today, he hadn’t confirmed that he’d even seen the text. It was strange. Drake was just about to give him a call, when Riley nudged him with her elbow.

“Look,” she said, pointing across the concourse. There was a tall man ahead of them, wearing a navy sweater, a pair of jeans, and a bright blue baseball hat pulled very low, almost entirely hiding his dark hair. He was holding a sheet of paper that said “Walker/Liu,” but he wasn’t looking for them. In fact, he was clearly avoiding eye contact with everyone.

Drake just shook his head as he smiled. He should have known.

“Real subtle, Your Majesty,” Drake said as soon as they were close enough that he could drop his voice and still be heard by Liam.

Liam’s head jerked back and forth. “Not so loud!” he hissed out.

“You look so suspicious right now. You know that, right?”

“I’m trying to keep a low profile,” Liam said, shaking his head as he welcomed Drake’s loose hug.

“By doing what, dressing vaguely casual and then acting like someone who is terrified of being picked up by security?” Drake stepped back, shaking his head yet again.

“It’s not that bad.”

“No, Drake’s right. At JFK, you would have been carted off for an interview in some secret back room already,” Riley added before giving Liam a hug herself.

“I used to think your snark was rubbing off on her, but now I’m pretty sure I had that reversed,” Liam said over Riley’s shoulder towards Drake, earning himself a little shove and an eye roll as Riley stepped back. “Come on, let’s get out of here before I get recognized.

The three of them strolled out of the airport into the crisp winter air, the sun bright and blinding even as Riley shivered and handed Drake her duffle bag so that she could put on her coat.

“So what did we do to earn a ride in the royal motorcade?” Drake asked once they were clear of the crowds and vehicles in the drop off zone.

“I thought it might be a fun surprise.”

There was something in Liam’s tone that gave Drake pause. It was just a little too falsely cheery and rapid. There was something he wasn’t telling them. “And?”

He let out a little sigh, “And your mother and aunt decided to stay two extra nights, so they aren’t leaving until tomorrow.”

“Oh,” said Riley, “and who made the call that Leona and I shouldn’t be under the same roof?”

“That’s not the case, Riley,” Liam said with a shake of his head. “Bertrand wanted me to relay a message that you will always be an honorary Beaumont, and that therefore you are always welcome at Ramsford.”

Drake glanced over at Riley to find her already gazing his way. She raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes, and all Drake could do was shrug. Riley and his aunt had clashed pretty intensely during her first trip down to Texas, and things had only gotten worse the next two visits. It was clear someone decided that Riley and Leona shouldn’t be allowed to run into each other if it could be avoided, and Drake didn’t exactly disagree with that thought process.

"Right," said Riley, “because I'm sure me snapping at her judgemental ass would be much appreciated."

Liam glanced back at Drake, clearly looking to him to see if it was fine to speak candidly. He still was getting used to the fact that Riley didn't need things tied up in a pretty diplomatic bow and honestly preferred blunt assessments. Drake got the sense that Liam still almost felt like it was a trap at times, so used to courtly politics being the norm with everyone but Drake himself. But Drake just gave him a little nod. Riley was self-aware enough of the nature of her relationship with Aunt Leona that she didn’t need Liam to dance around it.

“Well, Maxwell did mention that he thought that… that Caroline might be making enough noise for the estate and there wasn’t a need to add to it.”

Drake let out a chuckle at that, watching as Riley rolled her eyes but otherwise had no reaction. He was pretty sure she vented to Maxwell about his family on occasion, so it wasn't exactly surprising that he was the one who had decided any meetings between Riley and Leona should be avoided if possible. Liam's shoulders relaxed slightly once a few seconds passed and it was clear that Riley wasn't offended by his statement.

"So, I hope you both can forgive the last minute change of plans, but I thought you might find a night at the palace more enjoyable. I know I would like the chance to spend some time with both of you. Plus, there is… well, there is someone I would very much like you both to meet."

"What?"

"Yes. She is waiting over there, by the car."

Drake followed Liam’s gesture and saw a woman standing by a non-descript silver sedan, one of the cars kept in the palace garage for trips where a member of the royal family might need to keep a low profile. They were still far enough away that he couldn’t tell much about what she looked like. This had to be a girlfriend, right? Again, Drake looked over at Riley, wanting to see if she had the same thought. Her eyes were wide and her eyebrows almost comically raised as she mouthed, “What?” at him. Alright, so she agreed. Well, this was definitely going to be interesting.

In all their years of friendship, Drake had never met someone Liam considered to be a girlfriend. In fact, it was rare for Liam to have a girlfriend. The politics, the diplomatic implications, all that shit just made it tough. Or at least that’s what Drake had assumed. It was kind of the whole point of the social season - a safe way for members of the royal family to date.

As they approached the car, Drake got a better look at the woman in question. She was definitely pretty, with warm brown skin, deep brown eyes, and a wide and gentle smile, even if that smile did look a little strained at the moment. That was likely due to some nerves, as she was twisting her hands in front of her waist. She was also wearing jeans and a sweater, although her sweater was yellow, and her tight curls were pushed back with some sort of sparkly headband.

“Drake, Riley,” Liam started, standing next to her, his hand sliding along her back, "This is Iris Dertrain. Iris, these are my friends, Drake Walker and Riley Liu."

"It's nice to meet you both," Iris said, reaching out her right hand. "Liam has told me so much about you."

"Oh… uhhh, nice to meet you, too," Drake said, grasping her hand and giving it a shake. He didn't want to throw Liam under the apple truck, but he had told him nothing about this woman.

Liam stepped forward, his hands raised in front of his chest, smiling rather sheepishly. "Iris, I am afraid I haven't mentioned you to either of them."

"Why not?" She pivoted at that, yanking her hands back to her waist, her eyes wide.

Liam reached out, wrapping his hands around hers and stepping up close to her. Instinctively, Drake looked off to the side and slid backwards, giving them as much space and privacy as possible. Liam’s voice dropped off, but he still picked up a few scattered words and phrases, including “too important” and “phone calls.” After a few moments, he chanced a glance back towards them. Iris was nodding as Liam slid his hand off her cheek, so he cleared his throat.

Iris smiled, then spun around to face Riley, reaching out to shake her hand as well, but Riley wasn’t having any of that, instead wrapping her arms around her in a loose hug.

“Sorry, not gonna do a handshake,” she said, “even if Liam decided it was best to drop you on us without any warning.”

“Riley, I-” Liam started, but she shook her head as she stepped back from Iris.

“First, you change our travel plans by barring us from Ramsford for the night, then you spring a girlfriend on us. Are you trying to make my life hell? You know how he is with the unexpected,” she said, cocking her head towards Drake.

“Hey! I can handle surprises!”

Both Riley and Liam laughed openly at that, which annoyed Drake. Not so much because he thought Riley’s assessment of him was inaccurate, but more because of how much pure glee she and Liam seemed to take in teaming up against him these days. He kind of understood that it was natural, given that they were the two people who knew him best… but still. Oh well, if anything it proved that over the years, Riley and Liam had settled into a comfortable friendship that was their own. And that was something Drake would gladly pay the price of some light ribbing for when it came down to it.

After loading the luggage into the trunk and climbing into the car, they headed off towards the palace. Even though the drive wasn’t that long, Drake was infinitely grateful that Riley was steering the conversation. If it had just been him with Liam and Iris, it would have undoubtedly been stilted, awkward, and formal, no matter how hard Liam would have tried to make things feel natural. But Riley knew how to put people at ease, to keep things flowing.

“So, did Liam have a secret social season he hid from us and the media? Or did you guys meet in a more normal way?”

Iris let out a little laugh at that. “I was one of the teacher representatives on the educational council.”

“So you’re a teacher?”

“Used to be. Now, I work mostly as an administrator, deciding on curriculum changes, making sure schools in different regions are reaching their goals, that sort of thing. That’s why I was on the council - I was lobbying for increased funding so that we could work on reducing classroom sizes in Portavira.”

“Do you miss teaching?”

“Sometimes. I was a science teacher, and there are points when I miss getting to guide my students through experiments, to get to see minds literally learning concepts first hand. But… I taught 12 to 14 year olds, and I do not miss the interpersonal drama that was always brewing between them.”

Riley laughed at that. Even though she was seated behind him, Drake could just picture the way her head was tossed back, her eyes narrowed. It was her genuine laugh, not her fake, customer service laugh. It seemed like with each trip back to Cordonia, the real laugh came out more and more.

“So was it their shitty adolescent angst that pushed you into the admin side of things?”

Riley’s question drew another chuckle from Iris. “No, I’m tougher than that. I just felt like I could do more, make a difference for more students by working for systemic changes. Luckily, we live in a country where our political leaders listen to teachers about how best to educate our children.”

Drake glanced over to Liam, who was smiling broadly at Iris’s comment. “Only a fool would think that he knows everything just because he holds a position of political power.”

“See, I’m lucky.” said Iris.

Somehow, Liam smiled even wider at that. Drake suspected that if asked, Liam would say he was the lucky one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riley spun on the couch in the private lounge, swinging her legs up onto the cushions as she took the glass of whiskey Drake offered her and leaned up against his side as he sat back down. Liam and Iris were on the couch across from them, although Riley could tell that Iris wasn’t as relaxed as the rest of them. Sure, she had loosened up a lot over the evening, but there was still this edge of fearing that she didn’t belong in a palace, that she was going to mess this up. It was a feeling Riley knew well.

Of course, Riley could tell that Iris’s fear was not quite the same as the anxiety she had carried during that fateful social season. At first, it had been this belief that she was going to fuck up so badly, let her brash, judgemental, potty-mouthed self shine through, and get kicked out, a joke who was sent packing back to nothing, not even her shitty job since she’d quit that on a whim to fly to a country she’d never heard of before. As time went on, her fears had grown to losing the closest people she had to genuine friends by falling for the wrong guy. She had been a ball of mad nerves by the night of Liam’s coronation.

But Iris’s fears seemed to be centered more on Liam himself. She kept glancing towards him, almost as if she was afraid she was going to let him down or make things difficult for him. It was so much kinder and more selfless than Riley had ever behaved with Liam. It was very sweet to see.

Liam was equally sweet in response, which wasn’t surprising at all. He could definitely sense her remaining traces of nervousness, as he frequently reached over to hold her hand or to run his hand along her back. It was part of the reason Riley was going for a little more PDA than she would normally be comfortable with - she wanted them to feel comfortable with their level of PDA.

Iris took a sip of her wine before noticing what Riley was drinking. “Wait, I’m the only one here not drinking whiskey?”

Riley cocked an eyebrow at her. “I’ve always been a hard liquor sort of girl.”

Iris shook her head before drinking a little more of her wine. “I’ve never really had the stomach for it. I can do those fruity cocktails, but straight liquor?” She let out a shudder at that.

“Better get used to it; it’ll be the only way to get through endless balls and galas and fundraisers for rare pigeon species or whatever is the cause du jour,” Drake quipped. Riley nudged her elbow back into his side, causing him to chuckle.

“He’s exaggerating. It’s not that horrible.”

He let out a scoff, so Riley twisted to glare at him.

“Liu, you bitched to me endlessly about how much you hated all the pomp and pretentiousness and-”

“-and she’s not me! Quit scaring her off!” Riley rolled her eyes at him before spinning back around to Iris. “You seem much less bitchy than me, so I’m sure you’ll be fine. After all, you’ve taught preteens, so that proves you are way more patient and tolerant,” she said, waving her hand in what she hoped was a reassuring way. “Who have you met so far?”

“Only Olivia Nevrakis.”

“Yikes, you really led with her?” Drake called out to Liam, causing Riley to elbow him yet again.

Liam just chuckled. “You know, she can be rather pleasant if she isn’t being antagonized endlessly.”

“Are you kidding me? She always starts it.”

Iris just gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. I only met her for one dinner, but she didn’t seem cruel or unwelcoming. And her boyfriend was quiet, but seemed nice.”

Riley felt Drake moving beside her as she leaned forward, her eyes jumping to Liam. His eyes were pinched shut as he winced, bracing for the inevitable questions.

"What the hell?"

"Olivia has a boyfriend?"

"Oh crap, was that a secret?" Iris looked horrified at her slip up, twisting around to glance at Liam.

He let out a short sigh. "Well, she hasn't gone public with him yet."

"I just thought that was only because Christopher’s divorce wasn't finalized."

Riley could practically feel the joy rolling off Drake in waves as Liam's slight wince turned into a full on grimace.

"Olivia's dating a married man?"

Liam shook his head. "He has been separated from his wife for over a year now. And I would appreciate you two keeping this to yourselves for the moment. You know how Olivia values her privacy."

"We won't tell a soul," Riley said, nudging Drake with the side of her foot to keep him quiet.

"Sure, but Iris, what other of Olivia's dark secrets do you want to spill?" he teased, ignoring Riley's gesture, instead grinning at her when she shot him a glare. All she could do was roll her eyes.

"I had no idea that it was a secret! Oh Liam, how mad is she going to be?"

"It'll be fine; I promise you. Drake and Riley aren't going to tell anyone, right?" he asked, staring at both of them pointedly.

"Of course. We live in New York; no one cares about Cordonian gossip there," Riley said, trying to lighten the mood and calm Iris's worries.

"Besides, we like you enough to spare you from the she-devil's wrath."

Liam just shook his head. "Drake… Olivia's not that bad. She can just be… intense."

Riley nodded at that. "She’s honestly probably one of the harder ones to impress, so if you feel like she was fine with you, I don’t think you have much to worry about. Except Neville. And Madeleine if she’s still around.”

Liam shook his head. “She’s still in London. No one here has seen her for a year or so.”

“So then just Neville. Otherwise, they’re largely harmless. Just varying degrees of out of touch. Nothing a few cocktails won't help you tolerate.” Liam shook his head gently at Riley’s assessment. She still sometimes felt a little weird being completely honest about her perceptions of things in front of him. He was so kind, and she… well, she knew she judged everyone. But Liam claimed he appreciated honesty from her, and he’d never made her feel bad for sharing her thoughts, so she always made an effort not to censor herself in front of Liam. Well, not too much. He was still a king, after all.

“Well, I guess I’ll find out in a couple weeks,” Iris said, dropping her eyes to her lap and tracing her fingers along the stem of her wine glass.

Liam nodded. “You’ll do fine, love. I know you will,” he said, running his hand along her arm. “Iris will be attending the Twilight Ball at the end of the month as her first official appearance,” he clarified to Drake and Riley.

“So you’ll be going public then?” Drake asked.

“Yes, that’s the plan,” said Iris. “My letter of resignation is being reviewed by the palace PR department currently, and once I submit that, things should be clear for us."

Riley frowned at that. Iris had seemed to really love her job when she talked about it. "You're resigning?"

Iris tilted her head off to the side as she gave a little shrug. "It could be perceived as a conflict of interest. The teachers aren't going to believe I am advocating for their best interests if I am in a relationship with him. And his critics are going to accuse him of being unobjective in his policy decisions due to our relationship."

Riley felt Drake shift against her. "That's… that's a big step," he said.

Iris opened her mouth to respond, but Liam placed a hand on her knee, essentially stopping her. "Yes, it is. Iris and I have had several frank discussions about how complicated my life is, and she asked me if this would be beneficial. Neither one of us has taken this decision lightly.”

Considering how little thought Drake had put into dropping his whole life to move to New York, Riley didn’t really feel like he had a leg to stand on here, questioning Iris’s decision to leave her job for a relatively young relationship. But she also knew that Drake sometimes liked to play devil’s advocate with Liam, even if he didn’t personally disagree with Liam’s decisions. So she didn’t say anything, but instead just glanced over to Iris to see how she was handling it all.

She didn’t look too fazed, but she was squinting at Drake slightly, almost as if she was trying to read him. “Are you worried for him or for me?” she finally asked after a couple of seconds. “Because it would make sense for you to worry about him, but I don’t understand how me quitting my job would be at all harmful to Liam.”

Riley twisted around slightly to look at Drake. He gave a little shrug and took a sip of his whiskey. “Don’t want to see either of you get trapped.”

“This isn’t locking us into anything. I can go back to teaching at any time; I’m just stepping down from my more activist-like role.”

"Sure, but you're going to get a lot of media attention regardless here. Are you ready for that?"

This time it was Liam who started to speak, but Iris jumped right back in. “I can’t know for sure, of course, but I think so. I’ve given speeches and interviews before as part of my work, and while that was obviously on a much smaller scale, I never had a problem with the media.”

“And I wouldn't make this public if I wasn’t sure, Drake. You know that.”

Drake gave a nod. “Okay then. Don’t fully trust anyone besides Liam, though.”

And that was it. Drake leaned back, relaxing fully into the couch, as Liam took a drink from his glass. Sometimes, Riley felt like they had their own little language, their private way of communicating, but she supposed that was only natural after decades of friendship. She caught eyes with Iris, looking almost bewildered at the shift of the energy in the room and gave her a little shrug. Iris smiled and raised her eyebrows. It was nice, having someone else who got to observe the weirdness that was the friendship between those two.

“Alright, so cautious and careful with the members of court. Any other tips for me on how to handle my first ball?” Iris asked.

Everyone else in the room burst out laughing at her question, erasing any last traces of tension.

“What?”

“You could not have picked two worse people to ask,” Riley said, shaking her head. “He’s just going to tell you to get drunk and avoid everyone.”

“Oh, like that wasn’t your strategy by the end as well! How many times did you just straight up steal my flask off of me because they were only offering wine and champagne?”

“I was just making sure you didn’t have to drink alone. It was simply out of concern for you that-”

“-Uh huh. Yeah.”

“Fine. To answer your question, Iris, do the exact opposite of what I did. And as long as you don’t show up in denim to the ball, you’ll be a step ahead of this one.”

“Wait, you wore denim to a formal ball?”

“Oh, not just one!” added Liam, a huge grin spreading across his face, his eyes lighting up as he stared Drake down. “Years and years of formal events saw Drake decide that denim was the most appropriate attire.”

Iris’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. She glanced around the room, almost as if she expected someone to pop out and tell this was some massive prank.

“We aren’t kidding,” Riley said, “He and I just set the bar insanely low for you to clear. Wear a nice ballgown, don’t openly refer to other members of the nobility as ‘little bitches,’ and you should be all set.”

Iris glanced between her and Drake, the shock evident in her wide eyes.

“Yeah, so not exactly surprising we left court,” Drake said, downing the rest of his whiskey.

Iris just shook her head. “Liam told me many things about both of you, but I feel like he left out that you were so…”

“Irreverent?”

“Mad stubborn?”

“Damn foolish?”

She smiled and took a sip of her wine. “I’ll defer to your descriptions. So, I take it your wedding won’t be very formal?”

Riley felt Drake shift slightly next to her, his knee starting to fidget. “Uh no, not at all. To put things in perspective, we invited less than 25 people the first time, and we might do even less now.”

“The first time?”

“Drake and Riley ended up postponing,” Liam said, his eyes flickering over to Drake before glancing back at Iris, “They were originally set to get married this past June.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea! I never would have brought it up if-”

“-It’s fine,” Drake said, cutting off Iris’s apology. “Something came up with my family last minute.”

Iris looked conflicted as to how to best move on from the topic of conversation she’d innocently stumbled into. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that you had to make that choice. Have you set a new date?”

Drake tensed up at that and Riley had to hold back a sigh. If only Iris could have decided to change the subject instead of talk through it. “No, we haven’t yet.”

"Soon, though," Drake added before standing up, walking over to the side of the room to refill his glass.

Iris looked worried that she had said something horribly offensive, so Riley just gave her what she hoped came across as a reassuring smile as she shook her head lightly. “Yeah, it’s no big deal. Just something that had to happen.”

She could hear ice clinking into a glass, but she resisted the urge to spin around and see just how tense and uptight Drake was. She knew that as the months had passed by, the postponement had become more and more of a sore spot for him, that Drake was frustrated that they couldn’t just plan their wedding over again right away, that they had to save up again after losing all their deposits for a late cancellation. She just didn’t understand why he had gotten so stuck on this one thing. They still lived together, they still had a future together, and they were still getting married. Nothing had changed. Yet as the months had rolled by, the topic of their wedding seemed to just make him more and more antsy each time it got brought up.

Part of her wondered how much of this was due to the fact that everyone else around them was making these big life changes, and much like being back at court, he felt like he was just being left off to the side. Hana and Catherine were married. Savannah and Bertrand had another baby. Back home, Luke and Nicole had just announced they were pregnant. And now Liam was in a relationship that seemed mad serious. It probably was creating this weird sense of being an outsider for him again. She was sure that had to be a factor.

Deep down, she knew it was very sweet that Drake’s frustrations largely stemmed from that fact that he just wanted to be married to her. But part of her wished he could just relax about it all. They would get married when they got married, and until then, they should just enjoy their lives together. Instead, it all seemed to just stress him out.

But until they saved up enough for new deposits and got things planned and organized again, Riley knew that she was just going to have to deal with his… moodiness around this whole topic. As he rejoined her on the couch, she placed her hand on his knee and gave it a gentle squeeze, just hoping that was enough to provide some reassurance and to calm him down. She didn’t want their entire trip to have those worries hanging over their heads. This was supposed to be a fun and happy visit, after all.

Perma: @walkerswhiskeygirl @octobereighth @kimmiedoo5 @mom2000aggie

TRR/TRH: @iaminlovewithtrr @mskaneko @axwalker @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @debramcg1106 @masterofbluff @sarahx206

Drake x MC: @no-one-u-know @iplaydrake

ICWAM: @thequeenchoices @sunnyxdazed

#drake walker #drake x mc #trr fanfic #trr au #trr au fanfic #choices fanfiction #liam x oc #trr

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creampuffqueen · 5 years ago

Text

Deep in the Heart of Texas - Three

a/n: Sorry, y’all! This took a bit longer than expected as I’ve been having some bad writer’s block recently. But, I’m getting back into the swing of things and this chapter is pretty long! Hope y’all enjoy!

Summary: Aelin Galathynius is ready for the best summer of her life. She’s home from college for the summer, and so are all of her friends. Even her cousin is on a break from the military. Everything is set up to be perfect. Until... her mother decides to let the son of an old family friend stay with them while he grieves the loss of a loved one. And Aelin is not going to let a party pooper ruin her summer.

Rowan Whitethorn has just suffered the biggest loss of his life: the death of his long-time girlfriend, Lyria. His family is sick of him moping around his tiny New York apartment, so they ship him down south for the summer. The last thing Rowan wants is to spend his vacation in Nowhereville, Texas, but he has little choice. Not to mention, the only people his age seem to hate him. How on earth is he going to survive 3 months of this?

Normally, Aelin isn’t a morning person. Really, she’s quite the opposite. She’s lost count of all the nights she’d stayed up until midnight or later. Sometimes working, but usually reading.

But today is different. Different, because Aelin is awake with the sun.

To be fair, it’s kind of hard to sleep through the Texas sun. By seven in the morning it’s too hot to keep the covers over her. And that’s when Aelin is only under the sheets, and clad in a nightgown so short she should probably go to confession as well as church today.

Plus, the sun is in her eyes. Aelin rolls over with a sigh, kicking away the cotton sheets. She smacks her lips a few times, noting how awfully dry they are.

She doesn’t bother with a bathrobe as she slips out of the room, headed for the bathroom across the hall, desperate for a glass of water. Her hair is probably a mess, but it’s too early for her to really care.

It’s when she’s busy gulping tap water from a cup near the sink that she hears someone else getting up, walking out to the bathroom. Aedion, she assumes.

Someone knocks, and Aelin calls around the cup at her lips, “Coming! Just one second!” She finishes her drink and sets the cup down, striding over to the door.

But instead of her cousin standing outside the bathroom, the glowering face of her guest greets her; the one and only bastard Rowan Whitethorn. Aelin’s grin turns into a scowl.

She stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, for a long second. Aelin doesn’t miss the flicker of his gaze at her body, and she has half a mind to shove him out the nearest window. However, repairing the glass on this old of a house would cost more than Rowan’s funeral, so she decides against it.

All of his looking is making her far more flustered than it should, and Aelin curses the feeling of a blush working its way over her face. Before either of them can say anything, she shoves him out of the way and escapes back to her bedroom.

Leaning against the closed door, Aelin resents how her heart is pounding. It’s almost enough to make her forget why she’s being mean to him in the first place.

But as she cools off, the fan on high, it all comes flooding back. Right. He’s going to ruin the best summer of her life.

If Aelin’s being fair (which she isn’t), he hasn’t really done much so far to ruin her summer. Mostly just sat in his room alone and made dinner awkward.

So she decides that he’s probably an asshole. He’s a yankee, of course he’s an ass. Hell, she heard him talking shit last night about her town. Rowan Whitethorn is an asshole yankee.

Rolling her eyes at that, Aelin moves away from the door to get ready. Two hours should be more than enough time to get herself looking presentable for the Lord, but with the amount of humidity in the air, even so early in the morning, it’s going to take so much hairspray that God himself will be choking on it in heaven.

Aelin finds a dress that is sure to be approved by her aunt and mother; a flowing, floral patterned thing with short sleeves and a very respectable neckline. She can’t help herself but spin around in it for a second, loving the feeling of the dress twirling around her bare ankles.

She’s deep in the process of taming her mass of golden hair when Aedion practically knocks the door down, not even bothering to knock.

“I can’t believe you told him he could borrow my clothes!” Her cousin demands. “I hardly have any clothes to begin with!”

“And I can’t believe you just burst into my room without knocking, asshole! What if I’d been getting dressed?” Aelin snaps back.

Aedion just pulls a face at her. “Don’t swear, it’s the Lord’s day.” He imitates his mother’s judgemental voice perfectly, sending Aelin nearly into hysterics.

“I told Rowan to dress nicely for church.” She says innocently. “Besides, you’re not going to wear two collared shirts outside, are you?”

“Maybe I wanted to try out a new fashion trend.” Her cousin retorts, though he can’t keep the grin off his face.

Aelin rolls her eyes at him, yanking her hairbrush though her hair. It’s getting frizzier by the minute, and it looks like the only way to save it is going to be straightening it.

It’s already eight thirty (okay, maybe Aelin spent nearly an hour reading, but it’s not her fault for the author making the book so damn hard to put down.), and she really wants to eat before church. She can already smell eggs and bacon cooking downstairs.

“Aedion, since you’re already dressed, can you please find my shoes?” She asks sweetly. “The rosy-colored sandals, you know the ones. They’re in my closet, top shelf.”

“While you do what, use that medival torture device on me?” He snorts. “I’m not turning my back on you while you have something hot in your hands.”

Aelin throws her hands up. “I am not a pyromaniac! Just find my shoes, please.”

“I never said you were a pyro, but-” Aelin fixes her cousin with a glare before he can finish the sentence. “Fine. I’ll find your stupid shoes.”

As Aelin pulls the straightening iron through her hair and sprays it liberally with hairspray at the same time, she hears Aedion fumbling around in the closet, probably making a huge mess.

But at least he has the shoes for her when she tucks the last piece of wispy hair in its place with half a gallon of hairspray.

“Your head is gonna light on fire.” Her cousin warns. Aelin just rolls her eyes.

“C’mon, loser. I need bacon.”

Downstairs, Evalin gladly serves them both, and it takes everything Aelin has to not completely lose herself in the sheer glory of eggs, bacon, and biscuits. Instead she takes dainty bites, using her napkin, and keeps her elbows off the table, keeping Evalin out of her hair.

“Is Rowan coming to church with us?” Rhoe asks from the living room, waiting for everyone to get finished so they can leave.

“I told him we leave at nine,” Aelin says through a mouthful of food. Evalin turns her head around fixes her with a stare until Aelin swallows and repeats her sentence, clearly this time.

And sure enough, the heavy footsteps coming from the stares announce Rowan’s presence to the gathered people. Fleetfoot, who is beneath the table and begging for food as usual, thumps her tail against the hardwood floor. The only sound in the room.

Aelin hates, really hates, how attractive Rowan Whitethorn is. Seriously, did God just create him to torment her? And seeing him in Aedion’s too-tight shirt… it’s doing things to her. She has to look away.

“Would you like some breakfast, Rowan?” Evalin asks sweetly.

“No thank you, Mrs. Galathynius. I’m not hungry.” Rowan responds, looking more uncomfortable than he was the day before. Evalin looks like she wants to argue, but Rhoe nudges her before she says anything.

“Then let’s get going. Who’s going in which car?” Aelin gives Fleetfoot her last piece of bacon before putting the plate in the large farmhouse sink and heading over to her aunt.

“Aedion and I will go with you, Auntie El,” Aelin purrs. Eleanor and Gavriel drove their small car down, meaning there’s only room for four inside. Which leaves Rowan with her parents and uncles.

She can tell Aedion knows what she’s doing, and feel his disapproving glare, but she ignores him. Eleanor, oblivious to Aelin’s plans, just smiles at her niece and walks with her outside to the cars.

~~~~

Rowan can think of at least ten different places he’d rather be than here. Sitting in the backseat of a cramped truck, having squeezed himself into the collared shirt belonging to Aedion, sweating like a damn pig. And on the way to church.

He hasn’t been to church since Lyria died. Not that he frequented it before, but still. The painful tugging in his chest only worsens as the memories come up, clear as day.

Lyria laid in the open casket, her face as beautiful and serene as it always was. Her brown hair was loose, and the freckles on her face were stark against her pale skin.

Lying on her back, nobody could see the broken spine that had put her instantly to death in the car crash. Rowan’s only consolation was that she had died quickly, with no pain. She had broken ribs as well, but according to the doctors, the injuries had been sustained after she died. After that drunk driver rammed directly into her car, so fast Lyria hadn’t had time to react, to get out of the way.

The church around him was beautiful. Wood paneling on the walls, stained glass windows letting in the sun that somehow still dared to shine. This was the church that Lyria had said she wanted to get married in.

Instead, this was the church she would be buried at. And Rowan couldn’t stand it.

“Rowan?” He looks up as the surge of terrible memories fade, to find Evalin looking at him, so concerned, from the passenger seat. There’s more worry on her face than Rowan found from his own mother.

“I’m sorry, did you ask something? I was… thinking,” Rowan scrambles, because the last thing he wants is to upset Evalin Galathynius. She’s taken him in, given him a place to stay, no matter how hot and humid it is.

He just wishes he could say the same for her daughter.

When he ran into Aelin the bathroom that morning, he’d hated himself for the way his eyes were immediately drawn to her figure. For the way his gaze landed on her legs, in that nightgown so short it rested right at the tops of her thighs. And her breasts, hardly covered by that plunging neckline and thin, silken straps.

He’d spent a good portion of the morning trying to erase that image from his head. And the stupid feelings that came with it.

Nobody says anything more as they continue to drive through the small town. At least the AC is on full blast, but it isn’t doing much since Rowan is squeezed in between Orlon and Weylan.

It’s a small mercy when they finally pull up to the church. It’s a small thing; quaint, tiny. Exactly the opposite of that church in New York. Rowan lets out a small sigh of relief.

When they meet up with the rest of the family, Rowan has to try very hard to hold in his chuckle. Aelin’s hair, despite having smelled strongly of hairspray, is frizzy from the humidity. And her makeup is on the verge of melting off. Rowan can’t meet her eyes, lest he starts laughing hysterically in the parking lot.

Aelin gives him a seething look that just dares him to try.

The inside of the small church looks pretty similar to the outside. It’s pretty enough, if you squint. Everything looks worn and used, so unlike the picture-perfect places of worship up north.

Rowan isn’t sure what to do. The Galathynius and Ashryver families split off, one by one, to embrace and talk to friends like they haven’t seen them in years.

So Rowan finds a pew in the back and sits, pulling out his phone. He tugs uncomfortably at the tight collar, made worse by the sweat he can feel starting to coat his whole body.

He has some missed texts, again. After Lyria’s death, he turned off all his notifications for everything. He hasn’t decided if he wants them back or not yet.

Enda: Hey, Ro. How are you doing today? I know you’ve read all my texts, but I haven’t heard anything from you. Please at least let me know you’re okay?

Sellene: I miss you, Rowan. Please stay safe down there. Call if you need anything.

Fenrys: Getting on the plane in a minute! We’re gonna see you soon, hang in there man

Lorcan: I hope Fen hasn’t been spamming your phone. Just tell him to fuck off if he has. We’re on our way.

Enda and Sellene’s messages were from late last night, things Rowan had ignored as he fell into restless sleep. Fenrys and Lorcan’s texts, however, were dated from an hour ago. A quick google searched determined they’d arrive in Houston sometime in the next 2-3 hours.

Before Rowan can decide how he feels about that, the preacher stands up on the raised stage area of the church, calling the people to attention. Everyone takes a seat as the man begins to speak, praising God for a wonderful day.

And as if God had it out for him, of all the people he could have been stuck next to, it’s Aelin who sits down in the pew beside him, the rest of her family following her or finding other seats. The only consolation is that she’s looking at the preacher, and not paying any attention to him at all.

“Let us bow our heads in prayer,” the preacher calls, and every head in the room dips low. Rowan, unsure of what exactly to do, copies Aelin’s stance.

“Today we pray for those who have been lost to us. Remember they are in heaven now, and will not be forgotten.” The man’s words strike a chord in Rowan’s heart, hard, and he grits his teeth against the mental pain so strong it actually hurts.

He hardly hears the rest of the preacher’s speech, doesn’t bother repeating words and phrases with the rest of the congregation. It’s taking all of his focus to just breathe-

A tiny, almost unnoticeable nudge on his thigh, and Rowan glances up. Aelin, the contempt and annoyance gone for just a brief second as their eyes meet. He can feel the words in her eyes.

Are you alright?

No. He’s not alright. He doesn’t think he ever will be again.

Everything passes in a blur, and Rowan isn’t sure how he’s still sitting up straight, not choking on his tears. The shirt is constricting and hot, so hot, and yet he still sits, stoic and silent.

Someone plays a few riffs on an acoustic guitar, and Rowan has enough strength left to look up, to see a young woman with white-blonde hair start to play. And a red-haired man beside her to start singing, praising the Lord.

Sitting next to him, Aelin is close enough that Rowan can hear her singing along under her breath. Her voice is reverent, strangely so for a woman who swears and drinks and wears properly sinful things to bed.

But hearing that voice on stage, the gentle thrumming of the guitar, it’s enough to bring Rowan back down to earth. Set him back into his own body.

And his collar is still too tight and his body too sweaty, but something about sitting there, with that guitar music, and the quiet reverence of the church, somehow makes it all okay.

~~~~

Back at the Galathynius house, Rowan takes a long, freezing cold shower before returning Aedion’s dress shirt to him. Going outside has drained all his energy, and not having eaten any breakfast made it worse. All Rowan wants right now is a nap.

But old habits die hard, and Rowan finds himself laying in bed, squinting from that patch of sunlight, and scrolling through his phone.

Fenrys: We have landed! Heading down to Orynth on the first taxi that will take us, and I found a motel right outside the city limits. It’s called the Terrasen Motel.

Rowan had seen it on his way in, slouched in the backseat of the Uber. He doesn’t feel like telling Fenrys about the whole no-taxi thing, instead deciding to finally take that nap. He sets his phone alarm for an hour from now, and is asleep the second his rolls over.

“Mama, I’m going to head over to Lys’s for a while!” Rowan groans awake, scrubbing at his eyes. Aelin’s voice is so loud that he can hear her perfectly clearly even while she’s downstairs.

He’s about to go back to sleep, when he notices his phone, buzzing near-silently, on his nightstand.

Shit. He forgot to take it off silent. And it’s a full hour later than he intended to sleep. Shit, shit, shit.

Rowan stumbles off the plush bed, reaching frantically for the first clothes he can find. When he opens his phone to turn off the alarm, he sees that his text messages have been blown up by Fenrys and Lorcan.

So he calls Fenrys as he pulls on a t-shirt, his friend thankfully picking up on the first ring.

“Hey, Ro,” Fenrys cackles. “We’re here, we thought you’d come and meet us for lunch or something.”

“Yeah, I’m heading out right now,” Rowan says. “I just wanted to make sure you all got here okay. See you soon.”

He doesn’t wait for Fenrys’s goodbye before he hangs up, shoving his feet into his tennis shoes. He has a terrible case of bedhead according to the mirror, but he ignores it, hurrying out of the room.

“Be home by dinner!” That’s Evalin’s voice, shouting back to her daughter from wherever she is. Rowan dashes down the stairs, coming to the landing right outside the living room.

Aelin is in the living room, dressed completely differently from that morning. A light blue t-shirt and jeans tucked into a pair of leather cowboy boots. She’s humming to herself as she braids her hair, heading for the door with her dog by her side.

“Aelin?” Rowan really hates asking her this, but he doesn’t have a car. And at least she’s going somewhere, so it’s not like he’ll drag some other poor soul away just to drop him off a motel.

However, her glare makes him rethink it all.

“What?” She all but hisses. “I’m busy.”

“Aelin! Don’t be rude!” Thank God for Evalin, listening in from what sounds like the kitchen. Aelin lets out a dramatic sigh, finishing off her braid and tying it with the hairband around her wrist.

“Can you drop me off somewhere? I’m visiting some friends.” He explains.

“You have friends?” Aelin snorts, and Rowan sees red. Before he can snap back, her mother walks into the living room, a dishtowel in one hand.

“Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, you apologize right now! Rowan, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She would be delighted to take you to see your friends.” Evalin Galathynius’s stare could level a damn mountain.

Aelin mutters a half-assed apology, her glare not letting up. But she doesn’t say anything else, just gestures for Rowan to follow her outside.

It’s sweltering outside, in the heat of the day. And yet, Aelin is somehow wearing jeans. That dog- Fleetfoot, he remembers now- is prancing along beside her, pink tongue lolling out of her mouth.

Aelin fishes some keys out her back pocket, unlocking the same truck that Rowan rode to church in. She opens the passenger door, and Rowan is just about to thank her, when Fleetfoot jumps inside instead.

And Aelin just smirks, gesturing for Rowan to climb into the backseat. She’s letting her dog take the passenger seat.

The leather seats feel like the fires of hell against his legs, and the seatbelt nearly gives him a third-degree burn. Aelin just cranks up the radio and the AC, grabs some sunglasses and a hat from the center console, and pulls out of the driveway. Once again, not affected.

“Where do your friends live?” Aelin asks him, probably the first civil thing she’s said all day. She rolls down Fleetfoot’s window, letting the dog stick her head out while they drive.

“They don’t live here, just visiting,” Rowan explains. “They’re staying at the Terrasen Motel.”

“Alright, we’ll pass it on the way.” She doesn’t offer as to where she’s going, and Rowan’s curiosity sparks, just a bit. All he knows is that she’s headed to go visit someone called “Lys” and will be home before dinner.

“Where are you going?”

Aelin doesn’t answer for a minute, humming along with the guitar on the radio. But finally she shoots him a glance in the rearview mirror, showing him she heard.

“Caraverre. It’s about thirty minutes away. We have a little cluster of small towns around here, they’re all super close together. Lys has some horses and she and I are going riding.”

“You know how to ride a horse?” the question sounds even stupider out loud, and Rowan braces himself for a smart retort.

“‘Course I do. I’ve been riding since I could walk.” Aelin reaches over to stroke Fleetfoot’s fuzzy ears. “Everyone around here rides.”

“Does everyone around here drive a giant truck?” The conversation is calm, civil almost. Rowan tries to get as much information before Aelin turns on him again.

“Yeah. Everyone’s got a truck, everyone rides horses, everyone hunts.”

“Wait- can you shoot a gun?” Rowan knows the answer before Aelin even speaks.

“There are so many guns owned in Texas that every single person, including babies, could have seven guns. So yeah, I can shoot.”

Shit. Rowan does not want to get on her bad side. Or… he’s already on her bad side, so he really does not want to get on her worse side.

The rest of the drive is silent, until Aelin pulls the truck into the parking lot of the Terrasen Motel and all but shoves him out of the truck.

Walking inside, pulling up Fenrys’s number to call him, Rowan again wonders just how in the hell he’s supposed to survive three months in this sate.

----

a/n: I hope y’all enjoyed! Yay for more characters getting introduced next chapter! And also, that fact about the number of guns in Texas is completely true. No I am not kidding.

Tag List: Comment to be added or removed!

@http-itsrebecca

@rowaelinforeverworld

@whyyoumakemesadstahp

@queen-of-glass

@the-dark-swan

#throne of glass #sarah j maas #tog #tog southern au #southern au #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #lorcan salvaterre #fenrys moonbeam #galathynius family #lysandra ennar

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slashthedice · 6 years ago

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Hello, my loves, I am back! Part 2 of the original request from @someone-who-is-there for Bubba and reader who was j chillin’ at a bar before our favorite chainsaw boy and his coat hanger-wielding brother showed up. Okay, so as much as I love the atmosphere of Texas Battle Land in TCM2, nothing will top the original Sawyer house for me so we’re just pretending that that somehow fits into this timeline wise. Shhh it’s fine. NSFW below!

When you arrived at your apparent destination, the big man, Bubba, quickly unloaded the corpses from the back of the truck. As the crinkling of the aged, faded blue tarp stopped, you chanced a peek through your lashes at your surroundings. Laying on your back as you were, you were greeted to the clear expanse of the star-speckled Texas night sky. The blood pool that had spilled and flooded around you had begun to cool and coagulate. It felt thick and sticky on your skin, and you fought against the urge to shudder, unsure if the other man was still around. The sound of a screen door slamming nearby had your heart in your throat. “Where have you boys been?!” This new voice sounded like it belonged to an older man. “Did anyone see you?” There was a rather antagonistic squabbling sort of conversation between the strange man from the bar and this new older man. Bubba continued dutifully unloading corpses and taking them somewhere unseen. Between his efficiency and the way that the other two spoke to each other, you got the feeling that this wasn’t the first time they had all done something like this. You shied away from acknowledging that they had murdered those people. You did not want to think about the fact that Bubba had let you live while cutting down so many others. When finally you were the last “body” left in the truck bed, Bubba returned and hoisted you up onto his shoulder once more. His dark coat smelled strongly of musky sweat and the coppery tang of blood. The heavy falls of his boots against creaking, aged wood let you know that you had entered what you assumed was a house. You felt him hesitate briefly, and then mount a set of groaning stairs. Rusting hinges shrieked in protest as he pushed open a door and closed it behind him.

He set you gently on the soft, spongy surface of a quilt-covered bed. You opened your eyes slowly to find him standing over you, observing you with a tilted head while he wrung his thick hands. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows to observe your surroundings. The room itself was fairly barren. The multi-colored quilt beneath you supplied the only real color. White paint flaked off of the iron bed frame, and the small distressed nightstand boasted only an antique ceramic table lamp with a bent and crooked shade. The walls were covered in peeling, yellowed paper. In the corners and along the baseboards the top layer had pulled away to reveal older layers of equally yellowed floral paper. A wardrobe loomed in one corner of the room, the flowers carved on its doors appeared to have been painted over by a child-like hand. The lone window in the room looked to have been caulked and painted shut, with old newspaper pasted over the glass. You looked once more to the man-- Bubba, you reminded yourself again. He watched as you took in your surroundings, shuffling his weight and eyeing you anxiously. He seemed at a loss, not sure what to do now that he had you here, in what you assumed was his room. You were just as lost. What was to happen now? He had spared you, taken you home with him, but you had no idea what would come next. He murmured a few more indecipherable, babbled words and nodded his head as if he had settled upon some decision. A few hurried hand motions indicated for you to stay put. He turned and left the room, and when the door closed behind him the sound of a key in the lock was near deafening in its finality. It had been months since that night. Your time in captivity was… different than you expected. At first he treated you like a child would treat a favorite doll. Each night, he would dress you up in different clothes and apply any number of various makeups to your face. You learned slowly to interpret the sounds he made. You came to understand his squeals of delight just as well as his huffs and grunts of displeasure. Every couple nights, once he was certain the rest of his family was asleep, he would smuggle you into the big bathroom. He would draw a bath and then help you to undress, before placing you gently into the hot water. He used a washcloth to scrub at your skin, and ran his thick fingers through your wet hair. On these nights, you could not help but to feel conflicted. You were undeniably a captive, here against your will, but he was so kind to you, so gentle. You looked forward to the times that he would come to the room, felt your heart skip with excitement as he fussed over and showered you with attention. He brought you food, and though you had begun to suspect what exactly he was feeding you, you tried not to think about it, focusing only on the enthusiasm with which he fed it to you. At first when it was time for bed, he would retreat from the room to some unknown place to sleep, leaving you to the bed, his bed. After a few weeks, you had halted his retreat with a gentle hand and a timid “Stay.” You had not slept alone since. He held you to him like he was afraid that you would slip away into the balmy summer night. His arms were strong around your waist, and his stomach was soft against your back. You would be lying if you said that you weren’t shocked the first time you woke to feel his hips grinding into yours in his sleep. His hardness burned against the curve of your ass, causing heat to rush to your face. The more lascivious part of your mind brought to bear those traitorous thoughts that had filtered through your consciousness in that dirty bathroom all those months ago. You wondered if he was dreaming of you. Did he think about taking you in all the ways you wanted him to take you? Did his unconscious mind tempt him with conjured images of you panting and moaning beneath him? A secret part of your heart hoped that was the case. You dragged a hand over your own heated flesh, starting at your neck where your pulse hammered. You ghosted your fingertips across your collarbones, downwards to cup your breasts and thumb the aching peaks of your nipples through the fabric of the gauzy nightgown Bubba had gifted you. He panted against the back of your neck as he continued to rut against you, and you slid your hand over your stomach, hesitating when your wandering fingers found the band of your panties. Your hesitation was short lived. Spurred on by the litany of sinful sounds coming from the large man at your back, you soon found yourself biting down on your lower lip to stifle your own pleasured sounds. This was your nightly ritual for a near absurd amount of time. You burned constantly, and it wasn’t from the heavy heat of the Texas sun. Trapped in that room as you were, you had only your thoughts for company, and they were all too happy to produce less than innocent daydreams about your captor. Your own touch could only do so much for the simmering desire that bubbled in your core day in and day out. You were engaged in a rather intense self-love session when things finally came to a head. You had your head thrown back and the hand that wasn’t dipping between your dripping folds covered your mouth to muffle your harsh breathing. You curled your fingers into yourself and drew in a shuddering breath, causing you to miss the sound of the key turning in the lock. You couldn’t possibly miss the shriek of the hinges as Bubba excitedly threw open the door to bring you your lunch far earlier than you expected. You nearly snapped your own neck with how quickly your head shot upwards as you clamped your trembling thighs together, a gasp of surprise leaving your bitten lips. Your wide eyes met Bubba’s. He was frozen in place like a deer caught in the headlights, one hand still on the dented brass doorknob and the other holding a heaping plate of leftover roast from the night prior. Horror and embarrassment flooded through you as you realized the state you were in. Your clothes had been discarded, but you had wrapped yourself in one of Bubba’s shirts that you had pilfered from the wardrobe. Your panties hung from one of your ankles, and you were sure that your skin was flushed with color caused both by your previous activities and your mortification at being caught. The silence stretched on, it seemed that Bubba had turned to stone in the doorway and your tongue was suddenly far too heavy in your mouth to function. Oh god, what the hell were you supposed to do now? You wanted nothing more than for the bed to swallow you whole and then sink into the ground. You clamped your eyes shut and willed the world to end. A whine from the man still standing in the door prompted you to open your eyes. You allowed yourself to peek at him, only for your eyes to widen once more. Bubba’s hand on the knob trembled with the strength of his grip. You followed the taut lines of his tensed body to the rather unmistakeable bulge in his dark pants. You could not stop yourself from licking your lips. Though still embarrassed, you felt a certain sort of pride knowing that you had that effect on him. Taking a deep breath, you relaxed your legs and allowed them to spread as they had before. You watched his eyes follow the slope of your thighs to their now exposed apex. He shifted uncomfortably, no doubt feeling the confinement of his pants and the tightening of his collar. He had seen you naked before, but these circumstances were undeniably different from when he bathed and dressed you. You waited with bated breath for him to accept or reject your silent offer, but he was stock-still, cemented to his place in the doorway. The silence was stifling, your own pulse rushed in your ears and your breathing was suddenly far too loud. “Bubba,” you basically moaned. “Please... come here.” Your words jolted him into action. He nearly slammed the door shut with the force he used to close it. He hurriedly shoved the plate of food onto the nightstand, almost knocking the already damaged lamp to the floor. Once he was standing over you, he seemed unsure what to do. He hesitated at the edge of the bed, looking to you for guidance. Normally, you found his demeanor endearing, but right now it was driving you crazy. You wanted him to touch you, to fuck you, and his hesitation was keeping you on edge. You swung your legs over the edge of the mattress, kicking your panties to some far-flung corner of the room as you stood up in front of him. You were basically chest to chest now, or as close as you could be with Bubba towering over you. You placed your hands on his chest, reveling in the feeling of his heart jackhammering against your palm. You slid your hands upwards to loop your arms around his neck, pushing yourself up onto your tiptoes to do so. You were a little nervous about trying to kiss him through the mask, but you also knew that you weren’t going to get him to take it off. Throwing your concerns to the wind, you closed your eyes and the distance. It was strange kissing him through the barrier of stolen skin covering his features, but his thick lips against your own felt so nice that you were willing to ignore the oddity of it. His hands were quick to find your hips as he responded to the kiss enthusiastically, pulling you harder against him. He felt so warm against you. You were drowning in his shirt, but you could still feel the heat of his form through the thin material. You were suddenly keenly aware of the fact that he was far too overdressed for your taste. You pulled away from his mouth and he whined, trying to follow and recapture your lips, but you were focused on your new mission. Your hurried fingers worked impatiently to free him of his tie and begin undoing the buttons on his shirt as quickly as possible. He brought his own hands up to your shoulders and for one heart-stopping moment you thought that he was going to push you away, but it was soon apparent that he was simply trying to divest you of his shirt hanging loosely on your body. You shrugged out of it, letting the material fall to the floor around your feet so that you could continue undressing him. He cooperated through the rest of the process, watching you with what could only be described as awe and seemingly as eager as you to have clothing out of the way. When finally you had yanked his pants and underwear down his thick legs and he had stepped out of the material, you had a chance to look at him. His chest and stomach were covered in the same dark hair that was on his arms and legs. A trail of that same coarse hair led down to the cock that you had been fantasizing about for weeks. Seeing it was a completely different experience from feeling it rubbing against your ass in the middle of the night. He wasn’t the longest you had ever seen, but he was certainly the thickest. You were a little afraid of the undoubtedly tight fit taking him would be, but you could not deny the way that your mouth watered at the thought. You briefly considered taking him into you mouth and working him like that until your jaw was sore and he was seeing stars, but thought better of that line of action for the time being. You were dripping for him and he was obviously painfully hard already, making you a little too impatient. Another time, you promised yourself. You rose to stand and placed your hands back on his chest in order to maneuver him between you and the bed. You encouraged him to sit on the mattress and he did so without question, apparently excited to see what you would do next. You forced yourself to go slowly, stepping forward to take his face in your hands and leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. His own hands found your thighs and ass, kneading the flesh there and causing you to moan quietly against his lips. Without breaking the kiss, you moved to straddle his thighs, spreading your legs to accommodate him as your knees dug into the mattress. A shaky sigh escaped you as your lower lips brushed against his length, smearing your wetness across his hardened flesh. He groaned at the feeling, gripping you harder and thrusting his hips slightly. You reached between the two of you and took him in your hand, causing him to inhale sharply at the feeling of your soft fingers around him. You lined his cock up with your entrance and began to lower yourself onto him. At the first feeling of your velvet heat around the head of his cock, Bubba tried to buck up into you, halted only by your hands holding his hips down. “Slowly,” you breathed against his lips. He whined, but made no further attempts to force you down onto his throbbing length, so you continued your slow descent unimpeded. He was just as thick as he looked, and the stretch you felt as you took him was near painful. You thought wistfully that perhaps you should not have forgone the foreplay and had him stretch you with his plump fingers as you had fantasized about before. Your own fingers found your clit, rubbing quick circles into the bundle of nerves and easing the pain of the stretch. When finally you sat down against his lap with his length fully inside of your aching heat, you stilled. You looked at Bubba and felt a flush of pride in yourself over the rapturous look you found. You thought nothing could be better than his expression, but when you began to move, he began to moan. The sound was pure music to your ears. You raised yourself nearly all the way off of his cock before dropping back down, now fully able to enjoy the way that he filled you. His grip on your hips was tight enough that you knew there would be bruises later, but in that moment you couldn’t have cared less. As you increased the speed with which you rode him, the frequency and intensity of his noises increased as well. You loved it. You loved knowing that you were the one making him feel so good, and you loved the way he felt inside of you. All of your fantasies combined couldn’t compare to the way it felt to finally have him like this. When he began to get too loud though, you worried that one of the others might hear. You leaned in and sealed his lips with your own, swallowing his noises and enjoying the way his mouth moved against yours. You knew that he was close, but you were close too. You felt that familiar heat building and tightening in your core. You bounced on him faster, rubbing your clit near desperately. You tore your mouth away from his, tilting your head back and panting heavily. You were so close, so so close. He buried his forehead in the juncture between your neck and shoulder and groaned loudly into your skin. You felt him spill inside you, the heat flooding you and coating your walls. That sensation finally, blissfully pushed you over the edge and you had to bite your lip to stifle the pleasured sound that threatened to escape as the knot in your abdomen burst. You all but collapsed against Bubba, breathing heavily and going limp as you looped your arms over his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you tightly while leaning heavily on your shoulder. He was still inside you, but that didn’t stop your combined fluids from dripping out around him. If this was what captivity was like, you hoped he never let you go.

#barfly #leatherface #bubba sawyer #leatherface x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #Texas Chainsaw Massacre #tcm #slasher imagines #slashers x reader #slashers #reader insert #someone-who-is-there #smut

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kmomof4 · 5 years ago

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Ch8 Time and Again

All right y'all! We made it! It is smut time!! After the first POV change though. Hope you enjoy the new chapter!!

Ao3 link

All the love and hugs and flails to the best beta in the world @hollyethecurious and the bomb when it comes to encouragement and getting me out of my own head @winterbaby89!!! This fic wouldn’t be what it is or even here in the first place without you ladies!!! Thank you both so much!! Love y'all!!!

Also a big shout out and internet hug to the CSSNS ladies for all their advice and encouragement along the way! Thank you all so much!

And to all of you who are reading, I cannot thank you enough!! Words truly can’t express what all your flails, comments, reblogs, and kudos mean to me! We are nearing the end of this journey and I hope you like what I have in store!

Tagging my peeps: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

A/N: This chapter is about 90% smut. It begins at the first POV change. Feel free to skip if it’s not your thing.

“We’re home, love,” Killian murmured in Emma’s ear.

He watched as she blinked her eyes open, looked around, and saw that they were pulling up to the dock behind the house. Sitting up from his chest, she stretched.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked with a smirk on his face and eyebrow raised.

“Mmmmmm,” she hummed, her arms raised up above her head before she turned to him and caught his smile. “Yes, I did. I had a very plush, fuzzy pillow to sleep on.” She sent a matching smirk his way and looked up at him from underneath her eyelashes. “It’d be good to sleep on tonight, too,” she whispered huskily, placing her hands on his chest and leaning in. He couldn’t help the way his cock stirred to life with her warm breath tickling the shell of his ear.

“Minx,” he replied, pulling her back into his chest so that he could claim her lips. It was brief, a chaste kiss that did little to cool the ardor in his blood. Releasing her, he smirked as she looked rather discombobulated, whether from just waking up from a two hour nap or his kiss, or a combination of both, he couldn’t tell. But it did give him a sense of male pride that his kiss may be responsible for it.

He got up and approached Nemo, hand outstretched towards the captain. “Thank you, my friend. I think it’s safe to say,” Killian glanced bashfully at Emma after Nemo shook his hand, “that we had a wonderful day today.”

“I’m so glad you did,” Nemo replied. “And milady,” he remarked, turning to Emma and taking her hand, “I hope to see you on the Jolly Roger again soon.” He bowed low and placed a kiss to her knuckles as he bid them farewell.

Killian, with the cooler on his arm, disembarked to the dock and held his hand out to Emma. Once she joined him, he held out his elbow for her to take as he escorted her through the greenery that surrounded the pool. The sun was already well behind the screen surrounding them, so as they stepped into the pool area, it was already a cool, shaded oasis away from the blazing South Texas sun.

They continued into the house where Killian unpacked the cooler and Emma looked up recipes for how to cook her prize. Finding an easy baked fish recipe, Emma handed Killian her phone while she got to work preparing sides and opening the wine.

Settling down to their meal, Killian smirked at her. “My turn to ask a question,” he cajoled. “First though, since I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier, my favorite book is probably Lord of the Rings.”

“Lord of the Rings,” she asked, delighted, “I love it too! But I would have thought Peter Pan was your favorite, with the Jolly, I mean.” Her eyes twinkled merrily.

“Oh, well, I have fond memories of my mom reading it to us before she died.” He shrugged and scratched behind his ear. “So, that’s where the name came from. Captain Hook was my favorite character. But as far as my favorite book that I’ve ever read, it’d have to be Lord of the Rings. The world building and the history, languages, everything, just fascinate me. Now, tell me about one of your best memories growing up.”

Emma sat back and took a sip of her wine. She appeared to be lost in thought for a moment before she came back to herself. “How I found out that Ingrid was going to adopt me.” She nodded decisively. “That is without any doubt my best memory. It was my 15th birthday. I’d been with Ingrid for two months by that time. She took me, just me, to the carnival that was in town. We played carnival games, rode the rides, about made ourselves sick with cotton candy and funnel cakes. I laughed more that day than I ever had in my life.” She smiled softly, remembering.

“As the day was coming to an end, we stopped and got a hot dog from one of the vendors. When we sat down to eat, Ingrid pulled out a large catalog envelope from her bag and sat it in front of me. I knew that those kinds of envelopes contained new assignments for us foster kids. I remember my vision blurring as I realized that she was sending me away, and she must have decided to try and make me feel better by taking me to the carnival.”

Tears filled her eyes at the memory and Killian took her hand in his. “Ingrid was watching me closely to gauge my reaction and it didn’t take her long to realize that I had the wrong idea. She grabbed my hand, just like you did,” she said, nodding to their joined hands on the table, “and all but cried with me as she tried to convince me that she wanted to adopt me, not get rid of me.”

A smile broke out then as a tear escaped its confines and tracked down her cheek. Killian reached over and caught it on the pad of his thumb. She wiped the rest of her tears away with the back of her other hand. “So yeah,” she repeated, looking down, “that’s my favorite memory. The rest of the kids in the house were reassigned by the new year and the adoption was final on February 7. We still celebrate it,” she whispered.

“As well you should,” he agreed softly, willing her to look up at him. When she did, he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

She looked away, blushing. “Well, you did ask,” she murmured.

She unclasped their hands and dug into her meal. The conversation never flagged or veered into uncomfortable territory for the rest of the evening. The flirting, banter, and innuendo flowed as freely as the wine as they enjoyed the baked mackerel with new potatoes and asparagus.

When they finally finished their meal and cleaned up the kitchen, Emma turned to him with eyes wide with nervousness and hope. “Do you want to try this again?”

“Do you?” he asked. “I’m so sorry for last night, Swan,” he murmured, coming over to her and drawing her into his arms. “I mean,” he tried to explain, “I can’t say I’m truly sorry for stopping last night, for the reasons I gave you. But I certainly didn’t intend to hurt you. Or to make you think that you were anything less than completely desirable. But I also think that after the day we’ve spent together, there’s a better and stronger connection between us. And that will only make things better. Don’t you think?” he asked, the tips of his ears burning and all the hope he felt shining in his eyes.

“Yes, I do,” she agreed. She placed a finger on his lips when he opened his mouth to say more. “Shhhh,” she quieted him, “It’s not time for talking now. Let’s forget about last night and move forward.”

He nodded, drawing her finger into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the tip. His midnight blue eyes, holding all his love and desire, held hers as she drew in a sharp breath.

~*~*~

Staring into his eyes, she came to a realization. She was done. Done fighting. Done fighting against what he was asking for. Done fighting against what she wanted. She was his and he was hers. At least, she hoped he was. She rose up on her toes and drew his mouth to her own. She could still taste the Chardonnay on his lips as he traced the seam of hers with his tongue. She moaned as she granted him entrance and tangled her hands in his hair as he maneuvered her head just right to deepen the kiss. She lost all sense of space or time as he leisurely explored the recesses of her mouth and received her own in kind.

She wrapped her legs around his narrow hips as he lifted her from her feet. His hands held on to her ass as he walked them to the master suite, continuing to plunder the depths of her mouth. Their lips finally separated as he deposited her on the bed. She looked up and caught her breath at the desire that blazed in his eyes. Desire for her. She pushed herself up towards the pillows as he climbed up and hovered over her.

“I have dreamt of this so many times over the years, Swan,” he admitted, lowering himself on top of her, peppering light and teasing kisses to her jaw and neck. “Please tell me this is real, Emma. Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he murmured into her skin.

“You’re not dreaming,” she gasped, as his lips closed on her pulse point and gave a hard suck. The pleasure shot straight to her core and she could already feel the tightening coil as she writhed beneath him.

He released her with a smirk as he looked down to admire his handiwork. Soothing the area with his tongue, Emma thought she would die from his attentions before he even got her clothes off. Backing away from the edge he had already brought her to, she pulled his lips back to hers again. She felt like she could kiss him forever. The dreams didn’t hold a candle to the real thing, she thought as their tongues danced and desire flooded her.

Her hands explored his clothed chest until they worked their way under his shirt to feel the hard planes of his abdomen and pecs. She could feel Killian begin his own explorations as he slowly caressed her through her shift. She pulled his shirt over his head, whimpering when they had to break the kiss to do so. His lips crashed back to hers as his hands started working on the tie of her coverup. He rose above her as he drew the sides away from her scantily clad form. His eyes darkened even further as they roved from her face to her breasts to her center and down her long legs.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was keeping my mind out of the gutter today when you were sunning yourself on the Jolly? All that bare skin on display, kissed by the sun,” he murmured, lowering himself to her again and kissing down her neck, collar, and sternum until he reached the bottom of the bikini top where he plunged his tongue into the gap between her breasts and the flimsy pieces of fabric that kept them from his sight. Her skin was on fire as he reached behind her, untied, and removed the offensive material. “So beautiful, so perfect,” he crooned, soaking her in, “mine,” he finished, his voice nearly a growl as his tongue flicked out and swirled around the sensitive bud.

“Yes, yours,” she keened, arching into him, “all yours.”

He drew her aching nipple into the warm cavern of his mouth and she thought she might explode from the pleasure that he sent zinging through her body. His hand sought out the neglected breast as his mouth continued its sensual assault on its twin. Weighing it in his hand, his fingers circled and plucked until her nipple was a sharp peak. She could feel herself approaching the edge again as he continued his erotic ministrations. He released her breast with a pop and sent her a smouldering smirk before he pushed and held her breasts together and flicked each nipple back and forth with his tongue. The action sent her to even greater heights before he released her and continued kissing a trail down past her navel until he reached the even flimsier excuse for a cover over her most intimate place. He nosed at her covered center, inhaling deeply.

“Killian,” she moaned, “Killian, please,” she begged.

“As you wish, darling,” he whispered into her overheated skin.

He pulled the bikini bottoms down her long legs and tossed it over his shoulder as he kissed his way back up her limbs. She shivered in ecstasy as he got closer and closer to where she was wet and aching for him. He nosed at her curls and drew a finger through her soaked folds.

“All this, for me?” he asked, flicking his tongue out to taste her essence that coated his finger. He drew it fully into his mouth and shut his eyes as he moaned in appreciation. “You taste divine, Emma,” he groaned, releasing his finger with a pop. “I can’t wait to taste you properly.” He settled himself between her legs and looking up at her through his lashes, his eyes held hers. “May I?” he implored her.

Emma thought that she would explode if he didn’t put his mouth on her soon. She nodded, wordlessly before her arms gave out and she landed flat on the bed just as she felt Killian’s tongue draw a long swipe through her drenched core. She keened as she felt him plunge two fingers into her dripping center all while drawing her clit between his lips and sucking for all he was worth. She detonated with a scream of his name as her thighs clenched on either side of his head holding him to her. He brought her down slowly as she mumbled incoherently into the pillow she rested on. When she came back to herself, Killian sat on his haunches in between her legs with his cock on glorious display to her appreciative gaze. He must have removed his trunks at some point during all that.

Beckoning him forward with a sultry gaze on his splendid cock, she whispered, “My turn.”

She raised herself from where she lay on the bed and pushed against him until he was flat on his back with his head toward the foot of the king sized bed. She straddled him and ground down on his impressive length, watching as his eyes rolled in the back of his head with a long moan working its way out of his throat. He grabbed her hips and held her there as he thrust his hips into hers, creating delicious friction, but not giving them both the contact they craved.

She backed away from him until his red and weeping cock was squarely in her sights. She flicked her tongue out and caught the bead of precum that had gathered at his slit. “Mmmmm,” she hummed, “delicious.”

She looked up at him through her eyelashes and beheld her man thoroughly wrecked. His pupils were blown until only the thinnest rims of midnight blue remained, and his hair was sticking up in every direction from where she’d been grasping it.

Emma leaned forward and took him into the moist heat of her mouth. She bobbed her head up and down his length, every other beat swirling her tongue around the sensitive head. She could feel herself getting wetter as she listened to his moans and pleas. She hollowed out her cheeks and gave him a good suck before releasing him with a pop. She shot him a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile before she crawled back up and claimed his mouth with her own.

She could still taste herself on his tongue as they battled for dominance. He wound his fingers in her hair as he crushed her body to his. Releasing her lips suddenly, he flipped them toward the head of the bed. She was on her back with her legs spread for him as if they had done this dance a thousand times before. Killian stared into her eyes as he settled himself in the cradle of her thighs, his cock hitting her just right. He ground his hips into hers, coating his length in the evidence of her desire. Demanding lips met hers in a passionate kiss of possession as he lined himself up at her entrance.

Wrenching her lips away from his, she peppered his scruff and neck with teasing, biting kisses as she waited for him to fill her. “Please, Killian,” she begged, “Take me now.”

“As you wish,” he choked out as he buried himself in her depths. She screamed as another blinding orgasm crashed over her. Her walls rippled along his shaft as he held himself still waiting for her to drift back to earth and join him in their mutual desire. When she opened her eyes, he began to move, holding her spellbound. She couldn’t look away from the passionate desire that burned in their cerulean depths. Her eyes fell shut after a few thrusts, relishing the feeling of him along her walls. The pleasure was too much, the tension coiled too tightly. He lifted her leg and rested it over his hip, changing the angle enough that she trembled on the edge yet again. Burying his face in the crook of her neck, he reached between them and found her swollen nub.

“Come for me one more time, Emma,” he beseeched her.

She did as he bid with a silent scream and blinding white behind her eyelids. One, two, three more pumps of his hips and he joined her with a stuttering groan of her name. He pressed tender kisses into her shoulder and neck, before he claimed her lips with his own. Their heart rates started to even out as his tongue gently caressed hers. She whimpered as he rolled off of her before drawing her back into his arms.

“Sleep now, love,” he whispered in her ear, “We have all the time in the world.” He kissed her temple as she succumbed to dreams.

~*~*~

Killian woke sometime later with his arms wrapped around the woman he loved as her back was nestled against his front. He realized that, though there was nothing better than waking this way, his backside was cold. They had fallen asleep on top of the comforter, and after the sweat from their earlier exersions had evaporated, the running AC had cooled him enough now that he was wanting something between his naked skin and the air. He reached behind himself and tried to pull the comforter down enough that he could wiggle them both underneath it without waking his love. Unfortunately, even with his long arms, he wasn’t even close to the top of the comforter.

He rolled away from her and tried again, reaching for the top of the bed. Emma whimpered in her sleep and tried to snuggle back into him, reaching behind her to grab his arm and draw it over her body. She sighed contentedly when he rolled back to her, pulling the comforter down over them.

“What time is it,” she mumbled, still mostly asleep.

“I can’t tell,” he murmured into the skin behind her ear, placing a gentle kiss there. “My watch is on the nightstand and our phones are still in the kitchen.”

“Mmmmm,” she hummed, wiggling back into his arms.

She turned her head as he raised up to capture her lips with his own. He nibbled on her full lower lip before seeking entrance. She turned completely in his arms and tangled her fingers in his hair as she opened her mouth to his pillaging and plundering as if there was no tomorrow. He rolled her onto her back as his mouth commanded hers and his hands mapped the curves of her form. The low moan from the back of her throat told him that his efforts were appreciated, and with a growl of possession, his hands finally found the object of his desire where she was wet in her want of him. Her hips jerked as he sank two fingers into her welcoming heat and started the slow pumping that would bring her to ecstasy.

“There’s my Swan,” he praised, as she began riding his fingers. He watched as her face scrunched up in pleasure as she chased her release. “You are so beautiful when you come, Emma. I could watch you for hours.”

Emma tried to pull him back down to her, but he was having none of it. “Killian, please,” she moaned, her head thrashing back and forth, “I need…”

“I know what you need, darling,” he crooned, as he curled his fingers inside her just right and pressed his thumb into her swollen nub. “Come for me now, Emma,” he cajoled.

Her walls fluttered and clamped down on his digits like a vice. She let out an ecstatic moan that matched his own in length and volume before he crashed his lips into hers, prolonging her pleasure. He brought her down gently before lining himself up and sheathing himself in her scorching hot depths. They both let out a sigh of relief at being joined again so intimately before he slowly rocked into her, simply content to be one with her for a moment before his own need compelled him to move. Her own hips raised to meet him as he slowly pulled nearly all the way out before slamming back home again. Twin groans sounded the depths of their desire as they began to move together in a dance as old as time. Again and again his hips met hers as with each pass, he ground down on her clit, determined to bring her to climax with him inside her. He captured her lips with a desperate kiss when he felt her walls begin to flutter along his length. She kissed him back with an intensity that he could feel in his soul, as her arms tightened even more around him. She stiffened and moaned into his mouth as her orgasm crashed over her. The pulsing of her walls dragged him over into euphoria right along with her.

Killian continued to pump slowly into her as he felt himself start to soften. Holding her closely he buried his face into the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. Placing a gentle kiss on her pulse point where he had left his mark earlier, he chuckled to himself.

“What,” his lover asked, somewhat dazedly.

He raised his head to look at her. “You smell like the ocean and sunshine,” he waxed poetically. She snorted and tried to push him away.

“Ocean and fish maybe,” she grumbled. “We never showered or anything after getting home.”

He couldn’t help the surge of happiness that rose within him at her use of the word ‘home.’ She looked up at him from under her eyelashes. “I seem to remember something about a whirlpool tub. A tub that fits two?” she asked coquettishly.

He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Indeed you did, Swan.” He pressed a brief kiss into her neck, eliciting a soft moan, before untangling himself from her and rising from the bed. “I’ll go run us a hot bath.” He sauntered away from her, knowing that she was staring at his bare ass, and unable to wipe off his grin at that knowledge.

“Make sure it’s very hot,” she yelled after him. “I want my skin pink when we get out.”

“As you wish,” he bellowed over the running water. Watching the water fill the tub as he stood over it, he felt svelte and toned arms wind their way around his middle.

Emma lay her head between his shoulder blades and placed a kiss there. “How much longer,” she whined.

He smiled and turned around in her arms, circling his own behind her back. Smiling down at her, he placed a peck of a kiss on the tip of her nose. “It’ll take several more minutes to fill a tub this size. But that doesn’t mean we can’t go ahead and get in.” He released her and crossed over to the vanity in between the double sinks. Opening the drawer there, he found what he was looking for. He turned back to find Emma just stepping down into the filling tub.

“Oooooooo,” she moaned as she stepped into the hot water. She settled herself down and turned her questioning gaze upon him. “What’s that?”

“This is the remote for the jets,” he said holding up the first object in his hand. “And this,” he clicked the lighter on and reached across the tub to the candles situated in the corner, “will light the candles for us.”

After lighting them, he straightened and placed the lighter back in the drawer before dimming the lights. Returning to the tub, he placed the remote on the side, and urged Emma to sit forward so he could take his place behind her. He wedged himself between her and the back of the tub and spread his legs so that she could come back and lay on him as she had that afternoon on the Jolly. She smirked at him as he situated himself before drawing her back to rest against his chest.

“Mmmmmm,” she hummed, “I got my furry pillow back,” she teased, snuggling down into him.

He could feel his cock begin to twitch as she wiggled her hips getting herself comfortable. His arms snaked around her and his fingers began their task of memorizing all the secret places on her body that made her shiver. He lay his head back against the edge of the tub and closed his eyes as he leisurely explored all that she had to offer him.

“I guess we should turn the water off now, huh?” she asked.

“Mmmmm,” he agreed, realizing that the water came up to her chest. He heard the water cut off as his hands cupped both of her breasts, testing their weight. “You have such beautiful breasts, Swan,” he praised. “I could sit here and simply touch you all night long and never get tired of gazing at your beauty.”

He thrust his hips against her backside as she tilted hers back to meet him with a broken sigh. He continued the kneading of her soft curves, rolling and pinching her nipples until they were hard points. She whimpered when his hands left their appointed tasks. One to pull her hair away from her neck and shoulder, so that his lips and tongue could join the sensual assault, the other traveling down to the molten center of her desire. When he flicked her clit, Emma slid down lower, spreading her legs further by draping them over his. Her hips rocked into his touch as a breathy moan left her lips.

“Leave your legs where they are darling, and come back up here to me,” he whispered in her ear. Keeping her legs spread, he lifted her hips and drew her back toward him before lowering her down on his rigid member.

“Oh, God,” she breathed. He lowered his head to rest on her shoulder as he basked in the glory of being inside her again. She reached up and behind his head, tangling her fingers in his hair. He pressed light and teasing kisses to her shoulder and neck as he slowly thrust into her willing heat. “Right there, Killian,” she moaned. He thrust again, feeling her shiver in his arms.

He relished making love to Emma in this way. Every inch of his skin was covered by her. Holding her to him, buried inside her, he felt whole in a way that he never had before. He knew there was no way he would ever be able to let her go. He would go to the end of the world for her. Or time.

The tension that was slowly building between them suddenly compelled him to brand her as his, from the inside out. He couldn’t lose her. His mouth clamped down on the other side of her neck from where he had already left his mark. He sucked heat to the surface of her skin as he tightened his arms around her and thrust into her like a man possessed. Her moans of rapture and the sloshing of the water barely reached his ears.

“Emma, Emma, Emma,” he chanted with every thrust. He could feel her walls poised on the edge of orgasm, so he reached back down and flicked her swollen nub. Her walls gripped him and they fell into the abyss together.

~*~*~

As she came back to herself, she felt Killian press tender, light kisses to the area that she knew he had left a bruise. “I’m sorry, Swan,” he murmured into her skin. “I think I got a little carried away.”

She smiled a sated, easy smile, and leaned back into his chest, turning her head until she could capture his lips.“Don’t worry about it,” she admonished, sending him a smirk full of mischief. “I think I rather like being marked by you. And I’ve got a matching set,” she said, running her fingers down both sides of her neck where he had left a sizable hickey.

“Minx,” he growled playfully, turning her around and pulling her even closer to him so he could take her lips again. After a few minutes of sweet kisses and gentle touches, simply intended to enjoy the other and not arouse, she pulled away and rested her forehead against his.

“You know, baths are not that great for getting clean,” she informed him, mirth dancing in her eyes. “And there is a rather large shower over there.”

“You’re right Swan, there is,” he agreed. “Shall we adjourn to it and actually get clean?” He waggled his eyebrows at her again with a smirk on his lips.

“I think that might be a good idea,” she admitted, standing up and letting the water droplets run down her body. The look in his eyes as he stared at her gave her a feeling of power and confidence like she had never felt before. He looked at her as if there was no one in the world as beautiful and desirable as she was and it melted her heart.

Breaking his gaze, she got out of the tub and walked down the steps to the shower in the corner. She turned it on as she heard him step out of the tub behind her. Stepping in, she saw body wash, shampoo and conditioner on the built in shelves. Killian joined her and pushed her under the spray.

He filled his hand with the shampoo and gently worked the vanilla scented substance through every strand on her head. She had never felt so cared for in her life. His gentle touches as he continued his ministrations, first washing and conditioning her hair and then her skin, brought her a peace and contentment that she thought she’d never have. This man, beyond any doubt, was her soulmate.

She smiled ruefully as Killian finished rinsing the body wash from her skin. She had shared the deepest secrets of her heart with him. His acceptance and understanding without pity, was somewhat unexpected, and deepened her love for him even more. And she knew he loved her. Even if he hadn’t said the words. It was evident in every look, every touch, every kiss. She felt whole with him. He completed her. Just like M’s said.

Turning to him, she raised up on her toes and kissed him with all the love in her heart. When they broke apart, several minutes later, they were both panting heavily. Without words, she filled her hand with the shampoo and massaged it through his raven locks. She washed his hair as his lips nibbled everywhere he could reach. “How am I supposed to wash your hair when you are doing that?” she asked.

“Not my problem, Swan,” he murmured into her skin. “How am I supposed to control myself when you’re standing there all naked and wet and tantalizing? Hmmmm?” He continued to kiss and nose along her jawline until she pushed him under the spray to rinse his hair and body and sank to her knees in front of him. He had denied her request to ravish him while he was attending to her, but now that she had her turn ministering to him, she could do exactly what she wanted to.

She wasted no time diving right in, swallowing him down until he hit the back of her throat. Looking up at him through her lashes, she saw his head thrown back against the tiles, the chords on his neck standing out as she bobbed up and down. His fingers tangled themselves in her hair as she continued her efforts. She gripped his base with one hand while the other fondled his balls. The unintelligible litany that poured from him made her smile around him as she felt his balls tighten under her assault. He tried to pull her off him as his member started to throb in her mouth.

“Emma, Emma, I’m gonna…” He exploded into her mouth with a long groan. She swallowed every drop and then licked his slit to make sure she didn’t miss anything. Leaving a parting kiss to his tip, she rose to her feet. Reaching behind him she turned off the shower while he recovered.

She let out a squeal when he unexpectedly pulled her into his arms and planted a firm kiss to her swollen lips. “You are a wonder, Swan,” he breathed. “And now, I think it’s time that we make use of that bed. For sleeping,” he asserted, with a finger to her lips as she sent him a saucy look.

After toweling off, they blew out the candles, turned out the lights, and crawled back into the bed. As she drifted off to sleep with the arms of the man she loved around her, she knew that she could never let him go. Her heart was in this for the long haul. She determined that she was going to take this week and think about what came next when they returned to Dallas.

#Time and Again #ch8 #cs smut #krystal writes #art by krystal

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asweetprologue · 5 years ago

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Fandom: Preacher Pairings: Jesse/Cassidy/Tulip Words: 1062 Summary: They come together by degrees.

Also on AO3

Coalescence

Watching them fall in love again feels like sitting in the sun. Well, that’s not exactly true. Burning in the sun is fast, a sudden unfathomable pain that bursts across his skin with no preamble. This is slow, insidious. As if he’d accidentally swallowed a UV lamp and it was tearing him up from the inside.

Cassidy has known from the beginning that it’s a lost cause. They’d let him in too easily; he’d crash landed (literally) in their lives, taking up space and time and they’d never asked him to go. Not his fault they were both so easy to become infatuated with. Tulip hit you over the head like a sledgehammer, like the ground from 30,000 feet, and the moment you saw her you were gone. She took no shit and gave no quarter, but she loved fiercely and desperately and honestly, and when she looked at Jesse her eyes were soft, sometimes. And Jesse, for his part, was - ha - irresistible. He didn’t need Genesis to make you want to do what he told you to; he made you want to believe in things, even though he was as sharp and bitter as the rest of them. He made them, maybe not good, but… better. They were all better together than they ever were apart.

But this, these looks and gestures of affection and the love unfurling like the first petals of a flower in the sun, this wasn’t for him. He would burn up in that kind of light. They were made for each other, and he was dead.

* * *

Jesse tries to deny it, when he realizes exactly why he’s so worked up about the fact that Cassidy and Tulip slept together.

They told him, obviously. Cassidy is actually shit at keeping secrets, especially from Jesse, especially when he’s drunk, so Tulip takes things into her own hands. “I don’t want things to get messy with all of us in one truck twenty-four seven,” she says, crossing her bare arms over her chest when she tells him. “Don’t be a bitch about it.”

And he isn’t. He tries not to be. Cassidy confronts him about it, nervous and tipsy, and he shrugs it off because Cass didn’t know, it’s fine, he and Tulip hadn’t been together for years when that happened. Water under the bridge. Plus, after the sun incident Jesse really can’t find it in him to stay mad at Cassidy for very long over much of anything. Guilt has a way of smoothing things over. Cass doesn’t believe him, but he will.

The strange thing is that it doesn’t upset him, not like he thought it might. He feels strange about it, tries not to dwell on it too much. It happened, it’s done, won’t happen again. But his gut still churns every time he thinks about it, and for the longest time he can’t figure out why.

He’s jealous. The sour taste of it is familiar on his tongue, so he knows the feeling. Jealousy. That’s reasonable. Cassidy had sex with his girlfriend, had sex with his girlfriend before he’d even managed to get his head out of his ass long enough to have a real conversation with her. It’s reasonable, but he doesn’t think that’s why his chest feels like it’s being compressed. He could be jealous of Tulip, for knowing Cass, what Cassidy was, before he did. She was able to help him recover from Jesse’s mistakes.

So maybe he’s jealous of them. Them as a unit, them together where he was excluded. He doesn’t want there to be moments where he can’t be there for them, with them. The three of them fit together, are meant to be a unit, a whole. He wants them even if they only want each other, but more than that, he wants -

Oh.

* * *

It takes Tulip a long time to realize that she actually wants Cassidy.

She knows that he wants her. She’s used to that; most people want her, or they hate her, or both. Cassidy doesn’t hate her - at least, she’s pretty sure. He sticks around, but after everything she’s not sure if it’s just for Jesse, now. But he wants her, she knows, because his eyes follow her. That and he acts like an awkward schoolboy experiencing his first crush, at once more boisterous and shy than he is with Jesse. At least he was honest with Jesse.

Him wanting her isn’t a new feeling, but she never expected to return the sentiment. She’s been after Jesse for so long, and finally she can feel that starting to settle back into place, even if she is still fucking pissed at him. But them being all on the road together is good, a kind of good she didn’t think she’d ever have again. It feels like running cons back when they were young and blind with love, except for how it’s not even close to the same. Cassidy makes things interesting, and Jesse is different now. So is she. Things change.

It’s almost perfect, like a nearly finished puzzle she can’t find the last piece to.

So it takes her a while. She loves Jesse, like a secret ember left over from a fire the burned out some time ago, held close and warm near her heart. Cassidy is new, and she never thought that, if she had Jesse, she would want anything else. She’s not really sure what sparks the realization. They’d stopped for a moment to catch their breath and stretch their legs, a smoke break mid-shift in their search for God. Parked somewhere north of the Texas state line and east of the ocean, they’d sat on the hood of the truck, passing one lit cigarette between them like a kiss. Cassidy’s shades were pushed into his hair and Jesse’s preacher’s collar was lost somewhere between Austin and Arizona, and he kept saying he’d get a new one. Maybe he would. Maybe not.

The sky was heavy with the promise of a storm, and she looked at her friends, her partners, her two past lovers, and she felt the edge of the missing puzzle piece, like something within her grasp. Like things really could all fit together just right if you knew where to put them.

So she reached out, took their hands, and turned her face up to the rain.

#preacher #preacher fic #fan fiction #fan fic #jessextulipxcassidy #jessexcassidy #jessextulip #jesse/cassidy #tulipxcassidy #jesse/tulip #jesse/tulip/cassidy #tulip/cassidy #tulip o'hare #cassidy #jesse custer

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tuliptx · 5 years ago

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Outlaw Woman Ch2

Rated M - this is a serious rating y’all. There’s derogatory terms and sex and violence. The MC world is not a soft place but I won’t water it down.

Lexi is constantly finding herself in the middle- She belongs with the SOA, family is everything, but finding her role within that family is hard. She has to find a balance and a place before she just teeters over the edge and gets lost in the madness. Love, Lust, Violence, and Hilarity.

Jax x OC x Happy - David Hale x OC

Hey guys! Lets act like we’ve done this before ok? No copying my work- I don’t own SOA etc etc. I LOVE Lexi. I put a lot of myself in her and I would adore your feedback. Check out my Master List Here.

Happy locked eyes with Lexi as he slid his calloused, masculine, strong right hand under her left knee. Lexi couldn't help the sudden intake of breath, her lips parting ever so slightly. The room suddenly felt way too small. No man had ever made her nervous like Happy did. She had no idea what to do with that. It had been years since their one night. One night of mindless pleasure. No names had been exchanged. No club affiliation ever discussed. That night had gone completely unacknowledged even after they realized. Verbally at least. It was for the better.

Thank God he wasn't around more because as is, these moments are getting far too frequent. As his hand slid slowly but with purpose down her calf lifting her ankle onto his jean clad knee she held her breath. He lifted it just off his knee sliding the ice pack under to cool it from behind where it looked to be the most bruised. "Hand me that gauze." His voice was slightly deeper than normal- less raspy. She nodded dumbly and then, and then the most embarrassing thing ever, she let out a loud hiccup that was so violent it actually caused her to bounce slightly off the bar.

Lexi was mortified; she couldn't look up at him. She hadn't even had warning enough to cover her mouth. Her face immediately began to heat up and she handed him the gauze as quickly as she could before taking a long pull from the bottle of Jack at her side tossing the lid across the room. This day had been exhausting- she had every intention of making it all go away by drinking as much of this bottle as she could. 'At least the hiccup had killed that moment before anyone could walk in on that super sexy eye contact,' she thought.

Her leg was so smooth and warm from the sun. Happy's mind went blank when she bounced- he'd been captivated by the jiggle of her DDs. Really, he had to get ahold of himself. If Tig kept catching him staring like this- it'd be his nuts. Especially now that she had an old man. His eyes wandered over a fresh piece of ink on her calf. She was lucky her boots had protected it. A beautiful reaper curved along her calf. The style very reminiscent of the one painted on the door- this one held more color. It was centered in a golden frame with the shadows of crows dancing behind its head and in its extended palm instead of the traditional anarchy sign it held a glowing sacred heart. He had to rein this shit in. Happy didn't like being out of control of anything- with Lexi he felt he was out of control of EVERYTHING. From the moment he’d arrived in Charming five years ago only to learn that sweet wild delicious piece of ass he’d fucked on the road was actually Tig’s sister, he’d been fighting to get a solid grip on things. She never followed direction, she was always putting herself in bad situations, she was ever chasing adventure and danger. That he was attached to her in the slightest was dangerous. EVERTHING about Lexi was dangerous for him.

"So what was all of that about?" he distracted as he began to gingerly wipe the blood off of her leg, putting slight pressure on the scrapes to stop the bleeding. "Fucking idiot probably should have done this first," he muttered. Lexi laughed, "yeah well you know my brother- more bullets then brain." Hap smirked nodding his head and continuing to work on her- long golden soft warm- leg. "That stick in Tara's ass has been super-sized lately. It's starting to affect the functionality of her brain." Hap glanced up at her, "but why? Why you?" Lexi scoffed taking another pull off her bottle, "I honestly don't know where this started. She's always hated me, but since she came back- she wants me dead." She took another pull, "Jax definitely isn't helping things. This reminds me I have to find a new place to hide my key." "Wasn't your old man mad when he showed up like that?" Lexi almost shot whiskey out her nose- which burns for a very long time if you've never done it. "What old man? What have you been smoking Hap and can I have some?" Hap reached into his pocket with his left hand using his right to apply light pressure. He fished out a joint and handed it over and she giggled in delight.

After a deep inhale, holding the smoke in her lungs, "What're you talking about Hap?" her accent continued to thicken with each vice she partook in. He gently tapped her tattoo and then ran a finger firmly down one side of the frame. "OH!" She was becoming more animated; her hands were now flying as she was speaking to him causing some of the booze to slosh out. "No, I got that just for me. It's not a crow. I got shot six months ago, Clay and Gem and Tig and the boys all said I earned my own reaper. I had to make it a little more girly though. I'm just not the kind of girl to rock anything overly masculine." Happy's brain had stopped on the shot part, "see this is what I'm talking about! How the hell did you get shot?" Lexi's eyebrows furrowed as she leaned forward, "what you're talking about?" He shook his head, "How the hell did you get shot?" She leaned back eyeing him suspiciously but in her buzzed state quickly let it go shrugging and smiling, "drive by." She unbuttoned the top button on her blouse allowing her to shift the collar so he could see the vibrant pink shiny new flesh where she had taken the bullet. And also a good flash of skin and pink lace. Happy shook his head. Focus. He took the bottle from her taking a long pull only to realize she’d already knocked back more than half of it. Well that wasn’t good.

Focus. He hadn't heard of a drive by. "Drive by where?" "Oakland." "What the fuck were you doing in Oakland?" "I had a meeting with a gallery in Oakland. I sold three paintings- Jax took me to a bar after to celebrate." "What the fuck?"

Jax should know better than that.

He had put Lexi in danger.

He had started this thing with Tara too.

Lexi was the artist of the door and the tattoo. Well that made her hotter. Fuck.

Happy filed it away at the look of confusion on Lexi's face. Her blue eyes were sharp, even in her inebriated state. He schooled his features trying to look casual. He'd have to ask around about this when she wasn't around. Something about all of this didn't seem right. What the hell was Jax thinking- or better yet what was Jax thinking with?

Before he could even process all of this new information two things happened: One, Tig, the Prospect and Chibs came laughing and rough housing out of the dorms; two, the front door to the club house was thrown open with a loud BANG. Gemma cut a formidable figure in her bitch heels; large black hobo bag slung over her shoulder. "Little girl, you have a lot of explaining to do!" Lexi was immediately off the bar forgetting her swollen foot and leaving the half smoked joint in an ash tray. The pain immediately reminded her why she’d been smoking it in the first place and she reached out gripping Happy's shoulder for support. He stood and maneuvered her to his stool. The way the two moved with each other was so natural- the all-seeing mother bear quirked an eyebrow, not missing a thing. Happy pulled up a second bar stool and lifter her foot; replacing the ice pack, only when she was situated did he step away. Then again Alexia is family and Happy was notoriously protective of SOA family- especially the women. Though, no one would ever label him a nurturer. Gemma filed this new observation away for a later date.

"You fucking broke the doc's nose! You better have a damn good reason!" Gemma scolded charging toward her beloved pseudo daughter. "Gemma you know me better than that! The bitch started something she didn't have the ass to back up." "Why the fuck would she do that Lex? Jax was at your house last night! That's why!" Happy’s shoulders tensed and he leaned back against the bar staring at the juke box intently. Lex rolled her eyes, "that's an issue you should take up with your son." Gemma threw her purse on the counter, "I would if I could but he's too busy talking Tara down." Lexi threw her hands up, "this is nuts! Why do I have to defend myself when I was just defending myself!" "Lex, you know I’ve always thought you were better for Jax then that little tart, but when you sleep with another woman's old man she has every right to give you hell. You screwed up you should take it!" Lexi, now seeing red, threw that mother fucking bottle of booze against the wall behind Gemma who covered her head and stared at her pseudo daughter in shock. "I didn't do shit!" The entire club was silent in the wake of the bottles shatter.

Tig came up behind Lex quietly, putting an affectionate and comforting hand on her shoulder. Her chest was heaving from screaming and a tear of rage sank down her cheek. Lexi was not an angry girl but she had a temper that she struggled with at times- one that had been passed down to both of his children by Dan Trager. Chibs turned to the Prospect, "go get me medics bag." Half Sack nodded and slipped out of the room silently, relieved to be anywhere but here. "You know what Gem?" came a low soft lilting Texas accent, "If I had slept with Jax, yes, Tara would have every right. I have never slept with Jax. I don't intend to sleep with Jax. I. Don't. Want. Him." She took another long deep breath and the queen opened her mouth as if to say something but quickly shut it. "Jax," Lexi was disgusted, "broke into my house last night. I had no idea he was there until the morning. I am sick,” her voice hitched, “I am sick and tired of your fucking son putting me in the middle." Lexi looked up from where her eyes had been glued to her lap. Making eye contact with Gemma, Gemma felt her spine go cold at a look that was violent and fed up. "Tara jumped me- pulled me off the bike- Jax did nothing- I defended myself. That is the last time I am saying it to you Gemma. Believe who you want."

Gemma sat down in the nearest chair with a dramatic sigh. “Well why didn’t you just say so.”

Lexi closed her eyes and took a deep breathe trying to calm herself. Happy noticed that her hands were clenched and shaking. TIg glanced at the Killer and followed his dark stare. He lovingly, gently pried her fingers apart and rubbed his thumbs over the crescent imprints from her nails. Chibs made his move then, the medic's bag appearing in his hand. Got to give it to the Prospect, he had come and gone with no one noticing. Chibs moved to Lexi's side examining her scrapes. "We need to clean these honey and then we need to take a look at that ankle, see if it's broken." Lexi nodded allowing the Scott to clean and bandage the wound on her thigh in silence but not before she scooped up Happy's abandoned beer on the bar and downing it in one go and taking a long hit off the joint. "When I know what's goin on with your ankle, I'll give you something for the pain and to chill your nerves love." Lexi gave him a thin smile before carefully putting the now significantly shorter joint between the Scotts lips who gave her a roguish smile in return. “I’m good,” she muttered.

From her spot at a table Gemma lit a cigarette massaging her temples as she puffed and puffed.

#sons of anarchy #soa #soa fanfiction #Jax Teller #jax x oc #jax teller x oc #jax teller x reader #happy lowman #happy lowman x oc #happy lowman x reader #gemma teller #angst #romance

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izzy-b-hands · 5 years ago

Text

Christmas Morning

A Soft Xmas morning fic with Sledge and Snafu for my friend @peachessir! Thank you for the prompt, and I hope this fic makes your day better!!

This song came up while I was writing, and I feel it fits p well with the emotion of this fic, so here it is for y’all as well!: https://open.spotify.com/track/5b43XehPlGYoOGjl9AncUV?si=pVQhOYuaQiyh-PPLL6WgYQ

re: part of this fic, here’s my reference for it. Also just a cool reference to look through, tbh: https://vintagedancer.com/1940s/1940s-mens-accessories-history/

For reference, this is set as like, their second holiday back home after the war. So they’ve got a routine kind of, but home still doesn’t necessarily feel like home yet. Written sort of out of my other hc where I have them in Maryland for a bit after the war,in this one they are already in Mobile, having taken over Eugene’s parents old house as their home, his parents have a new house elsewhere in town. Still keeping all their pets though because...well, I want to lol.

Okay, that bit of housekeeping done, below the cut is the fic!

The bed was shaking, violently, as he woke.

“Get your ass up, we got presents to open!”

Eugene attempted to mumble the thoughts in his head, from ‘but didn’t we open everything at my parent’s house last night?’ to ‘is four o’clock in the fucking morning??’, but was too half-asleep to manage it as Snafu helped him downstairs, the cats and dog traipsing after them, meowing and barking for an early breakfast.

“Okay kids, simmer! Lemme get your papa sat down here and then I’ll get you fed, let you outside for a bit,” Snafu soothed as he led Eugene to the couch near their Christmas tree.

He blinked to try and wake up as Snafu went off to tend the children, and looked to the tree.

Presents. Why were there more presents? Not many, only four actually, but they’d taken everything they’d bought for each other over to his parent’s last night, to be opened on Christmas Eve. Today, Christmas Day, was their recovery day after having been around family so much.

“You ready?” Snafu dropped onto the couch beside him, nearly in his lap.

“I think so? But where did those-”

“You’ll see once you start opening,” Snafu interrupted, and went over the tree, nearly tripping on the edges of the too-long open bathrobe he wore over his pajamas. “Here, you go first.”

Eugene barely caught the gaudily wrapped box., and read the tag. “To Sledgehammer from...Burgie? How the hell-”

Snafu only smiled at him expectantly, so he tore into the paper and opened the box.

Inside were two of the nicest crystal glasses he’d ever seen, engraved with their names, and a note: ‘I know you might not be able to have a church wedding, but y’all are essentially married now and deserve a nice wedding gift. My pa is the one who did the engraving, he wishes you all the best as well. When you two next come out to Texas, wrap these up and bring ‘em with, and we’ll have a toast to you both, and to being home. All my love, Burgie.’

“Next one’s for me, from one of the...” he sighed, and his voice shook just a bit. “From one of the boys I fought with in Gloucester. His mother sent it along this year, said it was meant for last but she...she wasn’t ready to send it yet. Guess he’d had her save some things, so he could send ‘em to us after we all got home.”

Eugene carefully set the box with the glasses in the kitchen, away from where the cats liked to jump, and joined him on the floor near the tree, wrapping him in a gentle hug.

“This asshole,” Snafu laughed, even as the tears dripped down his face. “Look.”

He took the box from Snafu, and bit back a laugh. It was a set of poker chips, and a note: ‘Next time you can come around my neck of the woods, we’re gonna play again, and I’m gonna win this time. You just got lucky, last time. Can’t wait to see you again, Snafu.’

“Nah, you won buddy,” Snafu said softly, his eyes somewhere else as they filled again with tears, and he set the box near the tree. “He should have too, I really did just get lucky that game. God I miss him.”

He held onto Snafu for the next few minutes, letting him sob and remember. He hadn’t gotten to meet this particular company member, but he wished he had.

Snafu pulled away from him, and handed over another box. “Next one is for both of us, technically. But I want you to open it.”

He took the light box, so light it seemed nothing would be in it, and opened it carefully.

He nearly dropped it then, but held on with shaking hands.

It was a letter. From Ack Ack, to both of them. Talking about how while neither of them had come straight out with how they felt about each other, he was glad they weren’t really hiding it otherwise, and he promised them safety, from other soldiers and anyone who might say anything to him about it. How he knew war was pain and loss and fear, but he was glad all the same it had brought them together, and he hoped they’d be happy together once they made it home, because he knew in his heart they would.

Snafu was crying again when he looked up from the letter. “Read it before I wrapped it. Burgie found it, and saved it when they were packing up Ack Ack’s things to send home. He sent it along with the glasses, and asked me to make sure it was a separate gift. Said Ack Ack would have wanted it that way.”

They fell into each other’s arms again, openly weeping. It was a wound that they both knew would never fully heal, none of the losses would. But it was still so open and fresh now, that as wonderful as it was to have more of Ack Ack’s words, it almost hurt just as much, because he would never get to say them to them, never meet them in a city in the States for a drink and reminiscing.

Once they’d both settled again, holding back the rest of the tears, pushing the hurt back down to where it usually sat, Snafu took the letter and walked to the desk in the corner of the living room. He pulled a frame from the drawer of it, and placed the letter in it.

“Bought this for it as soon as I got Burgie’s stuff in the mail. Wanted to wait till you’d seen it too before putting it up somewhere though. Can you imagine what he’d say, if he knew we were hangin’ his letter up? He’d rag on us for ages,” Snafu sniffed, but smiled as he brought the letter back over, and settled it on one of the spare nails in the wall near the entrance of the living room that they’d not yet managed to fill.

“He would,” Eugene managed a laugh, and though it hurt it felt good all the same. “Wish he could see it.”

“Me too,” Snaf sighed, and went back to grab the last present. “You get to open this one too.”

“This is from you,” Eugene smiled. “You already spoiled the hell outta me, what else did you possibly get me?”

“Something that I didn’t have with me overseas, but that I wanted to give you. Part of courtin’ your cute ass, that I finally get to do, even though we’re past that.”

The box was small, and gorgeously wrapped. How on earth Snafu had even found the paper, Eugene didn’t know. He notoriously hated the shops as it got close to the holiday, but all he could envision was Snafu having gone in specifically to find the blue and white paper, with artfully drawn snowflakes on it. He half-hated to tear it, but he was also curious as could be, and Snafu was clearly just as excited.

He opened it carefully as he could, and opened the box.

“Had my family in New Orleans send it to me. One of the only things I left there. Shoulda heard them on the phone, going on about how they knew I’d never give it to a girl like the other boys did. But I finally found the person who’s supposed to have it,” Snafu said. “It ain’t much, but-”

Eugene interrupted him with a kiss, before returning to the box, which held Snafu’s ID bracelet. It had been and as far as he knew for some still was a common thing for a man to give to his girl, to show they were together and that it wasn’t a passing fling. And him and Snafu certainly were no passing fling.

He put on the bracelet, then gave Snafu another kiss. “Be right back.”

“Where are you goin’?”

“Gimme a minute!” Eugene called back down as he found his bracelet, and jogged back downstairs, dodging the cats as they trotted by him.

Snafu took the ID bracelet from him with a reverent look. “This...this is big. Everyone’ll know. I mean, I think most of ‘em know already in town or suspect and everybody’s kind enough to keep any thoughts to themselves, but-”

The tears were back again, happy tears this time as Snafu put on the bracelet.

“I know,” Eugene interrupted. “I know...we have to be careful. But most everyone knows us round here now, and we’ve been fine. So I want them to know now. If I’m gonna be wearing yours, I want you wearing mine, along with our rings, and I want everyone to know you’re mine and I’m yours.”

It was half warm embrace, half tackle as Snafu climbed into his lap, nearly tipping him over with the enthusiasm of his movements, shrugging off his robe as he kissed Eugene like it was all he knew how to do.

Eugene fussed with his own robe and pajama top, trying to get them off and tossed behind him to soften the hardwood floor somewhat as he lay back, pulling Snafu with him.

In a few moments they were down to just their underwear and the bracelets and their rings, the jewelry glinting in the soft morning light from the sun just starting to rise, and Eugene thought if he would ever see an angel in his life, then it would look like Snafu did now. Warm and soft and transcendent, moaning every time Eugene ran his hands through his curls, sighing with every kiss, heated skin melting against his own.

By the time they’d finally paused enough to toss aside their underwear, they were both too close for much more, Eugene knew that for sure. In the way Snafu rutted against him, whining sweetly, whispering love and admiration in his ear as he left hickeys on his neck. In the way he wanted nothing more than to come across Snafu’s stomach and to feel Snafu come on his, to reach that high together and lay in the heat of the moment after.

He didn’t have to wait long for it, between their continued feverish kissing and roaming hands and the occasional nip on his chest and shoulder from Snafu (who loved nothing more than leaving marks and having marks left on him.) It was perfect in its timing, both of them coming within a moment of each other, Snafu moaning into his shoulder as his hips and cock crashed against Eugene’s, while Eugene used a hand to pull them as close together as he could.

It was silent then. The cats and dog happy moving about the house on their own, no cars on the road outside. Just the sunlight streaming in, and their limbs intertwined as they came down together, kissing gently. It was another world, and Eugene never wanted to leave it, to look anywhere other than Snafu’s gorgeous eyes.

For the next few minutes at least, he knew he didn’t have to. Snafu was clearly just as comfortable and enamored with the moment, smiling and running a hand through Eugene’s hair while the other pulled him near, though they were about as close as any two bodies could be. But it was never quite close enough for them, and if closer ever existed he knew they’d jump on it in a heartbeat.

“This was a good Christmas, wasn’t it?” Snafu asked, breaking the silence.

“It was,” Eugene sighed. “Know what I’m lookin’ forward to, though?”

“Can’t be cleanin’ up what we just did,” Snafu smiled. “Only downside to doin’ anything down here. Least we had your robe down for part of this.”

Eugene nodded. “True. But I’m lookin’ forward to havin’ more good Christmases like this with you.”

“Me too,” Snafu replied, snuggling close. “You know we can’t fall asleep down here like this, right? I’m gonna get up in a minute, get us cleaned up.”

“Sure,” Eugene chuckled as he wrapped an arm around Snafu, and watched Snafu’s eyes flutter shut, fighting to keep himself awake. “I’ll wake you in ten.”

“Mmhm,” was Snafu’s only response as they snuggled amongst the torn wrapping paper in the sun, warm and happy.

#text post #LeeH writes #Sledgefu

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rickstexaschick · 6 years ago

Text

Road Trip

Here’s the full edition of this 3 chapter little off-shoot of “Rick’s Texas Chick”, based on a request from an anon. I’m reposting all three chapters here, as well. This is also posted on A03 at:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16741282?view_full_work=true

Chapter 1

They had been living together for several weeks when Harley suggested taking her on a motorcycle road trip. Growing up, road trips had been the only kind of vacation her family took — mostly just to visit her grandparents out of state — apart from the odd day trip down to the beach on The Gulf. It was her favorite kind of vacation. Just driving along, enjoying the scenery, talking as a family. Fast food restaurants weren’t as prolific then, so her mother would pack sandwiches, chips, and cokes.

Entertainment was pretty elementary. Video games didn’t exist yet, neither did the internet, of course. So they played the old fashioned car games — making a competition of counting things like cows, horses, windmills, and barns…Played “slug bug” during the day, and “Popeye car,” if they were still on the road after dark. Radio stations were few and far between — usually her dad kept the radio tuned to one of the larger AM news/talk stations which broadcast its signal for hundreds of miles in all directions.

Before he went down to the shop to get his bike, Harley had told her to pack light — which made her roll her eyes, telling him, “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

Even so, when he returned to the bedroom a little while later he immediately opened her small duffel bag, which was sitting on the bed. She watched while he wordlessly rooted around in it briefly before he took out a pair of her panties and a t-shirt. He opened her small toiletries bag and extracted her toothpaste, toothbrush, and hairbrush, laying them on top of her underwear and shirt.

“There. Now you’re all packed.”

“But...you took out, like, my basic things.”

“Because, ding dong, that’s basically all you’re taking. I told you to pack light…”

He went to the dresser and pulled out a pair of black boxer-briefs and another blue t-shirt for himself and tossed them onto her small pile. Then he went into the bathroom and returned with his toothbrush, a hand towel, and the bottle of his shampoo.

She watched, dismayed. Words like “hair conditioner” and “skin moisturizer” were on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she opted for her old standby: sarcasm and irony.

“You know, I don’t know why you’re being all squeamish about it — we could just share a toothbrush… And we’re probably going to sleep naked, anyways, right? So we could just hand wash our underwear and shirts each night, and then we won’t need a change of clothes at all…”

She took the clothes and her toothbrush away from the small pile. “And who needs shampoo when we can just stand in a river and rub ourselves clean with sand and gravel? And then, afterwards, we can sit in the sun, to dry. So, that takes care of having to pack a towel, too…”

She had her hands on the shampoo and towel, when he came up behind her, sliding his hands around her waist.

“You little sassy ass…” He pulled her against him, pressing his lips into the side of her neck, sending tingles of pleasure down her spine.

She giggled, shivering, then turned around in his arms, looking up at him with a cheeky grin. “Well, make up your mind. Am I a sassy ass or a ding dong?”

“If I’m ‘Captain Obvious’ then you’re definitely ‘Sergeant Sassy Ass.’ But I may have to demote you to ‘Corporal Ding Dong’ if you keep this shit up.”

She laughed up at him. He kissed her, briefly turning it into a deeper kiss, holding her up against him and massaging her ass before reluctantly pulling away.

“Come on. We need to hit the road if we’re gonna get where I want to be before sundown.”

He dug around in the back of the closet before emerging with a worn, black leather jacket, which was much too big for her.

“Rick’s,” was he laconic reply to the unspoken question on her face.

The leather was soft and it did indeed smell of Rick. She slipped it on and pulled it around herself and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes with a look of pleasure. Harley watched her with a small smile.

Rick’s scent had that effect on him, too.

He refused to tell her where they were going. He did make her wear a helmet, donning one himself, as well. He had to adjust the straps and use her spare T-shirt as packing to make it fit her small head. The helmet must be Rick’s, too, she mused silently, looking up at Harley’s face as he adjusted the straps under her chin and checked the helmet’s fit.

She found a pair of gloves in one of the pockets of Rick’s jacket, stuffed them back in. In the other pocket was a small baggie with what looked like a couple of joints. Harley was busy loading their remaining things into the two saddle bags, so she just put the baggie back in the pocket without saying anything.

She’d smoked pot only a handful of times in her life — could literally count the number of times on one hand. Almost of all them were back when she was in college. After that, there was always the fear of surprise drug testing by her employers, and she didn’t want to risk losing her job or, worse, her nursing license.

But now, who knew when she’d be going back to work? So...fuck it. Maybe they could smoke these on this trip. She couldn’t tell how old the joints were. Did pot go bad? She had no idea… She wondered when was the last time Rick had worn the jacket. Fingering the baggie inside the pocket absentmindedly, she thought about all the facets of Rick’s and Harley’s relationship that she didn’t know about, and wondered when she’d have the courage to ask more questions...

“Hey. Space Cadet. Are you ready?” Harley had finished loading the saddle bags and was watching her as her mind wandered off to God-knows-where.

She nodded and smiled up at him, her head swamped by Rick’s helmet. Harley checked the fit one more time, then, satisfied, he lifted her onto the motorcycle’s pillion seat.

“You know,” she said to him as he mounted in front of her, “I really do think I could manage to get up here on my own…”

“Sure you could, honey. With a good running start and a pole…” He switched on the ignition then kick-started the engine with a powerful thrust of his body, before settling back down in the seat.

Since he wouldn’t be able to hear her retort over the sound of the engine, she just reached under his jacket and gave him a little pinch in his side as her response, then she slid her hands around his waist and folded them across his flat stomach. She pulled herself up against him snuggly. In reply, he reached down and squeezed one of her hands with a lingering caress, then they set off.

Chapter 2

They’d been riding north for a little over an hour when Harley noticed the storm clouds forming over the mountain range.

Well, fuck, he thought.

It wasn’t supposed to rain for the next few days, although mountains were notorious for creating their own weather. They still had a couple more hours to go before they’d get to their destination. Clearly the storm was going to cross their path along the way.

He scanned his memory for any towns or rest stops in between, where they could hole up while the storm passed. The nearest place he could think of was a truck stop in a small town, twenty miles away...

Ten minutes later they crossed over a mountain pass and were descending a winding road into a long, narrow valley when the rain overtook them, falling lightly at first, but he could tell that it would soon become a downpour. Fuck. Up ahead he saw the overpass of a small road crossing over the highway, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was better than nothing. And it would have to do.

They pulled underneath the protection of the overpass just as the rain really started to come down. He parked the bike beyond the shoulder, to keep them away from the spray of passing vehicles, then rolled it backwards onto its kickstand. She pulled her helmet off, laughing.

“Woo, doggie! You sure know how to show a girl a good time! What’s next? A flat tire?”

He scowled at her as he got off the bike. “Bite your tongue — or better yet, let me do it for you.”

Harley never joked about shit happening when he was on the road — it just invited all sorts of bad karma, as far as he was concerned. Rick always laughed at him and his penchant for being superstitious.

But he did have some good data points. Based on past personal experience, unfortunately...

She couldn’t know that, of course…

He took her helmet from her, hooking the straps back together and using them to hang the helmet from one side of the handlebars. Then he did the same with his, hanging it from the other side. He sat back down on the seat, facing her. She was shaking her hair out, combing her fingers through it. He took her hands in his.

“D-Don’t make jokes like that, honey.” He searched her eyes, his expression serious.

“Oh...OK. I’m sorry...” The smile melted off her lips when she caught his dark mood, and she felt sincerely sorry. And chastised. Then she realized how dumb she’d been.

It was the same as making a comment about how quiet things were on the hospital unit during the shift — as soon as the words were out of your mouth, you wanted to take them back, knowing you’d just asked for something bad to go down. She didn’t know a single nurse or doctor who wasn’t superstitious about that.

“S’ok, honey. Just — it’s just a little rule I have…” He reached down below her leg and unzipped the saddle bag, taking out a flask.

She watched him take a very large drink, then he handed it to her, his expression still dark and remote. She took the flask from him and drank a small sip, desperately searching her mind for a way to recover the happy mood from earlier.

“So, how long do you think this rain will last?” She shivered a little, unintentionally. Her torso was toasty and dry, thanks to Rick’s jacket. But her jeans were damp. Soaked through, actually. Fortunately her feet were fairly dry inside her boots.

“Hard to say, being stuck down in this valley.” He stuffed the flask into an outer pocket of his jacket and pulled her down the pillion seat into him, resting his hands on her waist. “We’ll just have to wait it out.” He still looked a little grumpy.

“That’s ok. I’m happy being here with you.” She smiled up at him, reaching up to brush his hair off his face. “I’ve got my love to keep me warm.” She sang the last sentence to the tune of the old 1930s song by the same name.

He smiled down at her, his mood lifting a little. “Well, look who can carry a tune...”

She smiled a little coquettishly. “Maybe I could have been one of your back-up singers…”

He gave a small laugh. “Hardly.”

“Oh? I wouldn’t have been good enough for The Great Motherfuckers?” She leaned away from him, a look of mock outrage on her face.

“No, honey,” he laughed, “I just meant that you would have been about ten when we were touring…”

She didn’t think he had the age difference right, but at least he was smiling and laughing again. And that’s all that mattered.

She leaned into him, slipping her arms around his waist, underneath his jacket. She wriggled herself closer until she was up against his chest and buried her face in the warmth of his shirt, sighing with contentment. His hands slid down around her butt, pulling her hips in closer and lifting her thighs so that they draped over his and she was basically sitting on his lap. He kissed the top of her head and held her close, his large, warm hands cupping and caressing her ass.

The rain intensified and it was quite dark underneath the overpass. There wasn’t any traffic to speak of. Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by a slow, rolling boom of thunder which traveled across the valley, echoing loudly in the cavernous space around them as it moved overhead.

“This could be really fun and romantic…” She trailed off, not knowing what to say next.

“If we weren’t out in the middle of it, you mean?” He tipped her chin up to him, his mouth turned up in a lopsided grin. “We’re still safe and dry, hon. What else do you need?”

A nice warm bed, some candles, and a bottle of —

He interrupted her train of thought with a kiss which quickly deepened, slipping his tongue into her mouth, teasing against hers. He reached up and held her face with one hand while he kissed and tongued her mouth, until she was quivering and sighing in his arms.

“Oh, Rick…” She wanted him to drop his lips lower and nip and suck…As if he were reading her mind, he slipped his free hand underneath her shirt and bra to pinch and roll her nipples, which had already tightened into stiff peaks. His other hand slid around the back of her head and he buried his fingers in her hair, gripping her scalp while he continued kissing her.

She clutched his shirt, moaning. He wanted to ravage her mouth, but since they were limited to what they could do, he took his time and held her close while he gave her long, sweet, soft kisses that made her melt in his arms. Sitting together on the bike in the dim shadows of the overpass, they made out like they were teenagers in the backseat of a car.

He kissed her until her lips were swollen, then he trailed his mouth down her neck and settled in that ultra sensitive spot just at the base of her jaw. She shivered, giggling, and he nipped her lightly in response. He breathed into her ear.

“God, I wanna make love to you…”

In reply, she rubbed her crotch against his, making him groan and he pulled her down onto him. They kissed and ground against each other, panting and moaning into each other’s mouth. He kissed down her neck, biting and sucking her skin, leaving a trail of light red marks that made her shiver and sigh. He was on the verge of throwing caution to the wind and fucking her up against the bike when a pickup truck drove by, honking loud and long.

The vehicular equivalent of being told to “get a room, assholes,” she thought to herself, bitterly.

“Jealous asshole,” muttered Harley.

“At least he didn’t splash us as he drove by,” she said. There was a time when she would have been too afraid to make out in public like this, it would have embarrassed the crap out of her, but being with Rick and now Harley, with their highly active libidos and “don’t give a fuck” attitudes, she was slowly turning around.

“The rain’s mostly stopped at any rate. What say we get started? You ok with a little roadspray?”

“Sure! My jeans are still wet, anyway. What’s a little more? How much further do we have to go?”

“A bit,” he answered, still refusing to give her any idea of where they were going. He reseated himself, facing front on the bike. Soon they were on their way again. The lightness of the rain and their speed kept them from getting too wet. The lack of traffic also helped. They were out of the rain by the time they got to the end of the valley. It would have been chilly sitting in the wind with her wet jeans, but Rick’s jacket kept her warm and the sun soon dried their clothes.

The sun was setting behind the mountains when they exited the highway onto a narrow blacktopped forest road. She just managed to catch the first part of the street sign: Ketchican. She wondered if it was this dimension’s equivalent of a Native American tribal name. It certainly sounded like it could have been one in her dimension.

The road wound slowly up the side of the heavily forested mountain, sometimes hugging uncomfortably close to the edge. She closed her eyes a few times to avoid looking at the drop-off, and held onto Harley more tightly. Eventually, thankfully, they pulled off the road into a small, gravel parking lot with a log cabin style building. A wooden sign hung from the eaves of the front porch.

Ketchican Hot Springs.

Hmmmm, she thought, this sounds like fun!

“Come on.” Harley got off and removed his helmet, then waited for her to get off the bike. She’d allowed as how she could do it without any help, so here was her chance to prove it... Her feet were so far above the ground that she almost fell off while sliding off the seat, barely catching herself in time. He smirked and coughed like he was clearing his throat in a very poor show of hiding his laugh. She scowled up at him, taking off her helmet.

“Don’t you say a word…” She glared at him.

He just smiled knowingly, shaking his head while he hung their helmets on the handlebars. Taking her hand and squeezing it, he led her up the steps of the cabin.

Chapter 3

The interior of the cabin was part office, part living space. It was basically a front desk, like a check-in desk at a motel, with the area behind it converted into a private den, complete with tv, an easy chair turned to face the tv, and a pot-bellied wood burning stove with a small cooking surface on top. The cabin smelled like greasy, old food, and she immediately remembered her mother’s advice to her about staying in hotels or motels with lobbies that smelled of old, cooked food.

“Don’t.”

An elderly gentleman got up somewhat slowly from the depths of the easy chair, disturbing a large orange tabby cat which had been sleeping in his lap.

“Hey, Pete,” began Harley.

The man put on a pair of glasses and suspiciously peered at them for a moment, then his eyes brightened with recognition.

“Harley! Well, I’ll be… Sandra told me that you’d called earlier this week. She didn’t tell me you were headed up here, though.”

“Yeah, Pete. I told her not to tell you. Wanted to keep it a surprise. She should have the cabin ready for us, though. Reservation’s under Katherine Sanchez.”

She'd only been half-listening to the two men talking while she looked around, inspecting the cabin as unobtrusively as possible. Her mother’s advice was still echoing in her head, making her feel a little leery about staying there. But when she heard her middle name coupled with “Sanchez” her breath caught in her lungs and a huge wave of mixed emotions shot through her. Her heart started racing, making her lightheaded. Her mouth dropped open and she made a small sound of surprise as she reached out and grasped the counter to steady herself.

She’d resumed her maiden name long before the divorce with Ricardo was final, hoping to put that whole sordid chapter of her married life well behind her. She never expected to hear, much less go by, her married name again.

She’d completely forgotten that it was Rick and Harley’s last name, too.

Harley silently wrapped his arm around her shoulder and she sagged into him slightly.

“You okay, young lady?” Pete peered down at her through his glasses, his face full of fatherly concern. She smiled at him weakly.

“We’ve had a long ride, got delayed by the weather. You think we could head on up to our cabin, Pete? Sandra said she’d give me the usual one and have it ready.”

“Oh, sure, sure. Right away, Harley. Just sign the ledger, here, while I get your key for you…”

Harley completed the registration for their cabin and took the key from Pete. He steered her out of the cabin and onto the porch. It was full dark out now, the parking lot lit by the orange glow of a single sodium light off to the side.

“You ok, Kat? What — what happened in there?” He had walked a few steps ahead of her down off the porch then turned around to look at her so that they were a little closer to eye level.

She had a far-off look in her eyes and looked pale and vulnerable in the orange lighting.

“Yeah,” with an effort she put a smile on her face and tried to snap out of it. “I’m just still not used to going by that name.”

Which was true in both the case of her middle name and with ‘Sanchez’, but with luck he wouldn’t ask her to elaborate. She was sure he hadn’t realized the effect it may have on her. Maybe he thought she’d like the idea of them being presented as a couple. A married couple. The thought did sound nice, and made her smile more reassuringly at him.

He studied her for a moment then took her hand. It was cold and he squeezed it. “Come on, hon, you’ll like this…”

They rode the bike about a quarter mile further up the road before pulling into a small clearing. The bike’s headlight swung around the trees and illuminated a log cabin nestled in the forest, its small porch light turned on in invitation. Low lights shone from behind the two curtained windows flanking the front door. Once inside they were greeted by a charming, cozy scene.

A fire crackled away in the large fireplace which took up one wall. Across the room on the opposite wall was a large rustic style wood-framed bed covered in a “wedding ring” design quilt. The lamp standing on the bedside table was switched on, providing additional soft lighting. A sofa, coffee table, small recliner, and a floor lamp occupied the space in between. Along the back wall was a small galley kitchen, with a bar style counter separating it from the rest of the cabin.

“Wow,” was all she could muster.

He grinned. He knew she would like it. This place was special to him. He and Rick had been coming here together quite often over the years. He would never tell her that, of course. Not right away, at least.

She was the only other person he’s brought there.

“They call this the Honeymoon Cabin…”

She threw a look at him, blushing. He just winked at her in reply.

She wanted to pee and freshen up, and he said he’d unload their things in the meantime. Behind the closed bathroom door, the running water camouflaged the sounds from the den. She couldn’t hear the distinctive whirring or see the flash of green light while she washed the road off of her face and hands. When she came out she saw her duffel bag sitting on the bed and a large cardboard box was on the kitchen counter. Harley was partially blocked from view by the open refrigerator door as he put things inside. The light from the refrigerator illuminated him with a soft glow.

“What...When did you...How…”. She’d stopped in her tracks.

He turned and looked at her, grinning. “You forgot ‘who’, ‘why’ and ‘where’…”. He shut the refrigerator and strolled over to her and took her in his arms. He loved the look of surprise and delight on her face. And at how well his little joke had pulled off. She was so fun to tease.

“I-I knew you wanted all that stuff. I had more shit, too. Plus some food and booze. There’s no way to pack all that on the bike. So...I portalled back and got it.”

She grinned at him. It’s something Rick would have done, for sure, but Harley didn’t use his portal gun as much. At least, not in front of her. Rick, she was certain, would just portal back and forth from the house to the shop, instead of walking back and forth through the field, like Harley did. Same as how he portalled back and forth across the street between their two houses. She wouldn’t say he was lazy. More like, Rick doing what he thought was more efficient.

Or more Rick-like.

She put away the rest of the food while Harley fixed them drinks inside a couple of heavy duty plastic tumblers.

“So, the owner knows you, and I get the feeling that you’ve come here before. A lot…” She didn’t know how to go on, ask the questions she wanted to ask. She kept her head in the refrigerator, pretending to sort and organize the food, in an effort to avoid looking at him.

“Uh-huh.” He waited for her to continue, knowing where this was going. He kept his face blank and leaned against the counter, sipping his whiskey while he watched her.

“And you said that this was the...ummm...Honeymoon Cabin…”

“Yeah…” Now he wanted to grin at her but managed to suppress it.

She straightened up and looked at him. “Well, have you been on a lot of honeymoons, or what?”

“Nope.” He paused and took a sip of whiskey, still keeping his face neutral. “Rick and I have been coming here a lot over the years, though.”

“Oh.” Her eyes grew wide and her voice was small. Her face immediately turned cherry red with embarrassment before she dove back into the refrigerator. She’d completely forgotten about that. Them.

“You gonna just hide in the fridge all night now?” He walked over to her with her drink and set it down on top of the refrigerator. “Honey, you’re just gonna have to accept -- face the fact of Rick’s and my relationship sooner or later…” He pulled her away from the refrigerator and shut the door, then turned her to face him while he held her hands.

She couldn’t meet his eyes. “I know...I just wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

“Well what, then?” He tried to tip her chin up to look at him but she turned her face aside.

“I thought you were going to say that you’ve come here on honeymoons, or...or had been here a lot in the past, with other women, or something…” Finally she looked up at him. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears and she blinked to keep them back.

He huffed out a small laugh. “You’re the only other person I’ve brought here, come here with. Just you and Rick. OK?” He gave her a brief hug of reassurance, then handed her drink to her. “Drink up. You look like you need it.”

She took several large sips along with some calming breaths. Knowing that he’d just been coming here with Rick wasn’t so bad. In fact, it made her feel a whole lot better. She watched him silently while he took off his jacket then sat down on the bed and took off his boots.

“Are you getting ready for bed?” It was still early. Too early to go to sleep, at least, she thought.

“No. I’m gonna take you to the hot springs outside and we’re gonna sit and soak. Are you trying to get yourself demoted again?” He stripped his clothes off, leaving them in a heap on the floor and straightened up, looking at her, smirking. “Well, what are you waiting for? Pete to come give you an invitation?”

“But...I don’t have a bathing suit. I don’t want to sit in front of a bunch of strangers butt naked!”

“First of all, it’s dark out and we’re out in the middle of the woods, and in case you didn’t notice, Corporal Ding Dong, this place ain’t exactly a beehive of activity. And, secondly, this cabin has its own private hot spring and pool. That’s why your birthday suit will be juuust fine.” He bent down and picked up his clothes and dropped them on the foot of the bed.

He went into her duffle bag and took out a pair of her flip flops, the ones she liked to wear around the house, to keep her bare feet off the cold floor. He pulled out a pair of men’s old, leather flip flop-style sandals which she’d never seen him wear. He must have put both shoes in the bag before he portalled back with it. She didn’t think he was gone that long -- or that she was in the bathroom that long, whichever. He tossed both pairs of shoes onto the floor and started to step into his but paused when he realized she hadn’t moved.

“You gonna stand there all night, or were you wanting some help gettin’ your clothes off?”

He smirked at her, then it changed to a leering grin and his eyes darkened. They did have some unfinished business from their hiatus beneath the underpass, during the storm. He moved towards her, the idea of stripping her down and fucking her, first, suddenly held greater appeal to him at that moment. He put his hands on her waist and slid his fingers underneath the waistband of her jeans and panties, sending tingles up and down her spine. He undid the button of her jeans and opened the zipper, kissing her all the while, then he pushed her jeans and panties down to the floor.

“What are you doing?” she giggled, hanging onto his shoulders.

“Need to give your birthday suit a test drive…” Was all he whispered in her ear before he pulled her top over her head, then undid her bra and slipped it off her arms, dropping everything to the floor. His voice had become deep and rough with need.

His lips returned to her mouth and he kissed her hungrily, all the pent up sexual tension and desire from before was now returning with full force. Her giggles changed to sighs and moans. His cock was rock hard and erect between them and she reached down and started stroking it. He groaned and lifted her up and laid her on the bed, crawling on top of her, grinding himself against her belly while pushing her further up the bed towards the pillows.

“God, you make me horny as fuck, baby girl,” he growled into her ear. “I just want to drive myself into you and screw your brains out until you scream.”

“Then why don’t you?” she said breathlessly, looking up at him and getting more and more excited as he loomed over her. The whiskey had made her tipsy and bold.

She reached down and guided his head so that it was up against her entrance. Then before he could say or do anything she wrapped her legs around his waist and pushed him into her while she pulled his hips in close with her legs.

As if his body was on auto-pilot, he lost all self-control as soon as he felt her warm, slick folds around him. With one hard thrust he drove himself all the way inside her, closing his eyes and groaning with pleasure at the feel of her tight walls along his length. For whatever reason, maybe it was because they hadn’t done any of their usual foreplay, but her sex wasn’t ready for him, and she gasped loudly, crying out in shock and pain. She squeezed her eyes shut and tears of pain leaked out from the corners. She shrank away from him on the bed, her fingers clawing into his arms and back on their own volition as she struggled to hold back whimpers of pain.

His eyes popped open when he heard her cry out, realizing her distress, and he held still inside her.

“Sshhh, baby. I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

He murmured softly in her ear, kissing the tears on her cheeks as he pushed himself off her, supporting his weight on his elbows, and gathered her in his arms. He held her close, inwardly cursing himself for acting like an inexperienced kid without any self-control and forcing himself into her.

“You weren’t ready for me. I’m sorry, baby girl... I’m sorry...I’ll make this good for you, I promise…I’ll take care of you...Just relax...Ssshhhh...Baby girl, ssshhh...”

He continued to soothe and whisper to her while he kissed her cheeks, her eyes, then moved to her lips. Gradually she began to relax in his arms as he kissed and tongued her mouth, slow and soft. He deepened his kiss and flexed his cock slightly. She sighed, mewling, and her fingers relaxed their death grip. He flexed his cock inside her again, this time rolling his hips slightly, and she moaned into his mouth. It hitched into a whimper, now one of pleasure, when he flexed his cock inside her again.

He pulled his mouth away and whispered in her ear. “I would never hurt you, honey, you know that, right? I love you too much…I love you, so much...” They both knew he was talking about more than just sex...

A sob hitched in her throat and she tightened her hold on him, this time in a hug, no claws of pain. Slowly, he began to rock against her, his pelvis rubbing up against her clit. She moaned into his mouth as he ground against her, gently rolling his hips. Her voice rose in pitch as her orgasm grew close and he increased the pressure against her clit, steadily rocking against her. Her body shuddered and she whimpered and made small mewls of pleasure. He held her tight while her orgasm washed over her in waves and she spasmed around his cock.

“That’s it, baby girl. That’s my sweet girl…. Now you’re ready for me…”

He buried his face in her neck, kissing her softly and sucking on her skin, whispering encouragement as he slowly stroked himself in and out, going deeper each time and gradually built up his rhythm.

“Wait, stop…” she gasped in his ear.

“What? What’s wrong, honey? Am I hurting you?” With great effort he forced himself to stop moving inside her. Now he was practically panting with his sexual needs as he fought to hold himself back. He looked down at her.

“I...I still want you to...to…” she couldn’t bring herself to say it, but it was written on her face, in her eyes.

He grinned down at her. “You want what, honey?” He moved inside her, slow and deep, rolling his hips.

She moaned and closed her eyes. He did it again, sliding one arm up behind her neck for better purchase and to hold her in place. He leaned down and kissed her, sliding his tongue over hers while he slowly drove himself in and out of her hot, wet folds. She groaned into his mouth, clenching herself around him. Every beat of his heart sent a thrumming jolt straight into his aching cock. He dropped his head down into the pillow, breathing hard with the effort to go slowly. Then she whispered in his ear.

“Make me...make me scream, Papi.”

“Fuck, baby…” It came out as a near-strangled groan.

“Do it. Just like you said…. Just screw me senseless and don’t stop until you make me scream…”

“Christ…”. He still hesitated. He didn’t want to hurt her.

“Please, just fuck me and make me scream. Don’t stop until you’re done.” She squeezed around him as hard as she could and lifted her hips up against him to make her point.

He sat up and moved away from her, wincing as he pulled himself out. “Come — come here, baby girl…”

He moved off the bed and motioned to her to come closer to him. She scooted down to the edge of the bed, smiling with anticipation and spreading her legs. His breath hitched at the sight and his cock jumped. He slowly stroked himself, precum dripping over his hand, as he stood there looking down at her.

“Roll over, baby, on your knees for me…”

Suddenly, unwanted images of her ex flashed into her mind, completely out of the blue. Her smile faltered slightly and a trace of fear showed in her eyes.

“I won’t hurt you, baby…. Come on.”

He leaned down and kissed her, slid his hand up to gently run his fingers between her slick folds and slowly stroked in and out while his thumb circled on her clit. She mewled into his mouth and spasmed around his fingers.

“Christ, honey…”. His voice was hoarse with restrained need. His rock hard cock throbbed and had turned deep red, the head almost purple, and the veins ran prominently down the shaft. He was going to have a severe case of blue balls at this rate.

Maybe it was the almost desperate tone in his voice, or the fact that she trusted him, utterly and completely. She cast aside her nervousness and rolled over and got on her hands and knees, spreading her thighs wide and presenting herself to him.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so fucking gorgeous…”

He cupped her ass with one large hand, stroking it then sliding his hand down her cheek and softly caressing her, before slipping two fingers inside her and slowly stroking in and out. He reached forward with his other hand, running it up her back to her shoulders.

“Down in front…” He whispered hoarsely, as he gently pushed her shoulders down until she was resting on her forearms.

He stepped forward and rubbed the head of his cock against her wet opening. She trembled in anticipation. Then she felt his velvety soft head press against her slick folds and he slowly pushed himself in. He was hot and hard and she dropped her head, moaning softly.

“OK, baby girl?”

He slowly moved in and out with shallow thrusts of his hard cock, waiting for her to protest or pull away. She nodded her head and moaned again while she pushed herself against him and squeezed her walls around him. That was all the response he needed. He took a firm hold of her hips and started thrusting in and out, deep and slow. The angle had his hot cock immediately stroking across her sensitive bundle of nerves and she cried out with pleasure. He drove deeper and harder, gripping her firmly and pulling her against him with each thrust of his hips.

“You like that, honey? You like my cock nice and deep in you like this?”

She couldn’t answer him. Instead she dropped her head down between her arms onto the bed and moaned and sobbed. The sounds came out of her of their own volition. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t hold any of it back. It felt so good, what he was doing to her. As he picked up his rhythm, driving deeper into her with each thrust, her moans became keening wails that went on and on, occasionally punctuated by a sob whenever he thrust into her particularly deep and hard. It was like her body had taken control of her and was now operating on instinct and the primal need for pure sexual pleasure. Her back was arched, every muscle in her body growing taut as her orgasm built. She couldn’t even move against him, she was almost paralyzed with how good he felt, as his hot cock thrust deep and hard into her.

She felt the nerves in her body concentrating down in the depths of her belly, tensing up like a tightly coiled spring. Then they suddenly exploded outward, sending wave after wave of the most intense feelings of sexual pleasure she’d ever had. She did scream. She wailed and cried out Harley’s name. Hot liquid gushed out of her, coating his cock and pelvis, and her walls gripped his cock with tight spasms. Her orgasm went on and on as he continued to pound into her, chasing his own release.

His thrusts became choppy and his breathing more harsh. Then with a hoarse cry he came, calling her name and cursing. He reached down and wrapped his arms around her belly to hold her more tightly as he thrust one last time inside her then stayed there. His cock throbbed as he shot hot spurts of cum deep inside her. He continued to hold her up against him as his body shuddered with one of the most intense orgams he’d had in a long time. She keened and sobbed beneath him, shaking as another orgasm rippled through her body, making her tremble in his arms.

He pulled out of her then laid down on the bed next to her, barely able to keep himself from actually collapsing on top of her. He pulled her into his arms.

“Oh my fucking God…” She was limp as a noodle and sweaty and breathless. Her thighs were slick with his cum and her juices and she felt more seeping out of her. “I don’t want to mess up this nice quilt…” She tried to push herself up, but Harley tightened his hold on her.

“It’s...It’s ok, honey. Don’t worry about it. They don’t call this the Honeymoon Cabin for nothing. It’ll get washed…”

Harley eventually did move them all the way to the top of the bed where the pillows were. He pulled the covers back and she crawled underneath them gratefully. The cool, smooth sheets felt good against her skin. He climbed in next to her and gathered her into his arms, then he pulled the covers over them.

“What about the hot springs?” She asked him sleepily.

“They can wait. They’re not goin’ anywhere.” He mumbled his reply. He was barely conscious and was ready to take a nice long nap with her in his arms. He didn’t want to get up, and he didn’t want her to leave his side.

They both fell asleep, but not for long. Practically every light in the cabin had been left on and it penetrated Harley’s brain. He blinked his eyes open and stretched slightly, feeling relaxed and refreshed. She lay draped across him, an unmoving warm body cuddled up against his. Her head was cradled on his chest, one hand curled around his waist and her leg across his muscled thigh. She always seemed to cling to him in her sleep, as if her subconscious was on alert for some hidden danger and needed him beside her while she let her defenses down in order to sleep.

“Wake up, love…”. He stroked her back and kissed the top of her head. She mumbled and stirred briefly before settling back against him with a soft sigh. He slid out from beneath her, pushing the covers off them both of them. The chilly air would help wake her up.

“Man…” she made a whining grumble as she blindly reached down for the blankets while keeping her eyes squeezed shut against the lights.

He smirked down at her and smacked her lightly on her ass, making her sit upright, gasping and blinking irritably.

“Come on, honey. Let’s go take a soak. You’ll love it, I promise.” He pulled the sheets and blankets down to the bottom of the bed as a deterrent to her going back to sleep, then he went into the bathroom to take a leak.

She came in while he was finishing up and wordlessly stepped into the bathtub, pulling the curtain around and turning on the water.

“You’re taking a shower before you go soak?”

“I’m washing off all our sex...stuff,” she called out to him. “So it won’t go in the water. Haven’t you ever heard of hot tub folliculitis?”

He pushed the curtain aside and reached down and turned off the water. “You’re a prime example of too much knowledge isn’t always a good thing. Come on.” He held his hand out to her so she could step out, then handed her a large folded bath towel.

They slipped into their shoes and he handed her drink to her, then grabbed a flashlight from a cabinet and his own drink. Clutching the towel and her drink, she followed him out the door leading off the kitchen. He led her down a narrow path that went through the woods and down the mountain. The path had steps made of old timbers, worn smooth by the weather and years of foot traffic. A handrail made of rough hewn fence rails followed it down.

It was intriguing, walking down the mountain path in the dark with just Harley’s flashlight for light. All her other senses were heightened to make up for it, and she could hear and smell the springs before they came upon them. The faint but familiar scent of sulfur wafted up through the trees. She could even feel the damp heat in the air as it was born up on the wind currents. But the roiling and churning sound of water echoing up to them sounded much louder than any hot springs she’d visited before. She wasn’t sure what to expect.

Finally they turned a corner around a low, rocky outcrop and Harley’s flashlight shone upon a small pool nestled partly inside a shallow cave. A pile of rocks at the back covered the source of the spring. The water bubbled out over and through the rocks with occasional hissing bursts of steam which reverberated noisily off the walls of the cave, amplifying them, creating the sounds she’d heard.

“This way, hon, watch your feet.” He aimed the flashlight along the edge of the pool, a natural depression in the rocks surrounded by a low wall of flat stones. “They damned up this spring years ago, turned it into a pool. The bottom’s all sand. Step down in it.” He went in first then turned around and helped her step in where small boulders were laid out like steps, leading down into the water.

The water was hot, but not too hot. The night air was chilly, so this was nice. There were large, flat rocks placed on the bottom along the wall, for them to sit on. He guided her over to where a couple of large, flat rocks placed on the bottom were at a good height for the two of them to sit. The water was still a little high on her, coming just above her shoulders.

Soon they were settled in, drinking their whiskeys. He put his arm around her and she nestled into him, sighing with contentment. It had been a long day, and while riding the motorcycle was fun, she wasn’t used to being on it for such a long stretch of time. Her body was sore and tired from hours of sitting upright, her legs straddling the seat.

“Not too bad, huh?” He kissed her cheek. She hummed in response, her eyes closed.

“I’m not carrying your ass back up that trail, just so you know.”

“M’kay.”

In the end he did carry her back, piggy-back style, with the towel draped over her while she clutched the two empty tumblers in one hand and had the other arm wrapped around his shoulder. She lost a flip flop along the way but he refused to stop and look for it. When they got to the cabin he dumped her down on the bed then took the glasses and towel from her.

“Get under the covers, love. I’ll join you in a minute.”

Without arguing, she pulled everything back up to the pillows and buried herself beneath them. If she was a limp noodle before, now she was completely boneless. Harley moved quietly around the cabin, closing things up for the night. He banked up the fire with a few pieces of the split hardwood logs, then turned off all the lights before finally climbing into bed beside her. She moved towards him, draping herself across his body almost exactly like before.

“Thank you, Papi. This was a wonderful day. I love you…and...I’m not a ding dong...” Her words were drowsy and quiet, softly spoken into his chest.

“I know you’re not, honey. And I love you, too, Kat…”. He kissed her head, then slowly stroked her back as she drifted off to sleep.

On the other side of the cabin the fire had taken purchase of the fresh logs, and now it crackled and popped quietly with new life, sending soft flickers of light onto the walls and ceiling. He shifted slightly, turning partially onto his side and holding her against his chest while slipping one long thigh between hers. Then he fell into a deep sleep.

***********

“Kn- Knew I’d find you two here…”

To be continued in Rick’s Texas Chick...

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #rick and reader #OC Rick #Rick's Texas Chick

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